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“Ugh,” I groan and cover my mouth after taking a sip.
But it makes Warren burst out in a fit of laughter, and for that, I’d drink ten cups of cold watery coffee.
Chapter 24
Gage
“Ruby,” I groan.
I hear a moo from about five feet away but I don’t bother to look up. I’m lying down by the campfire: arms folded over my chest, boot-clad feet crossed, and cowboy hat covering my face.
The rest of the guys, with saddles as pillows, are sleeping in various spots around the fire. It’s only a low of 48 tonight, but the swift December breeze makes it feel a whole lot more chilly than that. Scratchy horse blankets keep a thick barrier between the cold ground and our bodies and that’s about as good as we can do without fussing around with tents.
Another moo. This time a little more desperate sounding.
I lift one hand to the crown of my hat, raising it slightly so I can peer over at her with one eye. The only red cow in the herd.
I saw her at the sale barn one day about three years ago. Her cow had died and the guy that owned them didn’t want to have to deal with a bottle calf since she wasn’t weaned yet. She looked pretty sickly at the time, and not a single soul in that building bid on her. Don’t ask me why, but I approached the man afterward, offered him cash, and took her home.
I woke up a little earlier every day that spring, making her a bottle and feeding it to her. She tried to follow me around and I eventually got tired of hearing her bawling, so I let her out of the gate from time to time. She’d prance around the ranch like a pet dog, begging for ear scratches and more milk.
She’s a grown cow now and despises summertime when we turn them all out to pasture. I thought maybe putting her in the satellite field, the farthest one from the main ranch land, would force her to adjust to the fact that she’s not a pet. It didn’t work.
My chest rumbles with a laugh when I see her paw the dirt.
“Fine.” I put the hat back on the top of my face and cross my arms again. “You can sleep here as long as you stop mooing.” I hear the distinct sound of Ruby making herself at home with the rest of us, causing the ground to shake when she grunts and drops her body to lie down.
Spoiled rotten, that one.
I check the time on my phone and see that it’s been hours since I first tried to settle in for the night. I’ve tossed and turned relentlessly, trying to get comfortable and will my brain to shut down and sleep.
We left out to gather this last set of cows for the winter late this morning. It’s almost a day’s ride, so we always camp out on the prairie instead of trying to make it home in the dark.
I wish it was the hoot owls or lack of a mattress that was keeping me awake. Truth is, those things are fine by me. The sounds of nature are usually comforting. The fresh air and open night sky, grounding and relaxing. Out here, it’s a soothing sanctuary from the madness of the world.
If it wasn’t for the fact that I’ve spent every single night in the arms of Blythe Farrow for the last two weeks, I’d be sleeping soundly right now.
I add a few logs to the crackling fire and sparks fly around the camp. Leaning up against my saddle, I rest one elbow on my bent knee and pull up the camera roll on my phone.
I won’t admit how many times I’ve looked at the picture I took of her that first morning. Fucking perfection.
It’s hard to believe that it’s not a world-class painting that I’m staring at with the early light pouring into the room, the ruffled sheets, and her sheer beauty. I was there. It was real. And I’ve never seen anything more stunning in my life.
The next morning that she woke up in my bed, it looked like what you’d imagine heaven to be like. The softest smoothest skin surrounded by her favorite cloud-like fuzzy blanket. Tiny freckles on her shoulders and cheeks peeking through strands of wild mussed hair. Her delicate hands rested above her head on the pillow being kissed by the glow of the sunrise. Taking another picture was a no-brainer.
Somehow, that led to pulling out my phone and snapping a pic of her every day. Each one more beautiful than the last.
It’s mind-boggling to me that we were complete strangers not long ago. I’m well aware that my addiction to her has come on fast. I could lay here and beat myself up for getting attached too quickly. But I won’t, because it’d do me no good. No matter what happens in the approaching future, she’s tattooed herself on my skin and the thought of just having these memories instead of the real thing slows my pulse to a comatose rate. So much so that I feel lightheaded if I dwell on it too long.
I continue scrolling through each picture, smirking and smiling at my favorite ones. It started out as just an obsession with her body and how attractive she was to me. But it ended up being a reminder of how she made me feel instead. Like she wanted to be there and kept coming back to crawl under the sheets with me at the start of each night without fail. Like I couldn’t believe I really had this smart, ambitious, sassy woman lying in my bed every morning before I left to go to work.
I click on one of the pictures where she was already awake. Her knees are tucked into her chest and she’s hugging her legs with her cheek resting on her arms, head turned toward me. A handful of hair hangs in her face but there’s no mistaking her expression: content. Happy.
Mine.
I blow out a breath and rub my forehead.
If I had any service out here in the middle of nowhere, I’d Google how to get over a girl you’re not even in a serious relationship with.
