Page 26 of My Rancher Valentine

Was he right? It wasn’t as if Beau had the best reputation at home. Who could say what he was like when he went off to ride at different rodeos? Maybe all that talk about how many women he has been with lately was only that. Talk.

“Look, you know me,” Devon went on. “I’m a from the hip kind of guy. No pretense. What you see is what you get. I would never promise you something I couldn’t follow through on.”

I narrowed my eyes as I stared back at him. “What’s your end game here?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you just admitted that you aren’t interested in anything serious. You said yourself you aren’t the marrying kind, but you want me to what? Walk away from Beau? Sleep with you? What?”

“I’m just looking out for you.” He tipped up the side of his mouth. “I’d hate to see you get hurt. If that lands us in bed together, all the better.”

“How do I make you understand this?” I pulled in a long breath and held it for a moment. “Even if there was no Beau or any other man on this Earth or any planet in the sky, I still wouldn’t sleep with you. Like ever, and it has nothing to do with your reputation or the fact that sex is the only thing you want. I wouldn’t do it because there is nothing about the way you act, talk, or carry yourself that tells me you would have any emotion about it except for checking off a box on a list of women you think you should have.”

“And what are you? God’s gift to men?” He sneered.

“Not even close, but I do have standards, and you don’t meet them.”

“Bitch.” He stepped toward me, but before he could touch me, Beau was right there.

“I know I didn’t just hear you disrespect my girl.” He stepped between us.

“You know what? Fuck both of you.” Devon looked me up and down. “You’ve never been worth it. I hope you’re happy when he’s screwing women in every state, and you’re home with nothing but a broken heart.” He stormed off.

Beau took a step toward him, but I held onto his arm to keep him there.

“Don’t.” I moved my hand up and down his arm. “He’s pissed he didn’t get what he wanted.”

“But he had no right to talk to you like that.” He spun to face me. “And why are you alone?”

“Cause I’m a grown woman.”

“But you knew he was being an ass.” Beau looked about as angry with me as he was with Devon. “I told you I wanted someone with you after the way he grabbed you yesterday.”

“Again, I’m a grown woman, and I don’t need a babysitter or a bodyguard. I handled myself just fine.” I pointed out.

“Really? What were you going to do if I hadn’t come out when I did?” He asked. “It didn’t look like he was going in for a hug.”

“Then I would have handled that, too.” My own anger rose. “You need to chill the hell out. I’m not really your fiancée. None of this is real, and all this heavy-handed crap is really starting to get on my nerves.”

“I know that, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t care about you.” He argued back. “And stop saying none of this is real. It might have started off fake, but it was never fake to me.”

“Yeah, right. Like you would marry me after five seconds and one not-real date.” I turned to head for the exit. “Also, for the record, I am going home, and do mean my home. If you try to blackmail me into staying again, I will drop-kick you where you stand.”

“Just a minute.” He rushed up and stepped in front of me. “I have known you since we were fifteen. It isn’t just five seconds and one ‘not real’ date.” He put his hands up to make air quotes.

“You don’t know me.” I pushed back.

“Really? Then how come I know you spent thirty minutes every other week picking out a new book at the bookstore?” I stepped back. There was no way he should know that.

“How come I know your favorite soda is ginger ale? That when we were in high school, you used to walk past the library every day on the way home from school even though it was two blocks out of the way?”

“I know you love your kitten, Austin, who you named after your favorite author. That even while you were in college, youhad Sunday dinner with your mom every week, that you secretly want to be a feature writer like Margo Munro, or a documentary filmmaker. I also know that you really hate covering the rodeo.”

“There’s no way you can know all those things.” I shook my head. “Have you been following me all these years?”

“I might have watched you walk home a few times to make sure you got there safe, and I might have noticed you at the bookstore and asked a few questions,” he said it like that wasn’t creepy.

“What about Austin and the soda and the writing?”

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