Page 31 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
“Have a little faith.”
They head out together, Sophia barely reaching Walker’s shoulder but matching him stride for stride. Everyone in the dining hall watches them go.
“You keep staring like that,” Cash observes, “and people might think you’re obsessed with our new Omega.”
“Fuck you,” I tease, stabbing at my eggs while still standing by the buffet.
“Just saying. Your eyes didn’t leave her until she walked out.”
I have to agree, damn him. I force myself to focus on my plate, but my mind is already wandering.
I risk one last glance toward the door they disappeared through. Three months and she’ll sell the ranch and go back to Chicago, where she belongs.
Except Cash is right about one thing: She doesn’t look like someone who’s planning to leave.
And that terrifies me more than any bull ever could.
8
SOPHIA
Walker leads me out of the dining hall, his boots beating a steady rhythm against the packed-dirt path, the sun rising, already promising a hot day. I have to do a little skip-step occasionally to keep up with his longer stride, but I don’t mind. The morning air is fresh, carrying scents of hay and horses. There’s something calming about being on a ranch.
“So,” I start, then stop, suddenly feeling awkward. How do you ask virtual strangers about borrowing their stuff? “I was wondering… is there maybe a vehicle I could use sometime? To get back to Chicago for clothes and things?” I gesture at my limited outfit of jeans and a shirt that I’m wearing today. “I only packed clothes for a few days.”
Walker glances down at me, and a piece of dark hair falls over his eye. He’s wearing a faded denim shirttoday, sleeves rolled to reveal forearms I can’t stop staring at. His muscles bulge against the fabric. His jeans are worn, and those boots… why are cowboy boots so attractive?
“Got a spare truck you can use anytime,” he says easily, like lending vehicles to almost strangers is perfectly normal. “Old Ford, nothing fancy but she runs well. Keys are on the hook by the kitchen door. Just let me know when you want to head out, and I’ll show you her quirks.”
“Really? Just like that?”
“We’ve got more vehicles than sense around here,” he says with a slight smile that speeds my pulse. “Happy to have someone actually use her. She gets cranky sitting too long.”
“The truck gets cranky?”
“Definitely. Stubborn in second gear, likes to stall if you don’t sweet-talk her.” He says it completely seriously, but there’s warmth in those brown eyes that suggests he’s teasing.
I smile. “Thanks for letting me borrow her, but I should warn you, I can’t drive stick.”
“Well then,” he drawls. “I might have to teach you.”
The grin of mine widens at the thought and no judgment.
“Anyway, how’d it go with the rental company? They giving you grief about the car?”
I groan. “They’re being a nightmare. Apparently,attacked by bullisn’t covered under standard insurance. Who knew? But I managed to work out a payment plan for the deductible, six months instead of all up front. Small miracles.”
“That’s good. Brutus has damaged more vehicles than I can count. We keep offering to pen him up better, but old Mr. Crawford insists he’s a free-range bull in his yard, yet he keeps escaping.” Walker shakes his head. “Free-range pain in the ass is more like it.”
“Walker Stone!” a woman’s voice calls out.
We both turn to see a woman practically bouncing toward us. She’s about my height but seems taller because of her energy alone, curly brown hair escaping from what might have been a bun at some point. Her sundress is covered in sunflowers and looks genuinely vintage, not the fake kind from boutiques. Freckles dust her nose and cheeks, and her hazel eyes spark. She is beautiful and maybe younger than me by a couple of years.
“Morning, June,” Walker answers, and there’s definite fondness mixed with resignation in his tone. They know each other. “You’re out early.”
“Early? It’s practically noon!” She smirks at her joke, then stops in front of us, slightly out of breath but still vibrating with enthusiasm. “Well, okay, it’s nine thirty, but that’s basically midday for ranch folk, right?” She glances at me with a small smile.
“June, this is Sophia Hollis,” Walker says, gesturingto me. “She’s inheriting Rose’s place. Sophia, June Calloway. Local real estate agent and?—”
