Page 17 of His Cowboy Heart

“I think I’m good on that front,” I responded. As much as I liked knowing my friend was happy and he wanted to share that happiness with me, the absolute last thing I wanted or needed was a setup of any kind… with anyone. The whole wanting my own hot cowboy nonsense had been a way to keep Brooks’s mind off all the memories he’d have to deal with when he temporarily moved to Eden to help his uncle with his financial records. I’d already known the emotional toll would make him feel like he was drowning, so I’d wanted to make sure he knew I was there for him, even if I had to be outlandish and over the top to do it.

Brooks released me and forced me to turn around. “Wait, did you already find one? Don’t let what those assholes in town did to you turn you off all?—”

“It’s not that,” I cut him off because the last thing I wanted to talk about was having the crap beaten out of me only to be rescued by a man with bourbon eyes and a sinfully talented mouth.

“Then what is it? You were so set on hooking yourself a cowboy, I thought for sure when you saw all those guys in boots and Stetsons at the airport, you’d?—"

“I met someone,” I interjected.

“Here on the ranch? Who is it? That new guy, Flynn? I know he’s super hot—and don’t tell Xavier I said that because he’ll be pissed…” Brooks’s words dropped off as he got this faraway look in his eye the second he said Xavier would be pissed. His face was flushed with even more color now and his eyes were glazing over.

God, I already had to listen to the happy couple go at it like bunnies on steroids, but to imagine my friend being “punished” in such a way that left him forming an erotic fantasy in his mindright in front of mewas more than I could bear.

“Brooks,” I said. The man didn’t move a muscle but when he closed his eyes, I yelled, “Brooks!”

“What?” Brooks asked in confusion. He seemed to not even remember how he’d ended up in the kitchen.

“I swear to God, if I could figure out how to ram this wooden spoon through your?—”

“Okay, okay, right,” Brooks cut me off. “Sorry, bad habit,” he acknowledged.

“I really hate you right now,” I said snidely. “I get it. You’ve got your cowboy. He’s hot as fuck and you’re finally letting your freak flag fly. On top of all that, you’re like… in love and shit.”

When Brooks began to look all doe-eyed again, I began reaching for one of the wooden spoons I’d been using to stir the stew. He snapped out of it and grabbed my wrist. “Okay, sorry, for real this time. What were we talking about—right, the new guy, Flynn. I’m sorry, Jules, but I don’t think he’s ga?—"

“I met a guy in, um, Casper. At that club,” I blurted. “What did you think I was doing those extra few days I stayed in that dump of a motel?” I improvised. Anything to get off the topic of Flynn…

Brooks almost seemed disappointed by my admission. I hated lying to him, especially since our friendship was growing stronger every day, but the last thing I needed was him playing matchmaker. “You did?” he asked in surprise.

I turned back to the stew and began stirring it again. “Yeah, he’s actually from New York. Some kind of investment banker or some shit like that. Anyway, he had a long layover in Casper before his flight to LA, so he went looking for a hookup.” It took all I had to soften my voice so I could coyly add, “He extended his layover by a few days. We made plans to meet up once we’re both back in New York.”

“Wow,” Brooks said. I could see and hear suspicion mixing with his disbelief. It took him several beats to open his arms again. “I’m so happy for you.”

I forced myself to step into his embrace.

“What’s his name?” Brooks asked.

My brain and tongue chose that moment to battle over blurting Flynn’s. Thankfully, my brain won out and I managed to keep Flynn’s name to myself, but when I saw Brooks watching me expectantly, my brain decided it was a good time to take a break and go blank altogether.

I opened and closed my mouth half a dozen times before I nearly shouted “Stew” when I saw one of the cans of stewed tomatoes that I’d just tossed into the recycle bin. “Yeah, Stew. Short for Stewart.”

“Stew,” Brooks repeated. “An investment banker named Stew.”

“Yeah, Stew,” I said as I backed away from Brooks. I crossed my arms, ignoring the fact that I had stew spraying my clothes because I’d neglected to leave the stirring spoon in the pot. “What’s wrong with Stew? It’s a real name,” I insisted.

“I know, I know,” Brooks said evenly before he removed the spoon from my hand. “It’s just when I think of you and an investment banker, it’s… surprising.”

I turned so I was facing the sink. I began washing my hands as my mouth continued to spew complete and utter bullshit.

“Yeah, well, he may wear suits and shit, but he’s a freak in bed,” I insisted. “I mean, we’re talking toys and cuffs… that man got thefullJules treatment,” I said with a nod. “Why do you think he decided to stay in Casper two extra days? Only time we left the motel room was to get some more condoms and lu?—”

I froze because in the process of turning around so I could be looking at Brooks while I convinced him that I was still “the same ole Jules,” my eyes connected with Flynn’s. He was standing in the open door several feet behind Brooks and he did not look happy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I muttered under my breath.

“Did you say something—” Brooks began to say even as he shifted his weight with the intent of looking behind him.

“Nothing!” I practically shouted. Brooks jerked his eyes back to mine. I could tell he thought I was going nuts, but the last thing I needed was for him to see through all my lies. “I heard something,” I yelled before catching how loud I was being. “Uncle Curtis, was that you calling for Brooks just now?” I called over my shoulder. I didn’t even wait for a response before steering Brooks toward the stairs. “He’s coming, Uncle Curtis. I told him about the boxes of receipts you needed help with.”

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