Page 28 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy (Wild Hearts Ranch #1)

I do my best to concentrate on staying upright instead of on the solid wall of bare muscle pressed against me… or how every little bounce creates friction in places that are already screaming Mayday .

“You’re doing great,” he says, all warmth and amusement. “Natural rider.”

“If I die from this, I’m haunting you,” I warn, bouncing about, air through my hair.

“There are worse ghosts to have.” I hear the grin in his voice, that signature drawl curling every word. “But if you haunt my house, sugar, you’d better come ridin’ in on a full moon with spurs and sass.”

We finally reach the barn again. Cash swings down in one smooth, unfairly sexy motion, like he was born in a saddle. He ties Junebug to the fence and gives her a fond pat.

I attempt to dismount with the same confidence. Attempt being the key word. I get both legs over to one side, and then… gravity betrays me. My foot slips, my balance vanishes, and I’m plummeting toward the dirt like a very uncoordinated sack of potatoes.

Except I never hit the ground.

Strong arms catch me mid-fall, spin me in a dizzying arc, and suddenly I’m chest to chest with Cash again. His grip is firm, his heat unmistakable, and his breath brushes against my ear like a secret.

“I’m always here to catch you,” he murmurs. “Don’t forget that.”

I blink up at him, heart hammering like a runaway horse. I don’t know if he’s talking about riding lessons or something much, much deeper.

Before I can figure it out, I pull away, cheeks burning hotter than the Montana sun. And that’s when I spot Walker leaning against the barn, arms crossed, watching us with an unreadable look that shoots straight through me.

Images flash—his mouth between my thighs, the dark hunger in his eyes, the rough sound of my name when I came apart in his hands.

I tear my gaze away, pulse stuttering.

Next to me, Cash chuckles low. “Well, I’ll be damned. That cowboy stare could start a brush fire.”

I glance at him, mortified.

He grins, eyes dancing. “Don’t look so guilty, sugar. Ain’t no shame in gettin’ a little saddle sore from one and weak in the knees for another.”

“Stop talking,” I groan .

“What? I’m just sayin’, you’re settin’ off sparks all over this ranch. Might wanna giddy-up before someone else catches fire.”

“Cash,” I hiss, even as I’m trying not to laugh.

He winks, then tips his hat. “Don’t worry, sugar. I’ve got my fire extinguisher ready.”

God help me, I think I actually like this mess.

“Come on,” he insists, breaking the charged moment with a grin. “Let me introduce you to the training team. They’re always looking for help organizing events and getting the word out. Other ranches have riding schools, but we want ours to be the school.”

Relief floods me. Yes. This. This I can handle. This doesn’t involve riding double with a half-naked cowboy and rethinking my entire existence.

“Oh, so you want me to crush the competition and steal their clientele?” I smirk, slipping back into my comfort zone.

He laughs, loud and genuine. “Now we’re talkin’. I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

We walk toward what looks like an office annex built onto the barn.

A yellow school bus has parked nearby, and the high-pitched squeals and excited chatter of kids float through the morning air.

It feels fresh. Normal. A reminder that I might actually have something real to offer here, something besides being a complication with great legs.

This I’m good at.

But as we move, Cash’s hand occasionally finds the small of my back, casual, warm, completely unhurried, and every time it happens, my heart stutters like a skipped track. He’s not trying to claim me, not yet. Just guiding. Grounding.

Then, as we reach the barn door, he leans in, his breath warm against the shell of my ear.

“You walk like you don’t know that every man in a hundred-mile radius is already watching,” he murmurs, voice low and slow like molasses. “But I see it. And if you were mine, sugar… I wouldn’t let you forget it for a second.”

My breath catches. My knees might actually give out. There’s an inferno flooding every inch of me. He says it like a promise. Like a threat. Like a fantasy I’m one wrong move from making real.

I tilt my head just enough to meet his gaze, heart pounding like it’s trying to make a break for it. “You keep saying things like that, and someone is bound to fall for you.”

His grin deepens. “Is that a promise?”

I lift my chin, forcing a smirk. “Oh, you think I’m talking about me?”

I brush past him toward the barn, tossing my hair back like it’s nothing. “You’re not my problem, cowboy.”

But his grin only grows, like he sees straight through me.

I keep walking, pretending I’m brazen. Brave.

Inside, I’m anything but because my body is already choosing. Already craving. Already giving in. And it scares me that what I’m starting to feel reminds me a bit too much of my heat.

Not good when I’m supposed to leave in three months. When my life, my job, my friends, my entire identity, is hundreds of miles away.

The question now isn’t whether something will break.

It’s who .

And what pieces will be left behind when that happens.