Page 6 of His Big Hometown Cowboy
I just grinned back. “No promises.”
As I rode away, urging Pepper into a trot, I caught myself smiling—a wide, unrestrained smile, the kind I hadn’t felt crack my face in years.
Only a couple of hours to shower, change, and figure out what the hell I thought I was doing, starting something with my best friend’s little brother.
Something I wasn’t entirely sure I knew how to finish, but damn if I wasn’t suddenly desperate to try.
CHAPTER TWO
Tim
I’d triedon six shirts and hated all of them.
The pile on the bed grew as I ransacked my suitcase for the seventh time. What little I’d brought from San Francisco—mostly tech-bro casual or meeting-appropriate button-downs—felt completely wrong. None of it seemed right for... this. For him.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, biting the inside of my cheek. “It’s just drinks with Wyatt.”
Except it wasn’tjustanything. It was a date. With Wyatt Walker—the walking, talking embodiment of roughly eighty percent of my teenage fantasies.
The same guy who’d materialized at Brogan Creek this afternoon looking like he’d stepped out of a smoking hot ranch hand recruitment ad, all broad shoulders, sunbaked skin, and quiet, infuriating confidence.
God, he’d gotten even hotter. Was that even possible? Or fair?
My anxiety wasn’t about the clothes. It twisted deeper.
Was this just a curiosity for him, a way to scratch an itch with the conveniently returned kid brother? The thought sent a cold flicker through the nervous excitement.
No sleek SF bar demanding designer labels tonight, just... Wyatt. And that somehow felt infinitely more terrifying.
I yanked a gray henley over my head and squinted at my reflection in the mirror tacked to the back of the door. Not bad. Casual enough for a small-town bar, but the worn fabric clung just enough in the right places.
I rolled the sleeves to show a bit of forearm—a trick learned in SF boardrooms to project effortless competence—and forced myself to stop fussing.
The front door of the mobile home banged open, making me jump a foot.
“Tim?” Travis’s voice echoed down the short hallway. “You in here?”
“Bedroom!” I scrambled to shove the rejected clothing avalanche back into my suitcase, hiding the evidence of my meltdown.
My brother appeared in the doorway, still coated in a fine layer of dust and smelling of hay from his job at the Feed and Seed. He raised an eyebrow, taking in my slightly less-disheveled state. “You going somewhere?”
“Maybe.” I made a show of checking my phone, avoiding his gaze.
“Hot date?” The tease landed squarely on the truth, heat creeping up my neck.
“Just meeting a friend.”
Travis snorted, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. That stance always meant he wasn’t buying it. “Must be some friend. You actually combed your hair.”
“I always comb my hair.” I ran my fingers through it, deliberately mussing the careful arrangement.
“Sure you do.” His focus on me intensified. “Seriously though, you okay? Haven’t seen you this jumpy since prom night.”
I loved Travis, really. But damn, he knew exactly which buttons to push. Prom night. Why did he have to bringthatup?
Saved by the crunch of gravel. Headlights swept across the blinds of the bedroom window, followed by the low rumble of a truck engine idling outside.
“That’s my ride.” I snatched my wallet from the nightstand.
