Page 48 of Ride Me Cowboy

I snort. “Do I seem like someone who does social media?”

“You should,” she says, seriously. “You and your brothers would go viral.”

I let out a choked laugh. “That’s a good thing?”

“I know you haven’t been living that much under a rock.”

“But why would we want to do that?”

“Lots of reasons. Money,” she says, after a beat, and my foot lifts off the accelerator without me realizing it. I turn to her, sharply. Has she seen something? I’ve been real careful to keep overdue notices off her desk, but maybe something’s tipped her off about how tight things’ve been.

“Cole,” she says, nodding toward the windscreen.

I look straight ahead, frowning, because we’ve almost stopped. I press the gas again, keeping my expression neutral with effort. “How would being on social media make us money?”

“Sponsorship. You get lots of followers, and suddenly you’ve got denim companies, hats, stock feed, I don’t know, whatever else has brand synergy with what you do.”

“And this relates to the guest house how?”

“It’s just different revenue streams,” she says. “Ways to make the most of what you’re doing here. You could even build a barn for people to get married in.”

“Married,” I splutter. “On the ranch?”

“Sure. I mean, I don’t know about you, but this is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been. The wedding party could stay at the guest house, the night before the wedding…”

“Beth, woah. Slow down.”

She leans back in her seat. “Too much?”

“I mean…I like that you’re thinking about the ranch like that.” I do. I really like it. Because she doesn’t sound like someone who’s just here for a few months. She sounds like someone who’s let it get under her skin. Who’d maybe think about staying a while. But what the hell am I thinking? I’ve never wanted a girl to stick around. I’ve never wanted anything with a woman to last for more than a month or two, tops. It’s easier that way. Safer. “I just wouldn’t know where to start.”

“But I would,” she says. “My degree was in marketing.”

I glance at her, surprised. “It was?”

“I did dual majors,” she says with a nod. “Accounting and marketing. I did my final project on social media branding.”

I let out a low whistle. “But you’re working as a bookkeeper.”

She tenses and I could kick myself for the stupid question. After everything she’s been through, she’s looking for something familiar and temporary.

“Sorry,” I say, voice gruff. “It makes sense, that you’d just want a job you can handle in your sleep right now. Given everything you’re going through.”

She looks at me with those piercing blue eyes, like she’s sizing me up. I turn the car into our drive, and the tires crunch the gravel as we make our way to the house. Once there, I cut the engine, staring straight ahead where the headlights still beam against the stucco walls. I know I need to get out, but I kind of don’t want to. I want to stay here, close to her. Breathing her in.

Which is just damn stupid.

I reach for the door, half-hoping she’ll say something to show she feels the same way, but she just sits there, staring at the same wall I was.

I cross to her side of the car and open the door.

Still, she sits.

“Beth? Y’alright?”

“Huh?”

“Everything okay?”