Page 156 of Saltwater Cowboy

His strong arms, the way he moved with ease, the confident swagger in his step when he walked across the field—it was like watching a man who belonged to the land itself. And as much as I hated to admit it, that pull in my stomach wasn’t just because of how damn good he looked working the land. There was something about watching him get his hands dirty that made him even more irresistible.

I caught myself biting my lip, then quickly turned my gaze elsewhere, embarrassed that I was ogling him like some sort of love-struck teenager. But he wasn’t making it easy. There was something about the way he handled the flowers and the plants as if they were the most important thing in the world, his fingers delicate as he placed each one carefully into the soil, that made me melt.

He caught me looking, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You know, you could help instead of just staring at me,” he teased, wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.

I straightened, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “I was just admiring your technique,” I shot back.

He flashed me a wink sending a spark through me. “Not much technique, just skill.”

“Are you always this modest?” I jokingly asked.

Wells didn’t miss a beat. He pushed up his sleeves, clearly aware of the effect he was having on me. “Only when I’m around someone who doesn’t appreciate the fine art of weed-pulling,” he replied, as he tugged another weed free.

My gaze lingered on his arms for a moment longer than necessary. It was ridiculous how just the sight of him working in the garden made me hot under the collar. And just as I was trying to convince myself to stop thinking about him like that, Wells straightened up, wiping his brow with the back of his hand again, this time glancing at me with a much softer expression.

He walked over, closing the space between us, and in that moment, the world around us seemed to slow. He leaned down, his lips brushing gently against my forehead. The simple gesture sent a warmth rushing through me, my breath catching as I looked up at him, heart racing.

“If you don’t start workin’, the whole order pizza and watch a movie we had planned for this evening will go out the window.” His voice low and sincere, his breath warm against my skin.

He ghosted his lips over mine and I wanted nothing more than to jump his bones.

Before I could say anything, his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled away, glancing down at the screen.

“Hold on, I gotta take this,” he said, offering a quick smile before stepping back.

He flipped the brim of his baseball cap backward and answered the phone, his posture shifting as he moved a little further away. I watched him as he spoke, the way he stood with his legs apart, hand resting on his hip in that confident, effortless way that drove me wild.

I couldn’t help myself. The sight of him, standing there, phone pressed to his ear, every move exuding raw masculinity—it was like he was a magnet, pulling me closer and closer. And that damn hat. The way it sat cocked backward on his head made him look impossibly sexy. I crossed my arms in front of me, trying to ignore the way my heart rate was picking up.

Wells glanced over at me, catching my gaze as he spoke to whoever was on the other end of the line. His lips quirked up into an unsure smile.

I wasn’t sure if it was the sweat glistening on his skin or the way the muscles in his arms flexed when he moved, but suddenly, I felt like I needed to breathe a little deeper.

He hung up a moment later and turned toward me.

“Something wrong?” he asked, his voice teasing, but I could tell he noticed the way I was watching him.

His smile flickered for a second, a hint of something unreadable passing through his eyes.

“You good?”

Wells gave a quick nod, his gaze dropping back to the weeds he was pulling up. “Yeah.”

With that, he returned to his task, his focus back on the dirt.

I took the hint, stepping back into the quiet of the morning. Whatever had been said on the phone was clearly something he didn’t want to share, and I wasn’t about to push.

The rest of the morning passed in a strange, quiet rhythm. Wells and I worked side by side, but the easy banter we usually shared was missing. He was focused on the garden, ripping weeds from the soil with a quiet intensity that I hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t like him to be so closed off, and I couldn’t help but feel a little off-kilter.

I tried to distract myself by pulling up the last of the weeds, but it wasn’t long before my mind wandered back to him. Every movement he made seemed amplified in the silence between us.

But I couldn’t ignore the fact that something felt different. He was distant, the space between us stretching farther than it should have. I caught him glancing at me a few times, his eyes soft but guarded. There was something he wasn’t saying.

I didn’t want to push, but the uncertainty was gnawing at me. I was used to Wells being straightforward, laughing off any awkwardness, always willing to tease or banter. But today, he was quiet. Almost too quiet.

I tried to fill the silence, making small talk about the upcoming farmer’s market, about the flowers, anything to bridge the gap. But my words seemed to hang in the air, unanswered, as Wells worked, his focus never wavering.

By the time the sun started climbing higher in the sky, I was getting frustrated. Not with him, but with this invisible wall between us.