Page 4 of Her Protective Cowboy

I grab the charger and hand it to her across the counter. "Here you go. This should do the trick."

She takes it with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Wyatt."

When she plugs in her phone, I catch a glimpse of the lock screen. It's a photo of Melody in the arms of a broad-shouldered man in a suit. They're both smiling for the camera. But something about it feels off now. I look away quickly. “You want something to drink? A soda or something?”

Some of the tension leaves Melody’s shoulders. “A Coke would be perfect if you have one.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart. Coming right up.”

I head to the back room where we keep the mini-fridge and dig around for a Coke as I think about Melody's situation. Something doesn't sit right.

A woman in a wedding dress showing up out of nowhere. No car. No working phone. It's strange. I've seen tourists get into scrapes before. But this feels different. What's she running from? And what made her choose to stop here of all places?

Finally, I find a glass bottle of Coke buried in the back and straighten up. I pop the cap off the bottle. Melody’s life is not my business I remind myself. I'm just here to help her out then send her on her way.

I walk back toward the front, rehearsing casual conversation starters in my head. Maybe I can get her talking about New York, keep things light.

I’m halfway through the store when I look up and my steps falter. The spot where Melody was sitting is empty. My eyes dart to the window.

And that’s when I see my red pickup speeding down the driveway with Melody at the wheel.

Shit.

Chapter Two

MELODY

I barely get to the bottom of the driveway before I take a curve too fast. The steering wheel vibrates under my sweaty palms as I try to regain control.

But it’s no use. The red pickup lurches into a ditch, the tires spinning against the muddy gravel. I drop my forehead against the steering wheel and groan.

I’ve never stolen anything in all of my twenty-two years of life. But here I am, on a ranch I’ve never seen before, in a truck I just stole. Panic rises in my throat as I think back to the text I got from my ex-fiancé, Bradley, moments ago back at the ranch gift shop.

This was supposed to be my wedding day. The happiest day of my life. Getting married in Jackson Hole was always my dream. But now I’m running from the man I was supposed to marry, with no plan and nowhere to turn.

Curling up on the bench seat, I bury my face in my arms and let the tears take over. After a few minutes of wallowing in self-pity, I’m startled by a sudden knock on the driver’s side window.

My heart leaps into my throat, and I jerk upright to see a tall figure standing outside in the pouring rain.

Shit. It’s the cowboy from the gift shop.

Fear churns in my stomach as I take in his stormy expression. I’m sure he’s probably furious with me for stealing his truck. Swallowing hard, I reluctantly crank down the window.

“Wyatt, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight and I?—”

But he cuts me off. “Are you hurt?”

What? Why does he care if I’m okay after what I did?

“I’m fine. A-are you going to call the police?” I barely recognize my own small, wobbly voice.

Wyatt heaves a long sigh. “No. I’m not going to call the police.”

Relief crashes through me, followed swiftly by confusion. “But why not? I stole your truck.”

He snorts. “This thing’s a piece of shit. Been meaning to get a new one anyway.” Then his eyes soften. “Besides, seems to me you’re already dealing with more than your share of trouble today.”

I search his face, trying to understand. He’s frustrated for sure. But there’s something else in his expression too. Something almost... protective?

---