Page 52 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
I blow out a breath and force my focus back to my beer, swallowing a curse. If he keeps talking like that, I’m gonna lose it.
Or worse?—
I’m gonna stand up and walk across this diner, pull Sophia into the goddamn bathroom, and make her scream loud enough that everyone in this place will know exactly who she belongs to.
Small blessings as our food arrives faster thanusual, probably because they know we tip well. The waitress sets down three plates that would make a lumberjack weep with joy. Ridge’s steak hangs off both sides of his plate. Walker’s porterhouse is even bigger, accompanied by a baked potato the size of a softball. My meatloaf is smothered in brown gravy, with a side of mashed potatoes that could feed a small army and biscuits so buttery they’re practically glowing.
“Half the cow’s on my plate,” Ridge declares with a grin, already cutting into his steak.
“Look at that beautiful piece of beef,” Walker adds, admiring his porterhouse. “Almost too pretty to eat.”
“Almost,” I agree, digging into my meatloaf. “But not quite.”
We eat in silence for a few minutes, but I keep glancing over at Sophia’s table. She hasn’t looked our way once. For the best, perhaps.
That’s when I spot the waitress heading to their table with a tray of drinks. She points across the room toward the bar, and I follow her gesture to see two men raising their glasses in the girls’ direction.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter, my grip tightening on my fork.
Walker follows my gaze, and his whole body goes rigid. “Fucking hell.”
Ridge squints across the room, then his face darkens. “Is that Ronan?”
I focus on the tallest of a small group of men, andrecognition comes at me like a sucker punch. “Yeah, it’s that piece of shit.”
Ronan Blackwood. Rose’s worthless grandson who showed up at the ranch every few months with his hand out, looking for money he hadn’t earned. The bastard who once told Rose to her face that he was just waiting for her to die so he could claim what wasrightfully his. The ass who dressed like a cowboy but had never done an honest day’s work in his life.
“What’s he doing here?” Walker sneers, his voice tight with anger.
“Nothing damn good,” I reply, watching as Ronan stands up from his barstool.
He’s dressed to impress tonight, designer jeans that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent, a shirt that’s been pressed within an inch of its life, and boots so shiny they could blind a pilot. His black hair is slicked back with enough product to waterproof a roof, and there’s something sickening in the way he’s staring at Sophia.
“This isn’t going to end well,” Ridge hisses, his whole body tensing.
I’m on the edge of my seat as Ronan strolls toward the girls’ table with the kind of swagger that comes from too much money and not enough sense. But before he can reach them, Walker is on his feet, moving through the crowd with deadly purpose.
I’ve seen Walker handle spooked horses and aggressive dogs, but I’ve never seen him look asdangerous as he does right now. Bunched-up shoulders, chin high, hands in fists, and people instinctively move out of his way, all six feet, three inches of intimidating Alpha muscle.
He reaches Ronan just before the bastard gets to Sophia, who has no clue, as she and June are deep in conversation, laughing.
Giving Ronan no chance to react, Walker grabs him by the collar and hauls him toward the back exit like he’s wrangling uncooperative livestock—forceful, fast, and with zero patience. Chairs scrape back as he shoves past tables, the air thick with tension. Conversations stutter to a stop. A fork clatters onto a plate.
Most of the locals know Walker. They don’t interfere. Hell, a few even tip their hats or mutter things like “?’Bout time” under their breath. No one tries to stop him. No one asks questions.
Ridge and I are right behind them, leaving our half-finished meals without a second thought.
The parking lot feels different now, darker, more isolated. The security lights cast harsh shadows between the parked cars, and the temperature has dropped enough to make our breath visible.
Walker releases Ronan with a shove that sends him stumbling forward. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You have nothing to do with those girls in there, understand?”
Ronan stumbles and whips back around, that oily smirk never leaving his face. “That’s where you’rewrong. Sophia has something that belongs to me,” he snaps. “And no little bitch in a sundress is going to keep what’s mine. Especially not with you three assholes playing gatekeeper like this town is your personal fucking kingdom.”
Walker’s entire body coils, muscles straining like a live wire about to snap. Ridge’s jaw flexes, fists at his sides. I feel the burn of rage crawl up my spine, and I take one deliberate step forward.
“Say that again,” I growl. “And I’ll knock the teeth outta that smug face of yours.”
Ronan scoffs, but his hand twitches. He’s nervous. Good. He should be.
