Page 26 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy (Wild Hearts Ranch #1)

SOPHIA

J une’s taillights disappear down the ranch road, leaving me in the kind of darkness Chicago never achieves.

I fumble with my keys, slightly unsteady on my feet.

June had one glass of wine, responsible designated driver that she is.

I, on the other hand, discovered that Loretta’s book club pour is apparently measured in yeses .

“Mrow?” a familiar squeaky voice greets me from the shadows.

“Chonkarella!” I squint at the porch where three orange shapes wait like fuzzy sentinels. “And babies! Were you waiting long? I’m so sorry. Mommy was out discussing demon anatomy with the town ladies. Very educational.”

The mama cat winds around my legs as I finally get the door open, nearly sending me sprawling. Her two kittens dart inside like they’re being chased. Or maybe they just know dinner time when they see it.

“Yes, yes, I hear you,” I tell them, flipping on lights and making my way to the kitchen. “Demanding little fluffballs, aren’t you?”

I find two cans of tuna in the cupboard, the good stuff, apparently, not the bargain brand I usually buy. “Look at me, feeding you fancy tuna. You’re already living better than I did in Chicago.”

They attack the food. I make a mental note to ask Cookie about cat food tomorrow. Although, watching them eat with such enthusiasm is oddly satisfying.

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, chugging half of it in an attempt to preempt tomorrow’s wine headache. Before I shower off the evening’s… everything… I need to update my blog. My followers have been begging for news, and boy, do I have news.

Laptop open, sitting cross-legged on my bed with three cats already claiming territory on my comforter, I start typing.

C onfessions of a City Omega

Book Clubs, Barn Cats, and Bad Decisions

Dearest Diary,

Second night in Montana and your girl has already:

Joined a book club

Adopted three cats (or they adopted me—jury is still out)

Discovered the ranch has a cat sanctuary (I’m in heaven)

Made questionable life choices involving cowboys (I’m fanning myself)

But let’s start with the important stuff: BOOK RECOMMENDATION ALERT!

Infernal Temptation — a literary masterpiece about a woman who accidentally summons a demon prince while trying to bake. I haven’t technically finished it yet (I’m savoring chapter eight like fine wine).

The ladies of the book club take their demon romance VERY seriously. There were themed snacks. There were costumes. There was a cardboard cutout with hand-drawn abs. I’ve never felt more at home.

Speaking of home, meet my new fluffy overlord roommates:

I pull back from the laptop. “Okay, orange cheeseballs, photo time! Look cute for the internet!”

Chonkarella, of course, immediately turns her back to me. The kittens scatter like I’ve announced bath time.

“Really? You were all over me two seconds ago!” I chase one kitten around the coffee table, nearly tripping over my own feet. “Come back! I need content!”

Finally, I manage to catch all three near their empty food bowls, the one place they’ll hold still. I email myself the photo and hop back onto my laptop, attaching the image, then I’m into my blog once more.

M eet Chonkarella (the CEO) and her two minions, whose names are TBD because I’m taking suggestions. Current front-runners are Chaos and Mayhem, for obvious reasons.

But let’s talk about what you REALLY want to know: the cowboy situation.

Deep breath.

So… I may have gotten to know one of them a bit better. Maybe too much better? Like, definitely crossed some professional boundaries better.

Here’s the thing—when a six-foot-three cowboy looks at you like you’re water in the desert, maintains proper consent while pressed against you in a very small space, and kisses like he’s trying to prove a point to God himself…

what’s a girl supposed to do? Say no? I’m only human!

An Omega human with WORKING HORMONES, thank you very much.

Am I ashamed? Should I be ashamed? Because mostly I’m just tingly and trying to figure out how to keep my damn head around three stupidly hot cowboys who smile like sin and talk like trouble .

(I’m kidding. Sort of. Okay, I’m not kidding at all. Judge me. I deserve it.)

You know what? Because right now, outside my window, I can see infinite stars.

And there’s this one cowboy who stands looking up at them like they hold all the answers.

He’s the mysterious one, all distant and brooding silence.

People keep mentioning an accident that changed him, but nobody says what.

Is it wrong that I want to know? That I want to stand out there with him more and learn what else he sees in all that darkness and the constellations?

(Don’t answer that. I already know I’m in trouble.)

Tomorrow’s goal: Actually help around the ranch instead of just swooning at inappropriate moments. Wish me luck.

But more importantly, send name suggestions for these kittens.

City Omega out. (Still in the country. Still in denial about feelings. Still slightly wine-drunk.)

PS: If you’re my mother reading this, I’m JOKING about the cowboy thing. Totally joking. Complete fiction.

PPS: If you’re not my mother, I’m totally not joking. He tasted like heaven and promises. Send help .

I hit publish before I can second-guess myself.

My followers are going to have a field day with this one.

The comments will probably range from Get it, girl to This is better than the demon book to my personal favorite type: all-caps declarations of lust, feral emojis, and key-smash battle cries like SKDJSKDJSHD I’M ASCENDING.

The cats have arranged themselves on my bed again in a perfect orange gradient, Chonkarella in the middle, kittens flanking her like tiny bodyguards.

“You guys have the right idea,” I tell them, finally heading for the shower. “Claim your space and don’t apologize for it.”

The hot water feels incredible, washing away the evening’s wine and discussions of demon anatomy. But it can’t wash away the memory of Walker’s hands, his mouth, the way he devoured me in the dressing room.

Or the image of Ridge under the stars, searching for something in all that vast darkness.

Or Cash’s easy smile hidden behind country-boy charm.

Three Alphas. One temporary Omega. What could possibly go wrong?

Everything , my brain supplies helpfully.

But as I fall into bed, surrounded by purring cats and the kind of quiet that only exists far from city lights, I can’t bring myself to care about potential disasters .

Tomorrow I’ll work on being sensible. Tonight, I’m just a city girl with a blog, three cats, and a kiss-bruised heart trying to figure out how three months suddenly feels like forever.

The last thing I think before sleep claims me is I wonder what constellation Ridge was looking at tonight . Then I’m gone…

T he early sun paints everything golden as I stand in my doorway, coffee mug warming my hands, three orange shadows weaving between my legs.

Montana mornings are nothing like they are in Chicago.

Here, the air tastes clean and crisp. Birds sing conversations in the trees, and the barks of dogs come from somewhere in the distance.

Yet, I can’t stop staring at the paddock that sits maybe thirty yards from my cottage. The other night it was lost in the darkness, but now it’s very much visible. As is the shirtless cowboy currently working a horse inside it.

Cash.

Sweet merciful God.

He’s wearing worn jeans that sit low on his hips, scuffed boots, and a black hat. That’s it. The whole outfit. The sun turns his skin bronze, highlighting every ridge and valley of muscle as he moves with the horse, a beautiful paint with patches of white and chestnut that catch the light.

The horse is clearly green, still learning, tossing its head and moving sideways whenever Cash commands something new.

But Cash just moves with it, patient and fluid, like they’re dancing rather than fighting.

His muscles flex with each movement, sweat already making his skin glisten despite the early hour.

I should go inside. I should definitely not stand here ogling him like some romance novel heroine.

Instead, I take another sip of coffee and lean against the doorframe, settling in for the show.

The way he moves is graceful and powerful. When the horse tries to buck, Cash rides it out like he’s rocking in a chair, one hand on the reins, the other relaxed at his side. His abs contract with the movement, and I nearly drop my mug.

How long have I been standing here? Five minutes? Ten? Time seems irrelevant when presented with this particular view.

“Okay, enough,” I mutter to myself and the cats. “Get dressed and be a functional human being.”

Chonkarella meows what sounds suspiciously like disagreement, but I force myself inside.

I dress in the clothes Walker bought me—comfortable jeans that actually fit properly, boots that don’t pinch, and a T-shirt that hugs in all the right places without being too revealing. Looking in the mirror, I barely recognize myself. I look… like I belong here .

Dangerous thought.

I head out, determined to make myself useful, just as Cash exits the paddock and comes my way along a narrow path in the lawn. He’s dusting his hat against his thighs in that unconscious way cowboys do, sending little puffs of dirt into the air. The movement draws my attention to said thighs and…

He glances my way and winks. Actually winks. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to my blood pressure.

“Morning, ma’am,” he drawls, and I swear my knees consider giving out.

“I’m a ma’am now?” I call back, proud that my voice sounds steadier than my pulse.

“Would you prefer little lady ? Sugar pie ? Darlin’ with a heart over the i ?” His grin is pure evil.

I laugh despite myself. “Let’s stick with Sophia .”

He saunters closer, and it’s definitely a saunter, all long-legged confidence. “That outfit suits you. Real well.”