Page 7 of Running to the Cowboy

I shake my head.

“What’s your name?”

I swallow what’s left in my mouth and say, “Olivia.”

“Where you from?”

I only stare up and blink.

Wylie says, “You come from that place east of here, right?”

I can’t hide the shock that he guessed it right away.

“Thought as much,” he says softy.

I wait for him to give me the third degree. I wait for questions about my family, about what we do on the other side of the fence. I wait for him to ask if the rumors are true.

But he doesn’t ask anything like that.

“I’ll get you something to wear. Sorry to tell you, this house is full of men: my two brothers and me, as well as our cook and housekeeper. But later on, I can get one of our ranch hands—a woman—to take you to town and help you pick out some clothes. Have you looked at by the doctor in town.”

“Will you be there?” I ask, ashamed of my neediness.

Wylie shakes his head. “My brothers and I have a lot of work today.”

“Maybe I can help,” I say, perking up. “I’ve worked with animals before.”

He smiles. “In what? The ripped-up pajamas I found wrapped up in the barbed wire this morning?”

It takes a moment to realize he’s gently teasing. “Right,” I say.

“Besides, you’re still sick and injured. I’d be irresponsible to put you on a horse.”

I chew on my bottom lip and think of what else I can do to repay him for his kindness and earn some money to get my siblings and friends out of the compound.

“Maybe you have indoor chores I can do?”

Again, Wylie chuckles, and it’s starting to annoy me. He’s friendly but seems to think I’m not cut out for ranch work.

He sees I’m irritated and covers his mouth with his hand. And then, unexpectedly, Wylie sits on the bed beside me.

My breath catches in my throat. My instinct is to back away because I’m not supposed to be alone with a man. But the pull of this cowboy fights against my better judgment.

“Listen,” he says. “I appreciate your work ethic. But you need to heal, do you hear me?”

I nod as I try to keep my bottom lip from jutting out. “And I’ll be out of your hair as soon as possible.”

Something in what I said doesn’t sit right with him.

I clutch the blanket tighter around me, waiting for him to voice his disapproval.

But he doesn’t do that.

“Let me have a look at your feet.”

I scoot myself back against the headboard, frightened at the thought of any man touching my feet. Touching my forehead was intimate enough. “My feet are fine.”

“I’m not arguing with you, Olivia.”

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