Page 36 of Lost in the Reins

Oh.

Oh.

And suddenly this barn feels a lot smaller, the morning air charged with possibilities I never wrote about in my perfectly plotted romance novels. Because this—this messy, complicated, absolutely terrifying reality—is better than any story I could have created.

"For what it's worth," I say softly, reaching out to help him fend off Daisy's latest assault on his pocket, "I think you're doing a pretty amazing job. With Emma, with the ranch... with everything."

Our hands brush, and the contact sends electricity shooting through me. His fingers close around mine, warm and callused and real.

"Even though I compared my family to goats?"

"Especially because you compared your family to goats." I laugh, but it comes out shaky. "Very authentic. My readers will love it."

"Your readers." Something shifts in his expression. "Is that all this is? Research?"

And there it is: the question I've been avoiding since that first morning in the creek. The one that could change everything or break everything or maybe, just maybe, make everything make sense.

"No," I whisper, watching his eyes darken. "I don't think it is."

Chapter Sixteen

Paisley

Aweek of awkward breakfast encounters and carefully timed chore rotations has taught me one very important thing: admitting feelings for a stoic cowboy in a barn while a goat tries to eat his shirt pocket is not, in fact, the most romantic way to start a relationship. Especially when said cowboy responds by suddenly remembering urgent fence repairs on the far side of the ranch.

"Earth to Paisley." Jake's voice breaks through my brooding as we bump along the ranch road toward town. He waves a coffee cup in front of my face like he's trying to lure a caffeine-addicted bear out of hibernation. “You okay over there?”

“I’m fi—“ I catch his knowing look and sigh. “In my defense, it's been a rough week."

The truck hits a pothole that probably has aspirations of becoming the Grand Canyon, and I grab the door handle to keep from bouncing into the ceiling. Jake navigates the familiar terrain with the same easy confidence all the Montgomerys seem to share, which is honestly just unfair. Even their bad driving looks graceful.

"So," he drawls in that way that means I'm not going to like whatever comes next, "we gonna talk about why my brother's been avoiding the house like it's got the plague?"

"No." I study the passing landscape with intense fascination. "We are absolutely not going to talk about that. We're going to talk about... hay prices. Or literally anything else."

"Uh-huh." Jake's tone could power a small city with pure skepticism. "That why you volunteered to help Martha with festival planning? To discuss hay prices?"

The truth is, I volunteered because spending the afternoon with Martha's enthusiastic matchmaking feels less terrifying than another day of careful distance and loaded silence with Wes. One week of trying to pretend I didn't basically confess my feelings while standing in a barn at dawn has taught me that I am absolutely terrible at casual indifference.

"I'm being helpful," I defend, though it sounds weak even to my ears. "Community involvement. Very authentic research material."

"Right." Jake takes a corner fast enough to make me question my life choices.

"I hate you." But there's no heat in it. The truth is, I've grown genuinely fond of all the Montgomery brothers over the past month. Even if one of them is currently driving like we're auditioning forFast and Furious: Montana Drift.

"No, you don't." He navigates another bone-rattling section of road. "You like us. All of us. One of us in particular."

I groan, slumping in my seat. "Can we go back to talking about hay prices?"

"We could," he agrees cheerfully. "Or we could talk about how you've been wearing Wes's shirts for a month now."

"They're comfortable!" I protest, tugging at the sleeve of yet another borrowed flannel. "And practical. And... shut up."

Jake laughs—that full, warm sound that reminds me so much of his brother. "You know," he says, voice softening slightly, "I haven't seen him this tied up in knots since... well, ever. He's not great at letting people in."

"Really? I hadn't noticed, what with all the urgent fence repairs he suddenly remembered needed doing on the complete opposite side of the ranch from wherever I am."

"He'll figure it out." Jake's confidence would be comforting if I hadn't spent the last week watching Wes practically sprint in the opposite direction every time we're alone together. "He's just... processing."

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