Page 35 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
His whole face lights up, easy and unguarded, like I’ve been handed a glimpse of the man beneath the hat and the slow drawl. Not just the cowboy. Not the mystery. But the kind of man who builds something like this with his own hands. Who cares so deeply it shows in every detail.
“We take in the ones nobody else wants, kill-shelter overflows, abandoned pets, ferals that need care. Animals with nowhere else to go. We have more farther ahead for dogs and other animals, and I have a team who helps with them—feeding, medical care, watching and engaging with them.”
And somehow, I can’t breathe right. Because I didn’t expect this. Him. And it comes at me with sharp clarity that he’s not just handsome or broody or unfairly charming; he’s good. The kind of good that sinks under your skin before you can stop it.
“How big is this sanctuary?” I ask, hoping my voice doesn’t betray how shaken I feel.
“Pretty large and I’m in the process of expanding it.” He nods toward the far fence. “Got a barn for the bigger animals too—couple horses that were bound for slaughter, a donkey named Fernando who thinks he’s a lapdog, some goats that just wandered in and never left.”
A laugh escapes me, too real to hold back. “You run an animal commune.”
“Something like that,” he states with a grin. “They’re misfits. But they’vegot a home here.”
His gaze catches mine again, and something shifts between us. Less playful now. Quieter. Steady.
And it scares the hell out of me how much I don’t want to leave this moment.
“I can’t believe you built all this.” I turn in a slow circle, trying to take it all in.
“Well, Ridge designed most of it. Man’s got an engineer’s brain hiding under all that brooding. Cash handled the legal side, permits and regulations and all that paperwork that makes my eyes cross.” He rubs the back of his neck, and something about the motion, broad shoulders shifting, his head ducking slightly, makes my breath catch.
“Gathering the animals and the team to help me was mostly me. Needed something to focus on after?—”
He stops. Silence stretches for a beat, but his expression doesn’t go blank like those of most people when they shut down. No, this is something else. He’s letting me see it. The weight.
“What happened?” I ask.
“I grew up in Oklahoma,” he says, gaze tracking something in the distance. “Out there, tornadoes are just part of life. You learn the signs, the sky going that strange green, the way the air goes still, too quiet. We had drills in school, a shelter dug behind the barn, even a go-bag by the back door.”
He pauses, jaw working like he’s chewing over something too bitter to swallow. I can’t help but reach out and rub his arm.
“I used to think we were ready. That we’d be fine, no matter what hit.” His voice dips. “But one night…”
A breath hitches in his chest, so faint I almost miss it.
“It hit us hard. Real hard.” He avoids my gaze. “The house didn’t stand a chance. Neither did the barn. Animals were gone in an instant.”
Another beat of silence. Then, quieter, he says, “So were my folks.”
The words land heavily between us. Not dramatic. Just true. Raw. My chest squeezes, my throat tight.
He exhales slowly, like letting it out is both relief and punishment. “We had this old mutt, Misty. Slept at the foot of my bed since I was five. She didn’t make it either. But even now… sometimes I swear I hear her claws on the floor. Like she’s still checking in on me.”
My throat chokes up. I squeeze his forearm gently, unsure if it’s for him or me. His muscle tenses under my fingers, but he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t flinch.
“Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat roughly. Then he runs a hand through his hair, a little tousled from the wind. It’s a distracted motion, like he doesn’t even notice how much space he takes up or the way the morning sun catches on the dust clinging to his shirt. “Didn’t mean to unload.”
“You didn’t.” My voice is soft. “I’m glad you told me. And I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Walker glances down at me, something unreadable in his expression, but it’s not cold. It’s not guarded. It’ssomething deeper, heavier, and… searching. Like he’s trying to figure out what it means that I’m standing here, looking at him like this, listening.
The air shifts. I feel it before I understand it. That thick, magnetic stillness that coils between us. Our bodies haven’t moved, but everything inside me is suddenly too much—heart pounding, breath hitching, blood roaring in my ears like a summer storm.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
And stays there.
My lips part, instinctively. I don’t even realize I’m leaning in until I feel the heat of him brush against my skin, until I swear the earth tilts beneath my shoes. Time slows. My heartbeat pulses somewhere low and deep, like every cell in my body is reaching for his.
