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He glanced back at the Girl Scout hall and shook his head. He couldn’t do anything about his personal life because either way, he was screwed, and not in the good way. Getting involved in any way with a woman around here was trouble. Cheyenne might be the biggest city in Wyoming, but that was a relative thing. With only a few thousand people, word spread fast, everyone knew everyone, and kids went to school together. If Tripp hooked up with someone, there’d be rumors and Gracie’s friends would ask questions and…just…nope. Bad idea all around.
That didn’t make Bo right about him being scared of women, but he may have had a point about him avoiding them.
Despite the good reasons behind that avoidance, Tripp still loved women. It wasn’t just about him anymore, though. If keeping his daughter in a secure environment meant he lived more celibate than a priest and worked even harder on the ranch, it was enough.
At least, that was what he was telling himself. Until he reached his truck and his thoughts got interrupted by the sweetest voice he’d ever heard, spitting the nastiest curse words known to man.
…
“You are the worst car in this hellhole town and I swear—to—God…” Charlotte Gram kicked the driver-side tire of her rental car with her favorite stiletto. The dry summer air blew hot against her skin, and a small film of dust settled on her neck.
Gross.
Was dust a thing out here?
She was used to the Los Angeles smog and clutters of asshole people. She’d never thought she’d step foot in Wyoming. Ever. But this was the prairie state her grandmother had chosen to retire in, so that’s where Charlotte needed to be.
Wilma Gram had moved to Cheyenne five years ago when she’d inherited her family farm. Something about a great-uncle who had died and left it to her. Apparently Grammy took really well to the country life, because even at seventy-plus years old, she was thriving. Up until this summer, at least. She’d needed ankle surgery that would leave her in a cast.
With Charlotte the only one left who stayed in touch with Grammy, it was up to her to see the older woman through her recovery. Which meant several weeks of summer in this tiny town, working remotely from the house, and attempting to help Grammy run the farm and all the chores that went with it.
Not Charlotte’s specialty.
Still, a simple enough plan.
She could continue building websites, earn a living, and get back to her life in L.A. in no time. Besides, it wasn’t like her grandma had a massive farm operation…she didn’t think. Charlotte hadn’t gotten out to visit the great state of Wyoming since Grammy had settled in. Between building her career and surviving a string of bad relationships, Charlotte was happy just keeping her head above water and being the forever bachelorette.
Every time she got past date number three, she started to feel like the man she was with never wanted her in the first place. And it wasn’t just romantic relationships, either. Charlotte never seemed to fit anywhere or into anyone’s ideals. She wasn’t successful enough—yet—to be “accomplished,” and wasn’t creative enough to be “small-business hipster woman.” She was also too blunt to be ladylike, and too prudish to be a vixen. It wasn’t like she could hel
p it. Her mother had done a shit job raising her, and her father bailed when she was young. She sure as hell hadn’t been able to count on anyone.
Basically, she’d spent her life in a constant state of unclassified and unwanted.
Commitment wasn’t something she was interested in chasing. Ever. Doing so would mean trusting someone to want her completely, preferably long term, which wasn’t likely. No, better to stick to her rules of no strings, no commitment, no family. Grammy was the only exception. No way would she have her own kids, no matter how many busybody women in Spin class told her that her eggs would dry up soon. She was only thirty, for Christ’s sake.
So yeah. She worked alone, lived alone…
…and would probably die alone.
It was kind of depressing, actually.
Charlotte blew a lock of dark hair out of her face and glanced around. The town was cute, at least. Downtown Cheyenne was basically sandwiched between an old-looking bank made of all brick and an antiques shop. There weren’t many people milling about, let alone the floods of people she was used to.
Everything felt still. Calm.
Claustrophobic.
She shuddered. “I bet this place doesn’t even have triple-A,” she said, eyeing her newest enemy, the rental car she knew nothing about that was making a pained, gasping sound. A soft rise of smoke billowed out from under the hood. Charlotte frowned. Day one and she couldn’t even get through this hillbilly town.
She kicked it again, letting another round of curses fly. She just needed this piece of crap rental to get to her grandma’s. It couldn’t be too much farther, could it? “Piece of shhii—”
“Excuse me, ma’am?” a husky voice rumbled behind her.
Charlotte stalled midkick and looked up to see a very tall, very strong, very cowboy man staring at her.
“It—shit—I mean, yes?” Her skin went hot, even though Mr. Cowboy was shadowing her in his capable frame. Could she possibly sound more like an idiot who didn’t know how to speak?
“I wonder if I could assist you?” he asked, pinching the tip of his Stetson and keeping those crystal blue eyes locked on her.
