Page 36 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
He leans down, just a little, close enough that I feel the ghost of his breath against my cheek. His scent swims around me, sinking under my skin, and I swear I want to drown in it.
Just a few more inches…
A shrill yowl pierces the air.
We both jerk back as if awakened.
Walker barks out a laugh, wrecking me in a different way. I laugh as well, a little too loud, a little too breathless, trying to smother the way my whole body feels like it’s been short-circuited.
“Guess they’re not fans of public displays,” he says.
“I—uh—I should…” I swipe my hands down my jeans, needing something to do with them. “Wow, okay. That happened. And it didn’t. But almost. And… yeah.”
“Yeah,” he echoes, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips that says he’s not nearly as flustered.
I take a careful step back, trying not to combust. What am I doing?
This was not the plan. No matter how warm his eyes are. No matter how safe I feel near him.
Get a grip, girl. Control. You’re here for the ranch. Not the cowboy.
Still, as he swings open the gate and ushers me in, my pulse hasn’t settled. And I’m starting to wonder if it ever will again.
He approaches the entrance, a double-gated system with metal fencing and a keypad, and punches in a code. “Security system,” he explains. “Had some incidents with people dumping animals after hours. This way we know who comes and goes.”
We step through the first gate and wait for it to shut behind us before moving through the second. And then?—
They descend.
A group of cats explodes out of the enclosure. They emerge from cat houses, drop from high walkways, appear like living shadows from under benches and platforms.
“Oh my God.” I laugh, dropping to my knees as cats swarm me with headbutts and purrs. “How many are there?”
Walker smiles. “About thirty-two. Unless someone gave birth overnight. Which is possible. And we have fifteen dogs too.”
“The cats are so friendly.”
“We work on socialization every day. Local school brings kids out twice a week. Gives the animals attention and teaches the kids responsibility. Plus, we have volunteers who just come to cuddle cats. Turns out it’s therapeutic for everyone involved.”
A gray kitten with impossibly blue eyes climbs into my lap, purring loudly enough to rival a motorcycle. I look around, taking in more details. Each of the houses has a name painted on it in different handwriting, clearly a community effort.
“Fluffy’s Palace?” I read. “Chairman Meow’s Estate? The Purrfect Hideaway?”
Walker actually blushes slightly. “The kids from the local school get creative with naming. And once something’s named, can’t really change it. Chairman Meow would be offended.”
“Obviously. Can’t offend the chairman.” I’m charmed beyond words by this gentle giant who builds cat palaces and worries about feline feelings. “Oh! Speaking of names, I’ve been calling the orange escape artist who broke into my house Chonkarella. She and her two kittens have claimed my guesthouse.”
Walker’s smile is immediate and delighted. “She got in? That sounds like her. She’s one of our part-timers, prefers the barn life but visits houses when shefeels like it. Rose used to leave windows open specifically for her visits.”
“Said she had visiting rights,” I tease.
He nods, grinning. “Want to see inside the main shelter?”
“You bet.”
Walker offers his hand as I stand—not that I need help, but I don’t exactly mind the excuse to touch him again. His fingers curl around mine, warm and sure, and his other hand briefly steadies me at the waist. It’s a blink of contact, but my body registers it like a live wire.
We make our way through the cat village. Inside, the main building is surprisingly modern. Rows of sleek cubbies line the walls, each one a tiny sanctuary with a plush bed, toys, and a nameplate.
