Page 15 of Christmas with Three Cowboys

Time seems to stand still.

He’s close. Too close and with no regard for my personal space. But honestly, I don’t mind it. If there were no repercussions, I’d get naked with him right then and there. But therewould berepercussions.

“Hey,” I mumble. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” He almost laughs, the tension suddenly fizzling away between us.

“I don’t know what else to say.”

Colton gives me a warm smile, hands deep in his jeans pockets as he shifts his body weight from one leg to the other. “We need to talk about yesterday.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Don’t be afraid. I was out of line. It won’t happen again. No matter how I feel, it was completely unprofessional and disrespectful. Rest assured, your position here is in no jeopardy whatsoever.”

I give him a surprised look. “You’re not sending me back to Ridgeboro?”

“Honestly, I’ve only known you for a couple of days, but I can already tell you have no business being in that place,” he says. “So, no, I’m not sending you back. It’s my fault, anyway. You’re safe here; I just need you to know that.”

The knot in my gut begins to slowly unravel, and I let out a loud breath—the one I’d been holding since this conversation started.

“Thank you, Colton. For what it’s worth, I’m partly to blame, too. I didn’t stop you. If anything, I was an eager participant. So, if you want to deduct something from my pay, go ahead and do that.”

“That’s not gonna happen,” he says and smiles, his gaze softening as it searches my face for… something. “You’re full of surprises, I’ll give you that.”

I watch him confidently stride out of the kitchen, his broad shoulders back and his head held high. He must be pleased with how the conversation went, and frankly, so am I. It’s nice to feel safe after so long, but still, there’s that lingering anxietyabout being sent back to prison. It affects my every interaction. Of course, it’s not healthy to indulge that fear, but it’s hard to control when so much is on the line.

The worst part is I that I keep thinking about Colton’s kiss, about the way his hands felt on my body, of how his fingers spread me open and explored me. Maybe it’s because I’ve been celibate the last three years, but I felt a connection there —a chemistry between us.

And then there’s Ethan’s dark gaze and intense allure. And Mitch’s boyish smile and spicy humor. Alone, each of them is irresistible. But together? Holy shit, how could any womannotfall head over heels for them.

And that is precisely what I can’t do. I can’t let my desire take over. I need to keep a professional distance—my head down, my nose clean, just like Bucky said. It’s the only way I’ll get to finish my sentence on the ranch instead back at Ridgeboro. That’s the simple truth.

Too bad it’s easier said than done.

I’m choppingcarrots and sweet potatoes for a veal stew when I find my thoughts once again wandering back to yesterday’s events, and the memory of Colton’s touch triggers a variety of heated sensations throughout my body. I weigh the idea of going upstairs to finish myself off to take the edge off. But Darla comes in, and I revert to full, professional work mode, chopping away with a faint smile on my lips.

“How’s it going?” she asks, stopping by the coffee machine first.

“Good, thank you. I’m using that veal you bought yesterday for a nice stew.”

She nods while waiting for her coffee to brew. I’m starting to really enjoy the buzzing sound of the espresso machine. It’s the kind of sound that soothes my brain.

“Sounds wonderful. Do you have everything you need?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve taken the liberty of using some of the frozen tomatoes you saved over the summer for the red sauce instead of the usual canned stuff. Hope that’s not a problem.”

“Not at all. That’s one of the reasons I stacked them in the freezer, to be honest,” Darla replies. “I doubt I’ll ever get to enjoy a red sauce again, but it doesn’t mean to rest of y’all can’t enjoy it for me.”

“What did the doctor say?” I ask.

Darla takes a seat in one of the tall chairs by the counter island, sipping her coffee as she watches my hands work. “We’re still waiting on a round of tests to figure out if it’s a bacterial infection. It’s a possibility, given how bountiful life on the ranch can be in that sense.”

“There’s bacteria that messes with your sense of taste?”

“And smell. Yeah. There are viruses that do the same. So, they’re testing for everything. Frankly, I’m getting tired of all the poking and prodding. All the needles and MRIs…”

“So, it’s not necessarily a neurodegenerative condition?”

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