Page 63
“Copper Run used to be a cattle ranch, and then my great-great-great-grandfather got into breeding bulls. My mother’s father was a bull rider, and she was raised around them. That’s how she met my father. Bulls.” A ragged breath pulls from my chest as the memories come back to me. “She always loved them, and one day, a few years into their marriage, she rescued one and couldn’t stop.” I lean on the fence, taking in her sun-kissed skin, her glossy blond hair. “Lots of people take in ranch animals and can’t handle the responsibility. Some abuse or neglect them. We’re a place they can go. If they can’t get rehomed, they stay.”
“And you work here?”
“When I’m not at the distillery, I’m on the ranch.”
She smiles. “Sunup to sundown.”
“That’s right.”
Delilah’s face turns serious as she looks back at the cows. “You protect all these animals. That’s a beautiful thing, Cole.”
Her sweet, melodic voice pierces my armor.
Heat rising in my neck, I nod at the box of fresh produce in front of the pen that Wells stocks every morning. “You can feed ’em.” I rough up Otis’s red head. “That’s really why they’re here. Food.”
Eyes alight with excitement, Delilah rummages through the produce box and pulls out two carrots. Instantly, Otis and Neon Star are pressing against the fence, earning Delilah’s giggles and sweet smiles. I try not to be a jealous man, but hell, I lose the fight.
I clear my throat. “Guests can take a glass of whiskey, walk the ranch, and feed the animals. Any money we make goes to the rescue.”
I watch as she stuffs her tips from the pocket of her shorts into the donation slot that’s attached to the fence. “You should keep those,” I gruff.
Her full lips rise. “I don’t need them.”
I make a mental note to tell Ezra to give her back her tips, then watch her croon at Otis and Neon Star for several more minutes. When she’s finished, she hits me with a blazing smile. “Where to next, cowboy?”
Our last stop sits at the edge of the sanctuary, nestled in front of a long thatch of trees. The bull pen. A round pasture safely gated, with a small hut offering shelter. Three massive Brahman bulls nose at hay.
“These are retired rodeo bulls.”
My lungs hitch as I watch Delilah walk right up to the massive beasts. Girl’s not afraid of anything. Glad for the fence between them, I run a hand over my jaw and watch as she climbs on the first rung of the fence.
“Can you pet them?”
“It’s best you don’t.” Worry surges through my body, and I settle beside her. My gaze drifts over her pouty lips, her delicate features.
Even pushing up on tiptoe on the fence, she’s tiny. Her body is perfect for me. Petite, slender, the right size to scoop up and toss over my shoulder. What I wouldn’t give to take her in my arms and hold her against me.
“Each bull is different like people are different, and just like people, they can be unpredictable.”
“But you love them.” Delilah’s gaze dips to my belt buckle. “You said you rode bulls?”
“Yeah.” I nudge my hat up and grin at her. “I did. Made a long career of acting like a reckless idiot.” I shake my head at the memories. Those dusty days on the rodeo circuit. “Concussions, rib fractures, you name it.”
Her eyes widen. “Do you have scars?” she breathes.
Chuckling, I open my hand, show her the scars on my knuckles, then hike up my shirtsleeves. “Bull stomped me here. Broke my arm.”
Delilah’s hand snaps out, taking my arm, and I go rigid. Her touch is warm, soft. “From the bulls.” A slender finger traces my scar, then moves to my sleeve of inky tattoos. “For the whiskey?” She hovers over a piece of wheat, then moves on to a whiskey bottle.
I nod, dry mouthed. That knot inside me coils tighter.
Her hands run down my arm. She turns my palm over, then dabs a finger directly in its center over my scar. “What’s this from? A bull?”
“No.”
Her eyes lock on mine, watching me from beneath long, dark lashes as if trying to see inside me.
I need to pull it the fuck back.
