Page 15 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy (Wild Hearts Ranch #1)

The look she gives me is dry, a touch wry, and it’s clear there’s a story behind it.

June leans in conspiratorially. “Anyway, I’d better go hunt down the rest of your trouble trio.”

“They should still be in the dining hall,” Walker states.

She sighs. “Perfect. Wish me luck. If Ridge is in a mood, I’m bribing him with pie.”

June starts to leave, then spins back with a grin.

“Oh, Sophia? Just a heads-up, I’ve heard the book club can get a little…

enthusiastic. It’s my first night joining, but I’ve almost finished the book for discussion.

I’ll give you the full report over dinner.

I’ve heard about Loretta, who runs the events, though.

She once read a steamy scene out loud with full sound effects. Be prepared.”

She’s gone before I can fully process that image, practically bouncing away with the same whirlwind energy she arrived with.

“Is she always like that?” I ask, watching her disappear around the corner toward the barn.

Walker chuckles. “Pretty much. I’ve only known her a little over four years, but she came in hot and never slowed down.

One of the most genuine people I’ve met.

Always has a dozen ideas and twice as many opinions.

” He pauses for a beat. “But… things with her family are a little rough. No t many people know. And I won’t speak for her. ”

I nod. “Of course. If she ever wants to talk, I’ll be around. But I’m not one to pry.”

Even if I’m absolutely dying to know.

“Come on,” Walker says, tipping his head toward the barn. “Got that something to show you if you’re still interested?”

“You bet!”

We walk in comfortable silence for a few minutes, leaving the main cluster of buildings behind.

The path winds through a grove of cottonwoods, their leaves whispering in the morning breeze.

Walker guides me with the lightest touch on my lower back when the trail narrows, barely there, but somehow I feel it everywhere.

Heat flares from that single point of contact, blooming outward like a spark in dry grass.

Then there’s his scent.

Masculine. Warm. Delicious. Honey and freshly baked bread.

And it smoothers me harder than it should.

Like it’s wrapping around my ribs and tugging me closer, threading into my veins and anchoring itself in my chest. I suck in a breath, like that might help, but it only makes it worse. Stronger. More real.

Why is it doing that?

This isn’t normal.

I’ve never reacted to anyone like this. Not even Nolan. Not once did his scent make my knees weak or my thoughts skip like a broken record. I didn’t crave his nearness or feel like something essential in me tilted toward him without permission.

But now it’s like my body is attuned to Walker in ways I don’t understand. Like there’s a string connecting us, pulled taut.

Please don’t let this be a scent match. Please not that. Surely not.

I would’ve known, right? There would’ve been signs. Something. Anything. And yet?—

“Close your eyes,” Walker says suddenly, his voice low and rough, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts before they can fully swallow me.

“Excuse me?” I blink at him, but he just gives me a look, the annoyingly confident one with the soft eyes and the tilted smirk that has me forgetting how to put together a sentence.

“Trust me,” he says, quieter now. Rougher. And somehow that makes it worse. “Promise it’s worth it.”

Those brown eyes are warm and sincere, maybe even a little shy, and against every last shred of logic I own, I close my eyes.

I feel his hand slide into mine, calloused, hot, steady. I try not to react, but my skin betrays me, goose bumps racing up my arms.

“Careful now,” he murmurs. “There’s a root… that’s it. Few more steps.”

Without sight, every other sense sharpens.

I pick up on the birdsong above, the rustle of our shoes in the grass, the way sunlight brushes my cheeks.

But mostly, I’m aware of him. The way his scent wraps around me, pulling something loose and vulnerable inside me.

Every inch of me is eager, ready to curl up at his feet like a damn stray.

I shouldn’t feel like this. Not over a man I barely know.

Especially not one who probably thinks I asked him on a date earlier like a blushing idiot.

I mean, maybe I did kind of imply that… but not on purpose.

And now I’m walking through a forest while holding his hand like some sort of woodland courtship ritual, and I’m spiraling.

“Almost there,” he says. “Okay. Open your eyes.”

I do, and my breath stutters to a halt.

We’re standing at the edge of what can only be described as animal paradise.

The enclosure stretches wide and deep, two acres at least. The fencing is tall and curved inward at the top like a serious fortress, and I can see where it burrows into the ground.

Heavy-duty netting creates a canopy overhead.

But what’s inside makes my heart squeeze.

It’s not just a shelter; it’s magic.

Cat trees built like real ones stretch toward the netting above.

Houses dot the space like a miniature village, some bright and painted with cheerful murals, others like rustic cabins or tiny castles.

Bridges and tunnels connect them all, like a skyway system for the four-legged.

Water trickles from a central fountain, shaded hammocks sway between posts, and one corner even has a fake beach, complete with warm lamps and a sandpit.

And there are cats everywhere. I might have squealed.

“Walker,” I breathe. “This is… I don’t have words.”

He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly a little bashful. “Took me and the boys a year to build. I just wanted a place where they could be safe. Run. Climb. Do what they need to do without worryin’ about traps or coyotes or?—”

He breaks off, jaw flexing. I glance at him, and my chest aches at how much this clearly means to him.

“It’s incredible,” I say softly. “They’re lucky. You made them a whole kingdom.”

He shrugs, but his ears turn a little pink. “Just figured if we were takin’ them in, we should do it right. When we first moved into town, there was a huge feral cat problem, so I fixed it.”

I stare at him then, really look, and he’s watching me. Not the enclosure. Me.

My stomach dips. There’s something in his gaze that hits deeper than it should. Heat prickles up my neck, across my cheeks, and curls low in my belly, warm and unsettling. He’s watching me like he sees something no one else has, and I can’t seem to look away.

Then he says, “It’s my animal sanctuary.” And just like that, everything in him shifts .

His whole face lights up, easy and unguarded, like I’ve been handed a glimpse of the man beneath the hat and the slow drawl. Not just the cowboy. Not the mystery. But the kind of man who builds something like this with his own hands. Who cares so deeply it shows in every detail.

“We take in the ones nobody else wants, kill-shelter overflows, abandoned pets, ferals that need care. Animals with nowhere else to go. We have more farther ahead for dogs and other animals, and I have a team who helps with them—feeding, medical care, watching and engaging with them.”

And somehow, I can’t breathe right. Because I didn’t expect this. Him. And it comes at me with sharp clarity that he’s not just handsome or broody or unfairly charming; he’s good. The kind of good that sinks under your skin before you can stop it.

“How big is this sanctuary?” I ask, hoping my voice doesn’t betray how shaken I feel.

“Pretty large and I’m in the process of expanding it.” He nods toward the far fence. “Got a barn for the bigger animals too—couple horses that were bound for slaughter, a donkey named Fernando who thinks he’s a lapdog, some goats that just wandered in and never left.”

A laugh escapes me, too real to hold back. “You run an animal commune.”

“Something like that,” he states with a grin. “They’re misfits. But they’ve got a home here.”

His gaze catches mine again, and something shifts between us. Less playful now. Quieter. Steady.

And it scares the hell out of me how much I don’t want to leave this moment.

“I can’t believe you built all this.” I turn in a slow circle, trying to take it all in.

“Well, Ridge designed most of it. Man’s got an engineer’s brain hiding under all that brooding.

Cash handled the legal side, permits and regulations and all that paperwork that makes my eyes cross.

” He rubs the back of his neck, and something about the motion, broad shoulders shifting, his head ducking slightly, makes my breath catch.

“Gathering the animals and the team to help me was mostly me. Needed something to focus on after?—”

He stops. Silence stretches for a beat, but his expression doesn’t go blank like those of most people when they shut down. No, this is something else. He’s letting me see it. The weight.

“What happened?” I ask.

“I grew up in Oklahoma,” he says, gaze tracking something in the distance.

“Out there, tornadoes are just part of life. You learn the signs, the sky going that strange green, the way the air goes still, too quiet. We had drills in school, a shelter dug behind the barn, even a go-bag by the back door.”

He pauses, jaw working like he’s chewing over something too bitter to swallow. I can’t help but reach out and rub his arm .

“I used to think we were ready. That we’d be fine, no matter what hit.” His voice dips. “But one night…”

A breath hitches in his chest, so faint I almost miss it.

“It hit us hard. Real hard.” He avoids my gaze. “The house didn’t stand a chance. Neither did the barn. Animals were gone in an instant.”

Another beat of silence. Then, quieter, he says, “So were my folks.”

The words land heavily between us. Not dramatic. Just true. Raw. My chest squeezes, my throat tight.