Page 3 of Coming Home to My Cowboy
She waits on the porch for me, hands tucked into her coat, breath misting in the air. When I reach her, I nod toward the door. “Everything is ready inside.”
Her eyes warm again. “I appreciate it. Really.”
Inside, she takes a few steps and stops, gaze drifting over the room like she is seeing pieces of her life stitched into the walls. The place looks different now with the updates, but the bones are the same, and she finds them.
“That couch… I used to do my homework there.”
She touches the armrest, almost like greeting an old friend, then laughs softly when she spots the dent in the fridge door. “I did that when I was eight.”
Her voice is light, but full of something else too. Memory. Belonging. Heart.
She backs gently against the island, eyes traveling around the kitchen as if she is letting the house settle around her again.
She treats me to a smile that makes me forget the plummeting temperatures outside as she takes off her hat. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad I didn’t turn around.”
My brow furrows.
“With dad stuck at the airport…” she says, voice a little breathy. She bites her bottom lip and releases it slowly, and the soft curve of it pulls at me more than it should. “I thought about staying at the B&B in town instead. I did not want to trouble you.”
I look at her, steady and quiet. I knew her father was stranded before she even landed. That is why I came early, why I made sure everything was ready. But hearing her say it, hearing that hint of hesitation, it settles something in me.
“You are not troubling me,” I say. Calm. Certain. True.
A faint blush warms her cheeks, snowflakes catching in her hair like someone placed them there on purpose. Layla makes winter look soft. Almost enchanted.
She glances down at her coat and gives a small laugh. “I should take this off. With the fire going like that, it feels like stepping into a hug. You always make places warmer than they should be. It would be freezing without you.”
Her tone is playful, sweet, almost testing.Is she…flirting? No, it can’t be…
I hold her gaze a beat longer than I should. She bites her lip again, eyes flickering over me, and then she turns toward the back hallway to take off her coat and boots. Without the lift from her shoes she loses a little height, settling around five foot three, delicate and small in all the ways that ask to be protected.
Once the scarf and coat come off, there is no hiding the shape of her. The gentle curve of her waist, the softness of her hips. It hits me with quiet force, and I do not let it show. I should not notice. I tell myself not to notice.
But I do.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel the sharp pull of something I thought I had long outgrown: want, sparked fast and deep.
I anchor my feet on the solid floor, spine straight, breath slow. Control is not a thing I ever lose. Not for anyone. She does not need to know she tested it.
She adjusts the buttons on her shirt, then smooths it out. Nibbling her bottom lip, she looks up at me from under her lashes. “Thank you for doing this, Jace. I’m sure you’re busy withplenty of things, so … so thank you for making time to prepare the house.”
“I’m happy to do it, you don’t need to keep thanking me” I answer, trying to pull my gaze away, but failing.
She clears her throat and looks around. “I’m starving. Are you starving?”
Before I can answer, she’s already moving things around the kitchen like she never left. Every move speaks to her quiet confidence. Which makes it even harder to ignore exactly how sexy she is.
As she cooks, she tells me about college, how fun it was, how much she enjoyed the art program she was in alongside the marketing classes she took. I don’t have to ask what she does since she tells me she’s a marketing coordinator for some small businesses and she also works for authors, beta reading and promoting content online.
It’s a world removed from mine. I don’t have much to do with social media. I work on the ranch, help people out around town, get paid for doing odd jobs (generally in beer and favors) and enjoy working with my hands. Seeing Layla talk about it though shows exactly how passionate she is, how happy she is. It warms my chest in a way I don’t want to admit.
“I’m glad the city is treating you well,” I say honestly.
She beams. “It is. Everything happens fast which is nice, but …”
My shoulders stiffen in response.
She thinks for a moment and sighs. “Everyone’s so focused on the next project, the next thing. It can be hard to get to know people the same way, I guess. It can be hard to tell if someone really cares or if they’re checking something off their list.”
