Page 42 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
“Practical,” I correct.
Cash and Ridge exchange a look.
“I’ll go,” Ridge says eventually. “But I’m not making small talk with June. It’s terrifying how that woman doesn’t stop talking.”
“You’ll survive,” I grunt, turning toward the barn. “Come hungry. It’s meatloaf night.”
“You just said the magic words,” Cash says.
“Good choice,” I mutter, already walking off.
Behind me, their voices drift into banter, footsteps following. They’re in. We’re doing this.
And as the sun starts to rise over the hills and the scent of hay, horse sweat, and pine fills my lungs, one thing settles deep in my chest like a promise…
We may not be playing fair.
But we’re playing to win.
10
SOPHIA
At exactly two o’clock, Walker knocks on my door.
I’ve spent the past few hours doing everything I can not to think about him.
Not about the almost kiss. Not about the way his voice curled around me like smoke. And definitely not about the fire smoldering between my thighs that refuses to go out, no matter how many icy showers I take. My body feels like it’s betraying me, aching for him in ways that terrify me. Because what if this isn’t just lust? What if this is a scent match and my heat responding?
God, no. Though, that would explain the way I nearly came apart just from him carrying me in his arms. How my chest tightened when I caught his scent. And now how I feel like I might actuallydieif I don’t see him again soon.
So I distracted myself.
I dragged every clean item of clothing I have out of my bag, hardly anything, and tried them all on like I was auditioning for a runway show in the middle of nowhere. The kittens didn’t care. Chonkarella lounged at the foot of the bed, one paw slung over her twin furballs like she was judging my wardrobe with regal disdain.
I finally settled on a sundress I’d thrown in as an afterthought, a pale yellow number embroidered with tiny wildflowers along the hem. It cinches at the waist and floats to mid-thigh, soft cotton against sun-warmed skin. Not exactly ranch wear, but it’s clean and doesn’t smell like barn animals.
And maybe I want him to look at me the way he did earlier.
Even if I know I’m not ready to admit it.
I open the door and immediately forget how to breathe.
Walker has changed too, and the sight of him makes my mouth go dry. He’s wearing dark jeans that fit him perfectly, showcasing long, strong legs that seem to go on forever. A blue-and-white-checked shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, pearl snaps catching the afternoon light like tiny stars. His belt buckle is different from the one he wore this morning and depicts a big silver star. The tan-colored Stetson sits at just the right angle, shadowing his warm browneyes in a way that makes them look darker, more dangerous, more… everything.
He’s so tall that I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze, and when I do, the look in his eyes makes my stomach flip. He’s staring at me like I’m something precious and edible all at once, his stare tracking slowly from my face down to where the dress hugs my curves, lingering on the way the fabric clings to my chest before forcing his eyes back up.
“You look…” He clears his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing in a way that shouldn’t be attractive but absolutely is. “That’s a pretty dress.”
“Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself, cowboy.” I aim for light and teasing, but my voice comes out breathier than intended, like I’ve been running.
“Ready to go?”
“Lead the way.”
His truck is exactly what I expected, a well-maintained Ford, vibrant blue paint and a bench seat covered in a wool blanket. He opens my door without fanfare, but his hand on my elbow as I navigate the high step sends sparks through me. The dress rides up slightly as I climb in, and I catch his sharp intake of breath.
“First stop,” he states as we pull onto the main road, his voice rougher than usual. “Western wear store. Can’t have you chasing animals in those cityshoes. Then there’s a dress store nearby you might like.”
