Page 32 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
“Information specialist,” June interrupts, sticking out her hand to me with a grin that could power a small city. “Oh my gosh, you’re exactly who I came to see!”
“Oh?” I shake her hand, already charmed by her enthusiasm.
“Yes! Okay, so Mrs. Henderson was at the café and told me she heard that someone new was at the ranch and might be the heir Rose mentioned and—” She pauses for breath. “Is it true? Are you really going to sell?”
“June,” Walker says, a warning in his tone.
“What? I’m being professional! This is my professional face.” She schools her features into what I assume is meant to be serious but mostly looks like she’s trying not to sneeze. “See? Very professional.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Most likely, yes. The will says I have to live here for three months before I can make any decisions.”
“That’s perfect! Anyway, as Walker hinted, I run Sweetwater Creek Realty. Well, technically, it’s my parents’ agency, but Dad discovered bass fishing three years ago and hasn’t come back to reality since, and Mom decided she’d rather grow prize-winning tomatoes than deal with people. So it’s basically mine now, which is great because I have all these ideas aboutsustainable development and preserving the town’s character while still allowing for growth and?—”
“June, will this take much longer?” Walker interrupts gently.
“Right. Rambling.” June presses a hand to her chest like she’s reeling herself in. “What I meant to say is, when you’re ready to talk options, I’m here. No pressure. But also… you should totally come to town today. Meet some locals. Maggie’s Diner has chicken and dumplings on special, plus tonight is meatloaf night, and I swear they sell out of both faster than secrets at church.”
“That does sound really good,” I admit. My stomach growls, traitorously, even after Cookie’s breakfast.
Walker shifts beside me, arms loosely folded. “Guess that means we’re skipping lunch.”
June perks up. “Perfect! I’m heading over around five. You could ride with me, Sophia. Give us girls a chance to gossip without your long shadow looming.”
I open my mouth to answer, but Walker cuts in, easy as ever. “Or Sophia and I could both meet you there. I was already planning to head into town.”
I blink. Was he? Since when?
June’s smile stretches. “Oh, how convenient. But surely you’ve got something ranch-y to do, Walker. Fix a fence? Mourn a tractor? Stare meaningfully at the horizon?”
“I could pencil that in for tomorrow,” he says witha smirk, not taking his eyes off me. “Unless you’ve got other plans?”
His voice is low, but it hits something sharp and sweet in my chest. Damn him.
“I mean, I’d love to,” I say, lifting my chin. “But I can handle myself. No need to chaperone.”
“Didn’t say you needed one,” he murmurs. “Just offering the ride.”
June fans herself dramatically with her clipboard. “Mercy. I should’ve brought popcorn.” She turns to me, voice dropping like she’s sharing a secret. “Or you can come with me and ditch this one. I’m going to a book club after dinner. We’re reading that one with the demon prince who bites ankles and redeems himself with smut.”
That earns a quiet laugh from Walker. “Is that what counts as literature these days?”
June winks. “Don’t knock it ’til you’ve read chapter eight.”
I bite back a grin. “Honestly? That sounds like the perfect girls’ night.” I shift my weight, caught somewhere between flattered and flustered. “Thanks for the offer, Cowboy Uber,” I say to Walker, trying for light. “But… I might actually do the girls’ night thing tonight.”
“I can handle it,” Walker says, tossing the words out casually, but then he presses a palm to his chest like I’ve wounded him. “Picked over an ankle-biting demon. That stings.”
June snorts. “You’ll live, cowboy.”
He casts me a look, all mock betrayal and slow smirk. “Barely.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will,” June cuts in with a wink. “But don’t worry. I’ll return her in one piece.”
Walker tilts his head, gaze flicking to me. “You sure?”
There it is, that undercurrent again. Not pushy. Just… something steady and unspoken. And it does ridiculous things to my pulse.
“I’m sure,” I say, then immediately feel the need to backpedal. “I mean, you can take me to dinner another night.”
