Page 2 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
I’m going too fast on ground that’s basically powdered dust, and my heart is in my throat. The car skids sideways, completely out of control, and I have just enough time to think that this is how I die, taken out by a furious bull in Montana.
The passenger side slams into a large oak tree by the side of the road.
I scream.
The impact throws me against the driver’s-sidedoor, luckily not hitting my head, and the engine dies with a pathetic wheeze. My hands shake as I grip the steering wheel, trying to catch my breath.Holy shit.I almost died. Like, actually died.
I turn the key frantically, but all I get is a horrible clicking sound. “No, no, no!” Through the rear window, I see that the bull has found my car’s new location and is expressing his displeasure by charging back.
BANG!
He rams his horns into my trunk, sending the entire car into a shake with each impact.BANG. The rear window spider-webs.BANG. Something that sounds expensive falls off the undercarriage.
I scream again, gripping the door handle as I’m rattled around.
“Thank God I got the full insurance package with the rental company,” I mutter hysterically. “Shit!”
I have two choices: stay and become the filling in a car-bull sandwich, or make a run for it to the house about sixty feet away. Especially as there’s no one coming out to help with this psycho bull.
I glance at the house again, which is grand. Two full stories, wraparound porch, windows everywhere. It looks exactly like the photos the lawyer sent, only bigger. Older. Real. The kind of place that’s seen generations come and go, probably along with a few ghosts and a scandal or two.
Right now, it’s also my salvation.
So I grab my red handbag, say a quick prayer towhatever deity protects idiotic city girls from rural disasters, and bolt from the car.
Several fast steps toward the house and I glance back.
Big mistake. The bull’s head swivels toward me, those dark eyes locking on to mine like a heat-seeking missile. His muscles bunch.
“Shit, shit, shit!” I sprint across the yard, my flats slipping on loose gravel. Behind me, hoofbeats are thundering closer. My heart hammers so hard I think it might explode.
I hit the wooden steps at full speed, taking them two at a time. My hand fumbles for the door handle.Please be unlocked, please be unlocked.I throw myself against the front door, and it swings open. A blast of loud country music hits me right as I tumble inside. Something about whiskey, heartbreak, and boots stomping on gravel.
I spin and slam the door shut just as the bull crashes into the porch from outside.
Breathless, I stand there trembling. Shit, that was too close. And seriously, what the hell is wrong with that bull?
The loud music cuts out mid-lyric.
“Um, excuse me?” a woman’s voice asks behind me.
I snap around, still breathing hard. What I see makes me question whether I’ve hit my head in the crash.
Three men are positioned around a rustic living room, each one holding a tiny, fluffy kitten and wearing no shirt. Not just holding—posing.
Sweet baby Jesus.
One man sits in a leather armchair with an orange tabby kitten perched on his broad shoulder. He has dirty-blond hair that’s short on the sides but longer on top, falling across his forehead in that perfectly messy way that probably takes effort. His blue eyes study me with an intensity that makes my knees weak. When he tilts his head, I notice the slight crook in his nose.
Another leans against the grand staircase rail, cradling a black-and-white kitten like it’s made of spun glass. This one is built like a mountain, with auburn hair that drapes to his shoulders and a black cowboy hat perched on his head. Lord, those shoulders could probably bench-press my rental car.
The third kneels on the floor with a gray kitten tucked against his chest, his expression as serious as death. Dark brown hair trimmed short except for the front, which falls over one eye in a way that should look ridiculous but instead looks unfairly attractive. He has the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen on a man. Add to that the most beautiful mocha-colored eyes.
Plus, so many muscles that I’m unsure of where to look. Who are these gorgeous men?
The loud grunt outside me echoes in my ears, and that’s when the guy with the black-and-white kitten moves fast. He tucks the cat gently under an arm andstrides to the door, then opens it just a crack, peers outside, and closes it again.
“It’s Jack’s bull,” he states, giving a small nod to the others. “He’s not hurt.”
