Page 66 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
“Cash,” I hiss, even as I’m trying not to laugh.
He winks, then tips his hat. “Don’t worry, sugar. I’ve got my fire extinguisher ready.”
God help me, I think I actually like this mess.
“Come on,” he insists, breaking the charged moment with a grin. “Let me introduce you to the training team. They’re always looking for help organizing events and getting the word out. Other ranches have riding schools, but we want ours to betheschool.”
Relief floods me. Yes. This. This I can handle. This doesn’t involve riding double with a half-naked cowboy and rethinking my entire existence.
“Oh, so you want me to crush the competition and steal their clientele?” I smirk, slipping back into my comfort zone.
He laughs, loud and genuine. “Now we’re talkin’. I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
We walk toward what looks like an office annex built onto the barn. A yellow school bus has parked nearby, and the high-pitched squeals and excited chatter of kids float through the morning air. It feels fresh. Normal. A reminder that I might actually have something real to offer here, something besides being a complication with great legs.
This I’m good at.
But as we move, Cash’s handoccasionally finds the small of my back, casual, warm, completely unhurried, and every time it happens, my heart stutters like a skipped track. He’s not trying to claim me, not yet. Just guiding. Grounding.
Then, as we reach the barn door, he leans in, his breath warm against the shell of my ear.
“You walk like you don’t know that every man in a hundred-mile radius is already watching,” he murmurs, voice low and slow like molasses. “But I see it. And if you were mine, sugar… I wouldn’t let you forget it for a second.”
My breath catches. My knees might actually give out. There’s an inferno flooding every inch of me. He says it like a promise. Like a threat. Like a fantasy I’m one wrong move from making real.
I tilt my head just enough to meet his gaze, heart pounding like it’s trying to make a break for it. “You keep saying things like that, and someone is bound to fall for you.”
His grin deepens. “Is that a promise?”
I lift my chin, forcing a smirk. “Oh, you think I’m talking about me?”
I brush past him toward the barn, tossing my hair back like it’s nothing. “You’re not my problem, cowboy.”
But his grin only grows, like he sees straight through me.
I keep walking, pretending I’m brazen. Brave.
Inside, I’m anything but because my body isalready choosing. Already craving. Already giving in. And it scares me that what I’m starting to feel reminds me a bit too much of my heat.
Not good when I’m supposed to leave in three months. When my life, my job, my friends, my entire identity, is hundreds of miles away.
The question now isn’t whether something will break.
It’swho.
And what pieces will be left behind when that happens.
14
SOPHIA
My laptop screen glows in the afternoon light as I stare at the email I’ve been drafting for twenty minutes. Thirty days’ notice to my Chicago landlord. I need to do this. If I’m stuck here for three months to satisfy the will requirements, I can’t afford to pay rent on an empty place. Not with the insurance deductible hanging over my head and my freelance income being what it is.
Dear Mr. Peterson,
This email serves as my thirty-day notice to vacate apartment 4B as of…
I calculate the dates. If I send this today, I’ll need to have everything out by the end of next month. Most of the furniture came with the place, one of thosefurnishedsituations that cost extra but meant I didn’t have to buy a couch or a bed. Just my clothes, some books, personal items. Manageable.
