Page 62 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
The early sun paints everything golden as I stand in my doorway, coffee mug warming my hands, three orange shadows weaving between my legs. Montana mornings are nothing like they are in Chicago. Here, the air tastes clean and crisp. Birds sing conversations in the trees, and the barks of dogs come from somewhere in the distance.
Yet, I can’t stop staring at the paddock that sits maybe thirty yards from my cottage. The other night it was lost in the darkness, but now it’s very much visible. As is the shirtless cowboy currently working a horse inside it.
Cash.
Sweet merciful God.
He’s wearing worn jeans that sit low on his hips, scuffed boots, and a black hat. That’s it. The whole outfit. The sun turns his skin bronze, highlighting every ridge and valley of muscle as he moves with thehorse, a beautiful paint with patches of white and chestnut that catch the light.
The horse is clearly green, still learning, tossing its head and moving sideways whenever Cash commands something new. But Cash just moves with it, patient and fluid, like they’re dancing rather than fighting. His muscles flex with each movement, sweat already making his skin glisten despite the early hour.
I should go inside. I should definitely not stand here ogling him like some romance novel heroine.
Instead, I take another sip of coffee and lean against the doorframe, settling in for the show.
The way he moves is graceful and powerful. When the horse tries to buck, Cash rides it out like he’s rocking in a chair, one hand on the reins, the other relaxed at his side. His abs contract with the movement, and I nearly drop my mug.
How long have I been standing here? Five minutes? Ten? Time seems irrelevant when presented with this particular view.
“Okay, enough,” I mutter to myself and the cats. “Get dressed and be a functional human being.”
Chonkarella meows what sounds suspiciously like disagreement, but I force myself inside.
I dress in the clothes Walker bought me—comfortable jeans that actually fit properly, boots that don’t pinch, and a T-shirt that hugs in all the right places without being too revealing. Looking in the mirror, I barely recognize myself. I look… like I belong here.
Dangerous thought.
I head out, determined to make myself useful, just as Cash exits the paddock and comes my way along a narrow path in the lawn. He’s dusting his hat against his thighs in that unconscious way cowboys do, sending little puffs of dirt into the air. The movement draws my attention to said thighs and…
He glances my way and winks. Actually winks. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to my blood pressure.
“Morning, ma’am,” he drawls, and I swear my knees consider giving out.
“I’m a ma’am now?” I call back, proud that my voice sounds steadier than my pulse.
“Would you preferlittle lady?Sugar pie?Darlin’with a heart over thei?” His grin is pure evil.
I laugh despite myself. “Let’s stick withSophia.”
He saunters closer, and it’s definitely a saunter, all long-legged confidence. “That outfit suits you. Real well.”
“Thanks,” I manage, trying desperately not to let my gaze trail down his bare chest. I fail. Spectacularly.
God, he’s only ten feet away now, and the man is basically a walking anatomy lesson. Muscles I didn’t know had names are on full display, still glistening with perspiration from his workout. There’s a dusting of hair across his chest that trails down to disappear into his jeans, and I need to look literally anywhere else before I combust.
“So, what’s on for the day?” he asks, oblivious to my internal crisis. Seemingly.
“I want to help around the ranch,” I say, forcing my eyes back to his face. His knowing, amused face. “Pull my weight, you know?”
He tilts his head, studying me for a moment, then slaps his hat back on. “All right, I accept the challenge.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Didn’t know helping out came with that much drama.”
“Oh, sugar, everything’s a challenge when you’re involved.” The way he says it makes heat pool low in my belly. “Can you ride a horse?”
“Does the carousel at Navy Pier count? Or those carnival pony rides?”
He laughs, a rich sound that makes my toes curl in my new boots. “Not really, but at least you’re not scared. That’s a start. Come with me.”
