Page 13 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
“Six hundred acres,” Cash says, his voice low and proud. “We do horse sales and breeding, some boarding and training too. Couple of the guys compete in local events when we’ve got time, and we lease outparts of the land now and then. We’ve got a team who lives in the bunkers and helps us run the place.”
“That sounds like a full plate.”
He tosses me one of his captivating winks. “Walker handles most of the training. Ridge is the numbers guy. I keep things movin’ and deal with folks who need talkin’ to.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Is that cowboy code for intimidation?”
He grins. “Depends who I’m talkin’ to.”
We roll up the driveway, his thick, muscular forearms catching the gold wash of late sunlight. One hand grips the wheel, the other rests against the open window, wind teasing his dirty-blond hair like we’re in some kind of rugged romance novel I did not sign up for.
I have no idea what I’ve gotten myself into.
Three cowboys. One ranch. Zero backup plan.
But until I figure out how to make this work, or how to get paid for the ranch, I’m stuck here.
With him. With all three of them.
And I really need to stop staring at his arms.
4
CASH
Ipractically leap out of my truck the second we roll to a stop behind the main house, sucking in lungfuls of fresh Montana air like a drowning man. That twenty-minute drive from town nearly killed me.
Her scent. God Almighty, her scent is everywhere, clinging to my clothes, burrowing under my skin, wrapping around my cock like a silk fist. Jasmine tea and vanilla bean with rain on summer grass. It’s strangling me in the best and worst way possible.
I watch her climb out of the passenger side, those impossibly toned legs unfolding from my truck. This morning my biggest worry was dealing with that ornery stallion who keeps breaking through the north paddock fence. Now? Now I’m trying to wrangle the goddamn beast in my jeans that’s been rock hard since she slid into my truck.
She catches me staring, and I snap my gaze away, moving to the driver’s seat to grab my hat. Perfect. I’ll just hold it casually in front of me, totally natural. Nothing to see here, folks. Just a grown man hiding behind his Stetson like a teenager at his first dance.
“Everything okay?” Her voice has this little lilt to it, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
“Peachy keen,” I manage, gesturing toward the back door. “After you.”
Fuck me sideways, those leggings should be illegal. Black fabric hugging every curve, following the gentle swell of her hips, the perfect roundness of her ass. My fingers itch to trace those same lines, to peel that material down and discover if she tastes as good as she smells.
I guide her through the mudroom, past the kitchen, and into the front parlor. It’s the nicest room in the house with a massive stone fireplace, leather couches that have seen better days but are comfortable as hell, and that big round table in the back where we play poker every Thursday with whoever wants to join us.
“Ridge! Walker!” I holler toward the stairs and outside the front door. “Get your asses in here!”
Sophia settles onto the single armchair, crossing those legs that are going to haunt my dreams. She’s spectacular. Not in that obvious, trying-too-hard way I’ve seen in town. She’s got this natural elegance that tightens my balls.
Her reddish hair catches the afternoon lightstreaming through the windows, all those shades of copper and gold twisted together like expensive whiskey. She pushes it off her face and over her shoulders, leaving her neck exposed, and sweet merciful hell, I want to press my mouth right there where her pulse flutters. Her skin looks as soft as cream, scattered with tiny freckles across her nose.
But it’s her eyes that really get me. Deep green like summer pine needles. She’s got this way of looking at you dead-on, no bullshit, but then her gaze will skip away like she’s remembered she’s been caught staring. Makes me want to dig into every single thing about her. What happened to her and Rose’s grandson? What’s her life like in Chicago, and is she happy there? What would it take to make her look at me without that careful distance?
Ridge appears from upstairs, Walker from the direction of the rear rooms, and they both stop dead in their tracks just outside the parlor room when they see her properly. Walker’s breaths speed up. While Ridge, whoclaimshis busted scent senses make him immune to Omega appeal, shifts his weight like he’s been sucker punched.
“So,” I drawl, settling onto the couch across from her. “Sophia’s got some news from the lawyer.”
She uncrosses and recrosses her legs, and I have to bite back a groan. “Well, this is awkward.” She laughs, but it’s nervous as the guys enter the room and take seats on either side of me. “Turns out I’mnot just inheriting a ranch. I’m inheriting… roommates?”
“I need a bit more information.” Ridge’s voice is flat, careful.
“According to the will, I have to live here. On the ranch. For three months.” She rushes through it like ripping off a Band-Aid. “Starting immediately. Or I forfeit everything. So… surprise? You’ve got a house guest who has no idea what she’s doing but evidently needs to figure out the whole rent situation back home and probably buy some actual boots because these”—she gestures at her flats—“are going to get ruined.”
