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"Suck it up, Mariah. It's not like this could go anywhere after you went back home," I say to myself as I push the sheets back and get out of bed, determined to start my day, regardless.
A sudden clanging sound from the other room startles me and I yelp. Heart pounding, I grab my robe and wrap it around myself, creeping cautiously toward the noise. Peeking into the kitchen, my eyes start stinging all over again when relief floods through me at the sight of Clark standing at the stove, spatula in hand.
Looking up, he flashes me a crooked grin. "Mornin' sleepyhead. Hope you're in the mood for pancakes."
My shoulders sag in disbelief. "You're still here."
Clark's smile falters. He sets down the spatula and comes to me, taking my hands in his. "Of course I'm still here. I told you I wasn't goin' anywhere." His eyes search mine with concern. "Did you think I'd left?"
I glance down, embarrassment warming my cheeks. "I'm just not used to men sticking around."
Clark tips my chin up, forcing me to meet his earnest gaze. "I'm not like those other men, Mariah. You're not just a plaything for me. You're a collectable." He brushes a stray curl behind my ear. "I plan on keeping you."
My throat tightens at the sincerity in his voice. I don't know how to respond, so instead I glance away and change the subject. "I think your pancakes are burning."
"Oh, shoot," he says, quickly releasing me and rushing back to the stove to rescue them. "Ah, these are just fine. Charcoal whitens your teeth, right?" With a chuckle, he turns to give me a wink as he scoops the burned pancakes into the trash, then begins making a fresh batch.
Feeling a little off kilter, I take a seat at the small kitchen table, clutching my robe tighter around myself as I watch Clark expertly flip pancakes on the stove, his words bouncing around in my head along with my mixed-up feelings.
"Can I help with anything?" I offer once I've regained a little control.
"You just relax, I've got this covered," Clark says over his shoulder.
A few minutes later, he turns with two plates piled high with fluffy pancakes, setting one down in front of me along with maple syrup and butter. As he pours a mug of coffee and sets that in front of me too, I take a bite of the meal and sigh blissfully. Light and fluffy, just a touch of sweetness. "They're perfect."
"High praise." Clark smiles at my reaction as he sits across from me and digs into his own stack.
"Well...you're a pretty praise-worthy guy."
He offers me a dimpled smile as we both continue to eat in silence. And as much as I'm enjoying the food, I'm still caught trying to wrap my head around exactly what this is. He says he wants to keep me, but how on earth would that even work? I'm from the city, and he's country through and through. We're like oil and water, and yet, there's undeniable chemistry between us. Something that, despite my best efforts, I find myself wanting to explore.
Clark glances up from his meal, noticing my pensive expression. "You all right, city?"
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I manage to muster a small smile. "Yeah, I...I was just wondering how a guy like you ended up becoming a ranch hand?"
"A guy like me?" He quirks his brow as he takes a sip of his coffee and leans back in his chair.
"You know," I say, gesturing to his flannel work shirt and the calloused hands that grip the coffee mug. "The whole cowboy thing. There's like a gazillion jobs in the world a guy with your looks and charm could excel at. What attracted you to working the land?"
"I grew up around ranches, so it's all I've ever wanted."
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. "Your family owns a ranch?"
Clark sets his mug on the table and lowers his gaze. "Something along those lines. Cattle and horses are in my blood, that's for sure."
"Hmm," I muse, leaning back in my chair and regarding Clark with newfound curiosity. "So this is like your destiny, in a way."
He offers a soft chuckle, a glint of something I can't quite place in his eyes. "My father would likely agree with you on that point. But for me, it's not just about the work, it's about the lifestyle too. The independence, the connection to something greater than yourself. The satisfaction of watching a herd of cattle graze across the rolling hills, knowing you're responsible for their well-being. It's a way of life that...it's hard to explain, but it's in my bones."
"That sounds... beautiful," I say, setting my fork down beside my plate as I realize that thing in his eyes is a touch of melancholy. "I'm guessing your father doesn't see ranching the same way?"
Clark lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. "No, not really. My father has always been more focused on the practical side of things, the money and the bottom line. He looks at a herd and sees nothing but numbers and yield. I look at a herd and see a community, a family. I see the animals that need care and attention, the land that needs tending to, the traditions that have been passed down for generations."
"I can see that," I say, nodding in understanding. "So, the two of you, you don't see eye to eye?"
He lets out a hollow chuckle. "That would be an understatement. I haven't had much to do with him for a solid decade now. I prefer to work family ranches like Double C, and he prefers to do things his way. I send him a card for Christmas and birthdays."
I let out a sigh. "Was he like that when your mom was alive?"
