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The cowboy looks at me for a moment, holds me in his glare. “You’re on a ranch. Of course it’s a fucking horse.”
I arch a brow. “If you’re the ranch welcome wagon, you really need to work on your people skills.”
It’s brief, but it’s there. The right side of his mouth kicks up before those lush lips flatten into a stern line.
Suddenly, all I want to do is make this man smile. A challenge I accept. He just doesn’t need to know that.
The floor shakes as the man storms toward me, the scent of leather and sunlight and black coffee filling my nose. As he gets closer, my eyes widen. He’s more mountain than man, with sculpted biceps, tan forearms corded with muscle and veins, and a square jawline that could cut glass. Standing over six feet tall, he exudes confidence and strength. His eyes are piercing, depthless blue.
I could never trust a man this perfect.
Good thing I don’t have to.
The cowboy’s gaze holds judgment and doubt as he casts a skeptical glare. “Go home, lady. Wherever that is.”
Heaviness sinks into my shoulders. Tears spring to my eyes. I’m suddenly despondent. “I don’t have anywhere to go,” I say softly, but not weakly. The thought of looking for another place to stay is daunting. God, I don’t want to do this. Beg. I haven’t been vulnerable in so long, and I especially don’t want to cry in front of this man.
“Nowhere?” He tips up his cowboy hat to get a better look at me.
It’s hot. The hat and the action. I bite my lip and squeeze my thighs together.
I force my gaze to his. “No. Nowhere.” Hopeful, I try again, mustering my sweetest smile. “River said no one lives here. Is it…not for rent?”
“No.” He crosses his arms, causing his biceps to bulge in his tight black T-shirt. “It’s not.”
The cowboy’s face remains hard, impassive. Jesus, it’s like trying to crack a safe. I’m impressed. Not to mention slightly turned on. It’s a rare occasion when my flirting skills don’t make a man bat an eye.
“I’ll be so quiet. You won’t even know I’m here.” Trying again, I give him my sweetest smile.
His gaze dips to my chest and bounces away. “I doubt that.”
Heat sears my cheeks. I snap open my mouth. “Listen—”
“Town’s about twenty-five miles that way.” He nods his sharp chin, glancing at the door.
With that, he storms out of the Creek House. I watch through the window as he mounts his horse, kicking it into a gallop. I stare longer than I should, catching a glimpse of tight sculpted ass, a broad back rippling with muscle, before he disappears around a corner of the house.
I pull in a shaky breath and flop back on the bed. There’s a flutter in my stomach that I chalk up to annoyance.
One thing’s clear in Tempest, Montana.
The cowboys are anything but gentlemen.
5 Cole
She had glitter on her face.
I hate myself for the thought. That it—and the girl—are still stuck in my head even after I stable my quarter horse, Pryor, and make the short trek from the animal sanctuary to Ezra’s house. Surrounded by trees and towering mountain ranges, the west side of Copper Run Ranch plays host to our animal sanctuary and our houses.
Bright May sunshine and bold blue Montana sky. Wildflowers are scattered in the long grass. The scent of pine and evergreen sweep in on the brisk spring breeze.
I stomp up the steps and into the homestead.
Like it always does, my chest tightens when I step inside the kitchen. Though my aunt and uncle left their house on the other side of the ranch to live here with Ezra and Evangeline, it’s still our parents’ house. Still holds every memory.
My mother, tongue scrunched out the side of her mouth, puzzling out her puzzles at the long kitchen table. My father, letting us boys taste whiskey well before we were twenty-one. Our parents dancing in the kitchen, their laughter filling the house long after we went to bed.
The scent of biscuits and gravy hits me. A child’s plate left on the kitchen island. “Sinners Like Me” plays on the radio. Wells, Ezra, and our Uncle Vaughn lean back against the kitchen counter, deep in conversation.
