Page 18 of Rope Me In

“Thanks, Lyla.”

After she sends me Blake’s number and we say our goodbyes, I sit on my bed and open a blank text to my new boss that I haven’t even met or spoken to.

I sigh. Am I really going to do this? Work on a ranch? Now I’ll be around people all day and night, which wasn’t exactly part of my plan. I just hope I’ll be able to play my fiddle without people hearing. The last thing I want is for anyone to find out I play right now, not until I figure out what it is I even want.

Gosh, was I stupid for agreeing to this? I don’t know if I’m cut out for ranch work. I know it will be hard work, which I’m not opposed to—I love working hard. It makes me feel accomplished. But working outside? Working with farm animals? I also don’t do well in the heat and sun for long periods of time. But I guess that’s what water and sunscreen is for.

I lay on the creaky twin bed and stare up at the ceiling just as my phone vibrates. I don’t have to look at it to know who it is, but I do anyway.

DEREK: The band wants to talk to you. You’re acting selfish, P.

P. He knows I hate when he calls me that. The freaking asshole. My vision goes blurry, and the feeling of failure, of being unsure of myself, creeps back in—or should I sayintensifiessince I don’t think those feelings ever left. Changing my location didn’t change my personality.

When my phone vibrates with another message, I don’t read it—I simply swipe up to clear the notification then open thetext to Blake and send her a message. I can’t go back to my old life. I just can’t. There’s a reason I turned my life upside down and came here. I need to see where this leads, if only to prove to myself that Derek doesn’t rule over me anymore.

When my phone vibrates again, thankfully, it’s Blake.

BLAKE: Let’s meet Wednesday morning. I’ll send you the address.

With a renewed sense of determination, I send her a confirmation message then shut my eyes, holding my phone to my chest. I guess I’m really going to do this. I’m going to be a ranch hand. If only college Presley could see me now.

Chapter 7

Kade

I wipe down aglass and put it in its place under the bar. It’s just about six o’clock on a Sunday, and Night Hawk isn’t too busy yet—which annoys me.

I wasn’t even supposed to be working, but after I finished patching up the south pasture, I took a ride on my horse, hoping it would clear my mind since my dip in the spring and work had failed to do so. But just like everything else, it didn’t help. So I came here, praying the chatter of people and maybe a couple of women to flirt with would stop the thoughts that just won’t quit. But no luck so far.

I pick up another glass, wiping it down as I stare at one of the neon signs above the bar that says, “Never Stop Lovin’ Cowboys.” Kind of a funny sign if you ask me, considering people love the idea of cowboys but usually not the cowboy themselves. Or they think a cowboy is the kind they read about in romance novels or see on TV, when in fact there’s only a small percentage that make the kind of living people who come to this bar expect. In reality, being a cowboy is hard fucking work, and most of us are broke.

I chuckle sadly, because when I was a kid, I had naïve ideas like that, too. I wanted to be one of those fancy cowboys. I’d often daydream about becoming a reining champion, a competitive Western discipline where a rider takes a horse through a precise pattern of circles, spins, and stops. After I made a name for myself by winning a bunch of fancy titles, I wanted to use thoseskills to train the next generation of reiners, breed horses, the whole shebang.

In many ways, I wanted to create the kind of life Blake grew up having and build a similar operation to the one her family runs now. I wanted to make the Montgomery Family Ranch a name that people in the sport could trust. A legacy for my children, if I were to have any.

But that dream died. Not because I wasn’t good—the opposite, actually—but I learned at a young age that I wasn’t meant for silly things like big dreams. Not only did Dad constantly remind me of my responsibilities around the ranch and how my training got in the way of those responsibilities, but my momentum was crushed early on.

I had qualified for a big senior youth competition in Arizona, one that could have put my name on the map if I even placed in the top ten. I had given Dad the paperwork I needed to enter, but he passed it on to Gavin to complete because he was busy. Gavin forgot, and I missed the deadline.

I remember the night I found out so clearly, the utter blood-boiling rage I felt. How I literally could see all my dreams disappearing into the air like my breath on a cold winter night. I think that was the first time I truly lost myself and let my temper get the best of me, so much so that I hit Gavin and we got into a huge fight.

In hindsight, I know missing the deadline was not his fault. Just like me, he had a lot on his plate. Dad had given him more responsibility than he could handle on the ranch, and as I later found out, he was just told he couldn’t go away for college. He was needed on the ranch, and if he wanted to continue school, community college was his only option.

The whole ordeal is just another example of our dad not being a great dad. And the more I think about our childhood, especially my teenage years, the more I wonder if Emmett Montgomery was never the man I thought he was.

“Can I get another beer, son?”

I turn to look at one of the locals, Jerry. Like many of the older men in this town, he’s rough around the edges. Crow’s feet line the corners of his brown eyes, and the skin on his face is tanned and sunspotted.

“Sure thing.”

I hand him the longneck after I’ve removed the bottle cap on the bar top, a bit of a tradition around here. I don’t know who started it, probably Jake’s Pops. The wooden top has dents and nicks all up and down it. Jake claims that just like the peanut shells on the floor, it gives Night Hawk a certain charm. And I suppose it does. Much like most of my friends, we grew up coming to this bar with our parents since nobody had babysitters. It looks a lot different now, but I like it all the same. Jake’s done a nice job creating a place that’s welcoming and fun.

I hear a man whistle, and I pop my chin up to the sight of blonde-and-purple hair walking into the bar. I pick up another glass to wipe off as Presley approaches with her head down, eyes cast to the floor. The apples of her cheeks have turned pink from the man’s attention, which strikes me as a bit odd, considering everything about her screams for attention—her wild hair, her tattoos, that full bottom of hers in those tight jeans.

When she reaches the bar, she glances those pretty blue eyes of hers up at me for only a second, but it’s enough for me to see the stain of her cheeks turn a shade darker. The colors have me thinking about last night, how she watched me feel up the girl in the back room. I wonder if that darker flush means she’s remembering it, too, or if it was simply caused by the whistle. Since I don’t know Presley that well, I’m finding it difficult to get a read on her.

When I open my mouth to greet her, her head turns to Jerry, who’s staring at her—well, more like at her hair and tattoos. She awkwardly waves at him then bolts to the back room before either of us can get a word out. It’s a strange reaction, but maybe it’s because of me and what she saw last night. Or Icould be giving myself too much credit and it’s just her general awkwardness.

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