Page 44 of Ride a Cowboy

“Sharon gave you perfect birthdays. All I’ve given you is a gigantic mess.”

“Stop it. I don’t ever want to hear you compare yourself to her again. It’s not a competition, Macie. Jesus. You’re you and she was her. You’re not the same woman, and I sure as hell don’t want or expect you to be.”

“You would think you being sweet about this would help, but it doesn’t. Just makes me feel worse.” She sniffled. “You even had to buy your own dinner. And it’s in a bucket, not on nice plates. Just feels like I’m not really cut out for this.”

“For what?”

“Ranch life. I mean, what do I contribute around here? I can’t cook for the hands or you. There are more wrinkles in a shirt after I iron it than before. And I typically get my apartment cleaned through blackmail.”

“Blackmail?”

“Adele’s no angel.”

Hank didn’t bother to hide his grin anymore, which only served to tweak Macie even more. Clearly she thought he was laughing at her.

“Anything else?” he asked, deciding it was probably good that they got all this out on the table now. He wasn’t sure what had gotten her so down on herself, but he’d noticed a definite change in the last week or so. Given her usual overabundance of confidence, he hated seeing her questioning her worth.

“I’m not overly fond of horses. Or cows—lot of flies come with those damn cows. I grew up in town, so I’m used to streetlights. It gets really fucking dark out here. Like, unnaturally dark.”

“So you don’t want to live on the ranch?”

Her eyes widened. “I didn’t say that. I just said I didn’t grow up like this. I’m pretty sure there are things I should—or could—be doing to pitch in that I don’t even know about. Like,” she waved her hand around, “mucking a stall or something.”

“You want to clean up horse shit?”

She crinkled her nose. “Christ, no. I’m just making a point. And you’re being contrary on purpose.”

Hank got up from the floor, dragging a chair over so he could sit close to her. “You’re right. I am. Because nothing you’re saying makes sense. I pay ranch hands to muck the stalls. I’m not dating you because I want a housekeeper or a cook. I could pay somebody to do that too. Or, like you said, I could just blackmail your sister. By the way, what’s going on with Adele and Porter?”

“I have no idea. It started a few days ago.”

“Are they fighting?”

She shrugged. “I think it looks a lot like sexual tension. Which is weird because I didn’t think they ever really talked to each other beyond her taking his order at the restaurant.”

“Yeah.” The squirrel he’d tossed in her path only distracted her for a minute. Then she looked around the kitchen again, and he could see fresh tears filling her pretty brown eyes.

“Macie. Don’t cry. I mean it. There’s nothing here to cry about. This is probably one of the best birthdays I’ve ever had.”

“You’re just being nice.”

“No. I’m not. You can’t cook and you know that. Even so, you stepped way out of your comfort zone to try it. For me. That’s one of the nicest things anybody’s ever done for me, Whiskey.”

“I thought after last year’s birthday…”

“Porter really filled you in on everything, didn’t he?”

“I asked.”

“I got wasted. Locked myself in the living room and fell into a bottle of whiskey. Not my brightest move. Paid for it with the mother of all hangovers for two days after.”

“That’s why I wanted to make sure this year was different.”

He cupped her cheek and then, because he couldn’t resist her a second longer, he kissed her. “You did, believe me.”

He grinned and she rolled her eyes.

“I meant different in a good way. All this room makes me want to do is fall into my own bottle of bourbon.”

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