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How can I find a cowboy?
But fuck the comments and fuck social media. The only thing I’m focused on is Ruby’s smiling face. I must have stared at it fifty times in the last week.
She looks drop-dead gorgeous in the photo, luminous like the sun, hair blowing in the breeze, pressed into me like she belongs there.
And hell, I look like a happy man.
The thought is like a kick to the sternum, uprooting everything I know. But I can’t ignore it anymore.
It’s more than good sex.
Christ, I gave her a nickname.
She’s my sunflower, causing chaos ever since she came into my life. Chaos I can’t do without.
I tear through the bright green blaze of the traffic light, taking a left to hit the road to the ranch.
There’s no denying it. She wrapped me around her finger with a single kiss. Every day, she lights up my life with a smile. A fucking smile. How she does it, I don’t know. All I know is I want it around me. Because when I’m done busting up ranch work, all I can think about is rushing back to her.
And the closer we get to each other, I wonder if I’ve been fooling myself all this time. Letting fear rule this entire summer. The fear of caring for anyone else, of losing anyone else ...
Of starting over.
Do I want to do it?
Yeah. I fucking do.
As I approach the entrance to the ranch, I ease off the gas. Ford’s truck sits at the end of the creek near the road. I spot my older brother in the ditch, tugging out rotted fence posts. Bypassing the turnoff, I pull over and hop out. Ford grunts a hello, his face shaded under his baseball cap.
Without talking, I pick up a hammer. Despite the back-breaking labor, Ford cussing the sun, we finish removing the posts in just twenty minutes.
I wipe my brow. “Wasn’t Wyatt supposed to do this?”
A nod. “Wyatt’s MIA. Haven’t seen him all day. I might knock him in the mouth. Or the head. I haven’t decided yet.” He jerks his chin down the line of the creek. “Some idiot clogged up the creek bed with beer cans, so that’s next on my list.”
“You call him?” I ask, already picking up my phone and dialing Wyatt.
“Twice.”
It rings and rings, finally switching over to voicemail.
“He could be out of range,” I say. Sporadic bursts without cell service are typical on the ranch. If he’s out of reach, there’s no way to get ahold of him until he moves in closer.
“I’ll head back,” I tell Ford, trying to shake off my worry. “See if he’s there.”
On the short drive back to the cabin, my mind stays on Wyatt. I don’t like it. He dicks around, sure, but it’s not like him to shirk his responsibilities. When we were kids, he was always up with the sun to help me with the horses and our chores.
When I pull into the gravel drive of my house, I spy Ruby making her way back from the lodge. Her dress hem flares out as she floats toward her cottage with a bag of apples in her hand.
Instantly, at the gorgeous sight of her, all thoughts of the ranch, of Wyatt, evaporate.
I throw the truck into park, grab her hat, hop out, and meet her between my cabin and her cottage.
She brightens and bounces over to me.
“Hey, Cowboy,” she drawls, lifting the bag of apples in greeting. “Chef gave me some extra apples from the baking contest.” She leans in, her blue eyes sparkling. “I still think you need a garden.”
I chuckle and shake my head. She’s practically the queen of my ranch.
