Page 19 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy (Wild Hearts Ranch #1)

Outside, the breeze has picked up, and the late-afternoon sun paints everything gold.

It’s too pretty, too picturesque, and I’m too caught up in the way Walker lingers near me even now, close enough that his arm brushes mine as we walk.

He collects my bags and puts them into his truck, then we are strolling toward a shop with pastel-painted trim and a big glass window lined with mannequins in sundresses, cowgirl boots, and sparkly fringe.

The hand-painted sign overhead reads The Gilded Cactus in gold script, with a tiny cartoon cactus wearing a tiara next to it.

It’s adorable.

Inside, the place smells like vanilla candles and clean linen.

It’s huge too. Racks of flowy skirts, denim, and floral prints line the space, with a few cowhide chairs scattered in corners beside full-length mirrors.

Then I spot more racks of clothes way in the back.

Soft acoustic music plays from an old stereo behind the counter, where two girls glance up the second we step inside.

“Walker,” one of them says with a grin, dragging out the syllables like they taste sweet. She’s all legs and lip gloss, blonde braid swinging as she leans on the counter. “Don’t tell me you’re finally here for a makeover.”

The brunette beside her perks up too, bright-eyed and clearly just as delighted. “Or maybe you’re here to finally buy that flannel we tried to talk you into last winter?”

Walker lifts a hand in greeting but doesn’t stray far from me. “Actually, she’s the one doing the shopping today.”

Both girls turn their eyes to me then, and I swear their smiles twitch—not mean, exactly, but assessing .

“Ohhh,” the blonde drawls. “We’re gonna have fun.”

The brunette nudges a rack closer. “Shout if you need a dressing room. We’ve got three in the back. The middle one has the best mirror.”

Walker shoots me a reassuring smile, as if to say he’ll be close, then peels off to browse a table of belts and boots, giving me space.

I let out a breath and drift toward the dresses.

That’s when I see a deep blue one with silver threading along the hem, fitted through the bodice, then flaring at the skirt in soft, swooping waves that might graze my calves.

The kind of thing you wear to a barn dance, or maybe a date you don’t want to end.

I grab it and keep on shopping. Before I know it, I have a massive pile in my arms, and the shop assistants are nowhere to help.

So I head into the middle dressing room and pull on the blue number first. Then I turn in front of the mirror, startled by my reflection.

It hugs me in all the right ways, makes me look… different. Softer. Brighter. Like someone who hasn’t been battling for an easier life for as long as she can remember.

Which is why I’m trying really hard not to think about Walker.

Not his stupid crooked smile. Not the way he looked at me when I tried on boots, like he was seconds from devouring me whole.

I step out of the dressing room .

Walker is lounging in one of the cowhide chairs outside my dressing room, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, his sinful smile aimed straight at me like it has its own gravitational pull.

His posture straightens. Eyes darken. Mouth parts. And for a few loaded heartbeats, he just stares.

“You’re fucking stunning.”

Not the dress. He’s staring at my face. Me .

Heat rushes up my neck. “You don’t think it’s too much?”

“No,” he says, low and growly. “It’s spectacular.”

It’s impossible to ignore the way his gaze drags up and down my body. Or how he shifts in that ridiculous cow-print chair, legs spread like he owns the whole damn store.

I duck my head and mutter something about trying on more outfits. He doesn’t push. Just nods, silent as I disappear behind the curtain.

The next outfit is a white linen skirt and a soft green crop top. A little too revealing for my usual taste, but something about today feels different. I tug at the hem, hesitate, then square my shoulders and step out.

Walker doesn’t whistle, thank God, but the look he gives me? It burns.

His mouth curves, slow and wicked. “That one’s dangerous.”

My brow lifts. “Why? Because it’s not flannel?”

“Because if you wear that around the ranch, I’ll get nothing done.”

Heat flushes through me. I spin for effect, flipping the skirt like I’m in a commercial. “Maybe that’s the goal.”

He chuckles, low and gravelly. “You keep talking like that, and I’m gonna start thinkin’ you want trouble.”

I hold his stare. “Look at you being Mr. Flirt,” I tease, though my face feels as if it’s on fire.

Silence hums between us like electricity in the air before a storm. Then I break eye contact and dart behind the curtain again, pulse hammering.

What the hell am I doing?

I change quickly into a soft pink dress. Not the fanciest, but the one I liked most, as it looked comfortable and sweet, with a square neckline and capped sleeves.

I’m about to call out when I hear the curtain shift.

Walker slips into the changing room, one hand curling the fabric shut behind him.

My heart lodges somewhere in my throat.

“Walker—”

“I know. I’m crossing a line,” he says, voice pitched low and rough. “But I couldn’t help myself. You look like a fucking dream in those outfits.”

My spine presses against the wall, the cool plaster grounding me while he steps closer.

“I didn’t ask you to come in here,” I whisper, my words shaky. Weak. Wanting .

“No,” he murmurs. “But you didn’t tell me to leave yet either.”

He’s so close I can feel the heat of him. One hand lifts, slow and careful, fingers brushing my jaw. My whole body tightens in response. His thumb strokes my cheek. I lean into it before I realize I’m doing it.

“You smell like jasmine and vanilla,” he says. “And rain. And fuck, Sophia… your scent’s been driving me insane since the second I met you back at the ranch.”

I grab his wrist. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

“No?” His voice is all husky temptation. “Don’t act out what we’re both desiring? That you’ve been looking at me like you want to tear me apart just as bad?”

My mouth parts, but no words fall out.

“Tell me to go, Sophia. Tell me to fuck off, and I will do anything you ask.”

I try to speak.

Nothing happens.

His other hand slips to my waist, fingers curling just above my hip. I let out a soft breath that’s almost a whimper.

“You’re not ready,” he says quietly. “I get it. But I’m not gonna pretend I don’t want you. That I don’t feel this… connection. You walk into a room, and my whole body reacts.”

“I thought I was imagining it,” I whisper.

He grins wickedly.

I tilt my head up. Our faces are inches apart .

Too close.

The air between us feels charged. His scent wraps around me with something darker now, spiced heat and want. It pulses in time with my heart, which is currently thundering in my ears like it’s trying to rip free from my chest.

He leans in just enough that I feel his breath fan across my mouth. Not touching. Not quite. Just there, hovering like temptation incarnate.

My knees nearly buckle.

His lips are a hairsbreadth from mine. Not even a full breath separates us.

Just heat. Just hunger. My body aches, slick pooling between my thighs like a betrayal.

This is why Omegas aren’t supposed to be alone with Alphas.

Because when this need ignites, there’s no logic.

No safety. Just instinct and devastation.

A single touch would ruin me. A kiss might kill me.

I can’t breathe. Can’t think.

Why the hell did I think shopping with Walker was a good idea? He’s not just dangerous; he’s lethal. And not because he’s trying to be. But because he isn’t. That’s what makes it worse.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. He just looks at me with those searing eyes like he’s stripping me bare. And I can’t look away. Can’t run. I’m locked here, heart in my throat, chest rising and falling too fast.

My fingers curl into the fabric of my dress like it might anchor me. Like I might survive this .

And then his gaze drops to my lips. “I won’t do anything unless you want me to. Do you want me to?”

I swear I feel the moment it happens, as though gravity itself shifts toward him. My lungs squeeze. My body screams out for him, thrashing like it’s being denied oxygen.

His lips twitch, almost a smirk. A dare.

And I snap.

I rise onto my toes and crash my mouth to his like I’ve waited lifetimes to do it. Because if I didn’t, I would’ve exploded from the ache. From the pressure of wanting something so badly it hurts to breathe.

And God help me?—

I don’t regret it for a second.

Just the shock of him groaning into my mouth and the strength of his arms banding around my waist, hauling me against his chest, are enough to destroy me. His kiss isn’t polite. It’s possessive, deep, full of the kind of hunger that makes me ache.

His tongue sweeps into my mouth, tangling with mine, slow and thorough. My hands fist in the front of his shirt. I gasp when he turns me, pressing me to the wall with his body. I can feel every hard line of muscle, the tension thrumming under his skin.

He kisses my neck like he wants to ruin me.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers.

But I can’t. And when I twist my head to look him in the eye, my answer burns hot on my face. I’m on fire for him.

One of his hands slides under my dress, fingers brushing the back of my thigh, drawing a trembling moan from me. My back arches. I just crave more.

We’re both panting.

“You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever kissed,” he rasps. “And, darlin’, if you keep lookin’ at me like that, I’m gonna lose what little control I’ve got left.”

“Walker—”

“We’re scent-matched, Sophia.”

I flinch and turn around to face him. “Don’t say that.”

His eyes narrow. “Why? Because you already know it’s true?”

I shake my head and go to step away, but he grabs my hips and pulls me back, pinning me to the mirror with his body.

“You didn’t kiss me because you’re scared,” he murmurs. “You kissed me because your body’s screaming for mine.”

“I didn’t mean to?—”