Page 5 of Bouquets and Buckles

He even has his own ranch, runs horses, and doescowboy thingsas and when the other larger properties around here need help.

I quickly brush my hands over my hair to smooth down any strays. Have I got eyeliner running all down my face? God. This is humiliating.

My best friend’s dad has had to come rescue me on Christmas Eve. Would the ground kindly do a gal a solid and swallow me up? Better yet, can I just fast-forward out of this nightmare and wake up in my own bed so this can all be over?

As he draws level with the passenger side, I do a painfully awkward wave and grimace.

He gestures for me to roll the window down, then leans a forearm on the door as he bends to look in on my misery.

“Stay there. Don’t want you catching a cold.” He cuts straight to the point. No smiles, giving me only a display of cheekbones and a short beard to make a girl weep. “Pop your trunk; I’ll get the spare.”

Shiiiiit.

“Um. You’re standing right beside it.” If I hadn’t already cried my eyes out before, I would be tempted now. How could I forget? I had been meaning to replace it since getting a flat just as winter started, only to wind up endlessly run off my feet with the shop. I never got around to it, and now I want to smack myself in the jaw for sounding like the dumbest bitch alive.

“You ain’t carrying a spare?”

I wilt as fast as a dehydrated petal under his dark gaze. His eyes like night study me from beneath the brim of his hat, no doubt chewing silently on my stupidity.

“No. I’m so sorry, Mr. Rhodes. I tried calling Brad after you, and he’s not answering, and I’m…” This is the moment. The moment I run out of words. What am I actually going to do? This town shuts up shop for the holidays, nothing is open, and I’ll betall of the options for accommodation are displayingNo Vacancysigns, thanks to the festive season.

He pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek for a moment. No doubt thinking I’m the human equivalent of a dumpster fire. Meanwhile I’m sitting in the front seat, wearing an outfit that is definitely not appropriate for spending time with a man old enough to be my father.

Hell, he’s friendly with my parents. A little younger than them, but they know each other all the same.

“This your stuff?” He jerks his chin toward the weekender sitting on the backseat.

I nod. Feeling numb and helpless.

“Lock up. Get in the truck.”

Without elaborating, he opens the door, grabs hold of my bag, and then steps back, waiting for me to rediscover how to use my brain. He stands there filling the sidewalk with snow dusting his broad shoulders, white flecks settle against the dark rim of his hat, and doesn’t move.

Meanwhile, I’m stuck in place, not processing what is happening here.

So when the rugged cowboy of my silly little dreams stoops to peer at me through the open window for a second time, my heart zooms around inside my chest at his next words.

“You’re coming home with me.”

Chapter 5

What am I supposed to do in a situation like this? If I attempted to offload my son’s best friend to some random motel in Crimson Ridge—right on Christmas—what kind of person would that make me? That’s the kind of shit reserved for heartless fucking bastards.

Skylar doesn’t have anywhere to go, and I’m sure as hell not going to abandon her all alone.

However, is the prospect of bringing her back to my house, my ranch, with the way the snow is sticking on the ground, going to be the greatest test of my sanity… most likely, yes.

I’ve yet to grill her about what I’m sure I heard her say over the phone just before. Even though I might have been still foggy with sleep, I know what she said down the line between her tears.

He’s such a douchebag… cheated on me.

Exactly like the last time we sat in this truck together, the drive has been silent. She doesn’t seem keen to talk, and I’m shit with words on a good day. Too many years on my own andtoo much time with only horses for company, as Brad likes to remind me.

Except, everything changes the moment we pull into the long drive winding toward the house. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her sit up a little straighter and take in the snow-covered trees and the sloping track leading to the stables. In front of us stands my simple property, nothing fancy but it’s home all the same, with a wooden porch wrapped around the outside. Steps run along one side that I can remember her and a group of their friends from high school spending hours sitting on playing music and being kids together during the summers.

“I’d forgotten how this place always looks so pretty.” She breathes, taking in the swirling snowflakes reflected in the headlights, and the glow of the house from where I’d left the lights on.

Yeah, I’ll agree with her on that. The only problem is that I’m certainly not looking at any of the sights outside this truck.