Page 59 of Ride Me Cowboy

Something shifts inside of me. Pride. Respect. Affection. Gratitude. A host of emotions, tangling and twisting into one big loop that makes it hard to breathe, much less speak.

“Besides, Beau’s barbecuing,” he says. “I’m surprised the smell’s not driving you mad.”

Now that he mentions it, I become aware of a heavenly aroma. Just a hint.

“Fire’s out back,” he says, nodding his head to the side. “Probably put the hog on a few hours ago.”

“Do you come back every time your brother barbecues?” I ask, sipping my coffee.

“If I can,” he grins. “Beau’s barbecues are legendary around here. Toughest time of our lives was when he was on the circuit and away for months at a time.”

“The circuit?”

He lets out a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be damned. They really aren’t doing a good job of getting you up to speed, are they?”

I blink at him in confusion.

“Beau’s a bull rider,” Nash says. “Or was, anyways, ‘til he took a bad fall, and the old man told him he was done.”

I gape at Nash. Riding a bull was one of the suggestions I’d put on my social media content wish list, but I had no idea we had an ex professional rider in our midst.

“I’ve never been to a rodeo,” I murmur, tapping the side of my mouth with a finger. “But I can totally imagine Beau doing that.”

“Never been to a rodeo?” he repeats, like I’ve just told him I have bananas for ears. “You gotta be shittin’ me.”

I laugh then, at his surprise and his expression.

“I’m not. There aren’t a lot of them where I’m from.”

“Honey, good rodeo is worth travelling for.”

“Like Beau’s barbecues?”

“Now you’re getting it.”

His approval warms me. Man, I like this family. I like it a lot. It’s the polar opposite to anything I’ve ever known. It was always just mom and me, and it wasn’t like we were super close or anything. The way these guys are with each other, and ‘strays’, is just so darn nice.

“The season’s all wrapped up right now, but there’ll be some community events next month. You still be ‘round?”

My heart does a weird little lurch, but I nod, plastering over my strange reaction with a bright smile. “Yeah. Reagan’s taking off three months.”

He makes a scoffing sound. “That’s what she says.”

“What does that mean?”

“With her first kid, she was back after five weeks. Can’t stand not working. She thinks she runs this place, I swear.”

The ground tilts beneath me, or feels a lot like it. I turn around on the pretense of pouring myself a coffee.

“Her husband’s a writer,” Nash is saying, conversationally. “He works from home, so does a lot of the hands-on dad thing.”

I wonder how Nash feels about that. Is he one of those old-fashioned guys who thinks a woman’s place is in the kitchen or whatever? But a quick glance over my shoulder shows no hint of that on his face. He’s got one hip propped against the bench and as I turn back to face him, he grabs an apple from the fruit bowl, and starts shining it on his hip.

“So, you don’t work on the ranch?” I ask, sipping my coffee.

“Nah, not unless they need a spare pair of hands.”

“Not your thing?”