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“Yes. Perfect. Text me when you’re here,” I say. I feel slightly nervous about meeting Luke’s friends, and I have no idea why, so I’m grateful for the time limit.
We walk over to the group, and Luke makes introductions. I clock little details as his friends offer them up.
“Good to know a woman could see below the surface of this guy. He’s a hard-ass, but down deep, he’s a softie,” a guy named Ryan says. He takes a swig from a glass of dark beer and shoves a hand through his reddish hair in the same way I’ve seen Luke do a couple of times. It makes me think they must spend a lot of time together. They’re dressed practically the same, down to their matching brown cowboy hats.
“Aw, yeah, I’ve seen that softie side. It’s what made me fall for him,” I say, tipping my head against Luke’s shoulder and expecting him to stiffen. But he doesn’t. I feel his fingers press lightly into my shoulder as though he likes my comment. I feel other things too, but I tamp them down and remind myself I’m playing a role.
Which reminds me that in the role of fiancée, I have the right to kiss my hottie hot cowboy in public. In fact, it might seem suspicious if we besotted newlyweds weren’t openly smitten with each other.
I don’t say anything to Luke because he’s barely holding it together as it is, but if I learned anything from my faux pas with Glam Squad, it’s how to get tongues wagging.
Looking up adoringly at Luke, I beckon him closer with a curled finger. He leans in, but instead of whispering something, I take his face in my hands and hold it a couple of inches from mine. His shoulders stiffen, and he looks questioning, but he doesn’t back away.
I stare into his eyes. I lick my lips and watch those eyes heat despite Luke’s intentions.
“Relax, Cowboy,” I whisper.
When I tip my face up and press my lips softly against his, the stiffness in his shoulders falls away. It’s better than that day I surprise-kissed him in front of the courthouse. He’s less of a live wire of emotion. More pliant and willing.
He kisses me back, tentatively at first, very chaste and fit for being in public. But then something else seems to take over, and his arm encircles my waist. He pushes a hand into my hair and kisses me harder. Hungrier. Hotter.
When he pulls away, he looks confused but sated. I’m the one who’s a little unsteady on my feet even though this was my idea.
The conversation resumes around us as though we just slipped into a private bubble, but I know his friends saw it. I can tell by the smug smiles on their faces. And by the one on Luke’s face.
“D’you remember that time we caught those dumbass kids trying to tip your cows, and we chased them in the dune buggy?” His friend Reed supplies this detail, and I eat it up. With each new little nugget of information, I find myself wanting to see these other sides of Luke. It almost feels like he was a different person once, before a relationship ended badly and a custody battle sapped his sense of humor.
Even though the guy with his arm still around my waist doesn’t have any obligation to let me see beneath his surface, I can’t help wanting it. I can’t help dreaming up ways to bring the other sides of him out. One fake kiss at a time.
“Aw, really? How come you never told me that?” I give Luke a playful swat, and he catches my hand and squeezes it. I have no doubt we look legit, and despite myself, I’m starting to feel like maybe Tessa is right. Maybe it’s not all for show, at least on my end.
This is how it always starts with a guy. I know it doesn’t make sense, but then I throw caution to the wind and jump in with both feet. And then I feel trapped, and it ends.
But none of that is possible this time around. Luke has his boundaries, and once we satisfy the mediator and he wins custody, my work will be done. I exhale a little, relieved I can already see how and where this ends.
When Tessa texts that she and Fitz are on their way with ice cream, I practically bolt from the Hitching Post. “Gotta go, babe. See you tomorrow,” I say, giving Luke’s bicep one last squeeze.
“Okay, yeah. Bye…darlin’.” He looks unsure about the fake endearment. Almost like the words taste like Sour Patch Kids, sweet and sour and oddly delicious; it would be funny, except a part of me kind of loves how it sounds coming out of his mouth. Especially referring to me.
CHAPTER 8
Luke
As soon as I get Scout off to school, I race over to the pasture so Ryan and I can get to work. New day, same drill, dealing with the broken fence at the ranch, which results in our cattle wandering out and neighboring animals potentially wandering in.
That’s trouble for all kinds of reasons. If our animals escape, they could get lost or hurt. If other cattle come in, they could deplete our grazing land, and foxes or the occasional mountain lion could be fatal to our herd.
It’s why I have cameras set up around the perimeter of my land and why we have trained dogs who sleep out with the cattle and generally run off predators. But something’s going wrong.
Twice now, Ryan and I have made temporary repairs to the fence, which should have held until the new posts arrive in a few days and we can fix it permanently. And twice now, Ryan and I have ridden out to the pasture in the morning only to find the fence broken again.
“It’s either one of ours or someone else’s cow breaking it each night,” Ryan says. When I give him a “no shit, Sherlock” death look, he throws up his hands. “I know I’m stating the obvious, but let’s get thinking on why they’re destroying it. Who wants to get out or in?”
“Camera footage has a blind spot in this area. I don’t think the cattle are smart enough to know that.”
“You think it’s a person hacking at the fence to let some cattle in here to graze?”
He says the words I don’t want to imagine. There’s a code of ethics here among ranchers, and I can’t recall the last time someone knowingly broke a fence to give their cattle grazing access on someone else’s land. But I can’t deny that it’s possible.
