Page 162 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
Her words slam into me. I grip the mic tighter, swallowing hard. “Martha, I’m so sorry about your farm.” My throat burns, but I push through it. “This fight isn’t just about us. It’s about everyone who believes land should mean more than money. About families, and roots, and—” My voice cracks, and I have to laugh softly at myself, blinking fast. “Sorry, I’m a mess.”
“That’s why we’re donating,” Martha says, her tone steadier now. “It’s not much, but every bit helps, right?”
“Every bit really does,” I manage, though the tears slip free this time. My vision blurs, and I don’t even care if half the county hears me sniffle live on air.
Cash’s hand slides under the table again, warm and solid over mine. He doesn’t say anything, but the weight of him there steadies me.
“And that’s what this is all about, folks,” Dave says. “Community. Supporting each other. If this is any sign of how the weekend will be, we’re in for something unforgettable.”
The ON AIR sign clicks off, and I rip off the headphones, swiping at my eyes with the back of my hand.Professional radio personality right here. Somebody give me a medal.
“You two were perfect,” Dave explains, standing to shake our hands again. “Absolutely perfect. Thephones are still ringing. And before you leave, can we get a quick photo of you two for our website?”
Cash takes off his hat, running a hand through his hair, and I catch the glint of sweat at his temples. He looks rugged and untouchable, and yet entirely mine.
“Thanks for having us,” he says easily, that smooth charm sliding back into place like it never left. Then we head out of the studio and out of the building.
Cash leans in closer. “Don’t worry, sugar. If you keep cryin’ on air, folks’ll just donate more. Nobody can resist a teary-eyed Omega fightin’ for her land.”
I elbow him gently in the ribs, laughing. “So you’re saying I should ugly-cry my way through the whole fundraiser?”
He grins, wicked and soft all at once. “You do that, and we’ll have enough money to buy the whole damn county.”
32
SOPHIA
Night Before
The ranch house is unusually quiet for eleven at night. No music from Cash’s room, no sound of Walker’s late-night cooking experiments. Even the cats have settled early, with Chonkarella curled on the bed with her kittens. But I can’t sleep. Tomorrow Ridge rides, and my nerves are frayed.
I pad through the dark house in one of Walker’s shirts and sleep shorts, checking rooms. Cash is passed out, fully clothed, on the couch, still wearing his boots. He’d been setting up at the arena until past ten. Walker crashed on our bed, already sleeping.
But Ridge is nowhere to be found.
I know where he’ll be.
The night air is cooler than expected as I step ontothe back porch, cicadas creating their symphony in the darkness. There’s no moon tonight, just stars scattered across the sky like spilled sugar. I grab the blanket off the porch swing and head toward the old oak tree.
Ridge is there, of course. Sitting on the massive stump. His silhouette is unmistakable with broad shoulders hunched forward, elbows on knees, hat tipped back. The bottle of whiskey beside him catches starlight.
I approach quietly, bare feet careful on the rough ground, but he knows I’m coming. Ridge always knows where I am, like there’s an invisible thread between us.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asks.
“Bed’s too big without all of you in it,” I say, settling beside him without asking permission.
He hands me the bottle of Maker’s Mark, and I take a sip, immediately grimacing as it burns down my throat.
“Still can’t handle whiskey, city girl?” There’s a ghost of his usual teasing in his voice.
“Still can’t understand why anyone drinks liquid fire voluntarily.” I hand it back, watching him take a longer pull. “How long have you been out here?”
“Hour. Maybe two.” He stares at the horizon where tomorrow the sun will rise on the day that changes everything. “Couldn’t stop thinking.”
“About?”
“Everything. Nothing.” He rolls the bottle between his palms. “You ever play out every possible scenario ofsomething until you’ve convinced yourself they’re all disasters?”
