Page 124 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
The street is busier than usual, kids darting between cars, two women chatting outside the florist, someone unloading a crate of apples from the back of a truck. I spot Mrs. James across the way, already angling to flag me down. Probably to complain about something we did wrong. I ignore her. My attention is locked on one thing: finding Sophia.
“Café,” Walker says suddenly, like the thought just snapped into place, and he’s already crossing the road. Ridge and I follow him.
I push open the door to Wildflower Bakehouse & Café, and the warm blast of coffee, cinnamon, and sugar nearly knocks me sideways. The bell overhead chimes.
Every head turns. The lunch rush is still trickling out, but the room is full enough that our entrance pulls every gaze our way.
“Afternoon, boys,” Kitty calls from behind the counter, drying her hands on her apron. Her smile isfriendly enough, but her eyes are already trying to figure out why we’re all here together. “What can I get you?”
“We’ll know in a minute,” I tell her, already scanning the booths.
Tucked into the far corner in a circular booth, June’s curls bob as she turns her head, eyes going wide when she spots us. And next to her… Sophia.
She’s hunched slightly, shoulders drawn in. Ridge sees her too; I can hear the breath leave him. Walker doesn’t say a word, but his whole stance shifts, angling toward her like instinct alone is pulling him in.
We’ve found her. Now we just have to make sure we don’t lose her for good.
My chest loosens and tightens all at once. She’s here, safe, but her face is blotchy from crying, and she’s stabbing a fork into chocolate cake as though it personally wronged her.
June leans in and murmurs something to Sophia that earns the tiniest twitch of a smile from her.
The café hum quiets to a low murmur, small-town quiet, where every single person is pretending not to watch while absolutely watching.
I stop at the edge of their table. “Afternoon, ladies.” My voice comes out lower than I meant, the words directed at Sophia and June but pitched so the whole damn room could hear. “Mind if we join you?”
Sophia doesn’t look at me, just keeps cutting hercake into smaller and smaller bites. “I don’t think there’s enough room.”
The dismissal lands like a kick to the ribs. Ridge shifts beside me, restless, but I hold my ground. “Then we’ll stand.”
June tips her mug toward us, her gaze flicking between all three of us like she’s weighing the entertainment value. “Soph’s got cake and I’ve got caffeine. You boys sure you want to do this here?”
“We’re not here to cause a scene,” Walker says, calm but steady, his hat shadowing his eyes. “Just to clear the air.”
Sophia finally glances up at him, and the ache in my chest sharpens. She’s guarded, braced for a fight. “If this is about Brittany, I don’t want to hear it.”
“You deserve to hear it,” I explain before she turns away again. “And you deserve the truth from us, not pieces of it, not when it’s convenient. The Carsons buy more horses from us than anyone in the state. Brittany’s been circling me for years, and I’ve been tolerating it for the sake of keeping her father’s business.”
Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t interrupt.
“That’s not an excuse,” I add quickly. “It’s a mistake. A bad one. I should’ve shut her down harder, and I should’ve told you exactly who she was after the rodeo.”
“We all should’ve told you,” Walker adds, his voice rougher than mine. “You shouldn’t have had to find out while—” He cuts himself off, glancing at her hands on the table.
“I shouldn’t have left you alone this morning. I thought our catch-up with the Carsons would be quick,” Ridge adds.
“You were scared,” I say quietly, studying Sophia. “That’s the only reason you’d tear up your nest like that. And I get it. We made it worse.”
Sophia exhales slowly, but her eyes stay on the cake, not on us.
“We’re not here to crowd you,” Walker says, letting his voice drop lower so only the five of us can hear. “Just to tell you, we want to fix this. However we can. However you’ll let us.”
The café hum picks up again, chairs scraping, cups clinking, but I barely hear any of it. All I see is Sophia, silent and unreadable, the fork still in her hand.
I drop to one knee beside her booth.
The scrape of my boot against the tile is loud enough to draw a few curious glances, but when I lower myself down, it’s like someone hit mute on the whole café. Forks freeze halfway to mouths. Conversations die mid-sentence. The espresso machine cuts off like the damn thing is holding its breath. Even June is gasping.
“Cash—” Sophia’s voice stutters over my name, caught somewhere between shock and… I don’t know.
