Page 29 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy (Wild Hearts Ranch #1)

SOPHIA

M y laptop screen glows in the afternoon light as I stare at the email I’ve been drafting for twenty minutes.

Thirty days’ notice to my Chicago landlord.

I need to do this. If I’m stuck here for three months to satisfy the will requirements, I can’t afford to pay rent on an empty place.

Not with the insurance deductible hanging over my head and my freelance income being what it is.

Dear Mr. Peterson,

I calculate the dates. If I send this today, I’ll need to have everything out by the end of next month.

Most of the furniture came with the place, one of those furnished situations that cost extra but meant I didn’t have to buy a couch or a bed.

Just my clothes, some books, personal items. Manageable .

I fill in the date and sign it off, then hit Send before I can second-guess myself. Next, I pull up my messages with Meredith and start typing.

Me: Hey, so I’m giving notice on my apartment. I can’t afford to pay Chicago rent while living here. Going to move out, figure out what comes next after the 3 months . Might need your help if the landlord wants me out quickly and I can’t get back in time.

Meredith: Girl, you know I’ll help.

Me: Maybe we can do it together if I can get away for a weekend?

Meredith: Just tell me when. So… how’s ranch life going?

I pause, fingers hovering over the keyboard. How do I explain that this place is nothing like I expected? That I wake up looking forward to each day instead of dreading it? That I have constant butterflies in my stomach around the cowboys.

Me: It’s… different than I expected. And don’t freak out, but I think I kind of like it here.

Meredith: I’m not surprised . Does it have anything to do with three hot cowboys? Been reading your blog… I NEED DETAILS!

Me: There may be some details to share. We need to have a proper phone call. Maybe tonight if you’re free?

Meredith: Ugh, I have that stupid work event. The one where we pretend to like our clients?

Me: Oh right, the quarterly schmooze-fest.

Meredith: But tomorrow for sure. I want EVERY detail .

Me: Deal.

A knock at my door interrupts me. I glance at the clock, six on the dot. Dinnertime at the ranch, and I’d been planning to bring a full plate back here and keep working on this social media campaign.

Me: Someone’s at the door, talk tomorrow! Good luck tonight.

Meredith: It’s totally the cowboys, isn’t it? GET, IT GIRL!

I close my laptop with a laugh and head to the door, expecting maybe Cookie with a dinner reminder.

I’m not expecting Cash and Walker looking like they stepped out of a country lifestyle magazine.

They’re both in crisp button-down shirts, the kind that look like someone actually ironed them.

Walker’s is a deep forest green that makes his brown eyes look impossibly warm.

Cash chose navy blue that sets off his perpetual tan and those sinful eyes.

Clean blue jeans that fit just right, not the work-worn ones from this morning.

Their good boots, polished to a shine. And, of course, their hats, not the everyday ones but what I’m learning are their going out hats.

“Well,” I manage, gripping the doorframe because my knees have forgotten their job. “Don’t you two clean up nice. What’s the occasion? Hot date with some cattle?”

Walker’s chuckle rumbles through the evening air.

“There’s a rodeo about an hour out,” Cash explains, and that grin of his should require a warning label. “Thought you might want to come with us.”

“A rodeo?” I try not to sound as intrigued as I am. “Like, an actual rodeo with cowboys and horses and extremely dangerous activities?”

“That’s the one,” Walker confirms with that sexy deep voice. “They’ve got good food too. Best corn dogs in three counties.”

“You’re bribing me with carnival food?”

“Is it working?” Cash asks, leaning against my doorframe in a way that makes the simple pose look like art.

I glance between these two men who showed up at my door looking good enough to eat, inviting me to something that sounds both thrilling and terrifying. The smart thing would be to politely decline, finish my work, and eat alone.

“Maybe,” I admit. “But this feels very…”

“What?” Walker prompts when I trail off.

“Formal? Like you’re properly asking me out or something.”

They exchange one of those looks, the ones where entire conversations happen in a glance. It’s annoying and oddly endearing.

“Perhaps,” Walker says slowly, watching my reaction, “it could be.”

“If you wanted it to be,” Cash adds, and there’s something serious under his usual playfulness .

“Both of you?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

“Is that a problem?” Cash asks.

Yes , my brain supplies. Because I’m already confused enough about my feelings without adding official dates to the mix. Because dating multiple people might be normal but I’ve never done it. Because these aren’t just any men—they’re my scent matches, and that terrifies me.

“I don’t… I mean…” I gesture vaguely at them, at myself, at the general situation. “Wouldn’t that be complicated?”

“Everything worth doing usually is,” Walker says simply.

The way they’re studying me has my stomach fluttering and my resolution wavering.

“I should change,” I say, easily giving in and glancing down at my leggings and oversized shirt. Three cats weave between my legs, meowing their opinions about the interruption to their evening routine. “Can’t go to a rodeo looking like I’ve been hunched over a laptop half the day.”

“We’ll wait,” they say together, and I flee before I do something ridiculous like invite them in while I change.

I race to my bedroom, cats trailing behind like fuzzy assistants, and tear through my new wardrobe.

What does one wear to a rodeo? Jeans seem too casual after seeing them dressed up.

Then I spot the dress Walker bought, hanging like a temptation.

Navy with silver stitching that catches the light, hitting just above my knees, with spaghetti straps and a low neckline that’s flirty without being scandalous.

I shimmy into it, the skirt part flowing, and I’m grateful again for June’s insistence on getting me basic toiletries yesterday before dinner.

My hair gets a quick brush until it falls in soft waves.

Lip gloss that tastes like strawberries.

A spritz of perfume that probably won’t mask how nervous I am. My new boots complete the look.

When I check the mirror, I barely recognize myself. The girl looking back fits here, like this cowgirl aesthetic was hiding under my Chicago exterior all along, waiting for the right moment to emerge.

That thought should scare me more than it does.

I hurry back out, finding them leaning against Cash’s truck. It’s a massive black thing with chrome details and only a bench seat in front. No back seat. Which means…

“Where’s Ridge?” I ask, trying not to think about the seating logistics. “Isn’t he coming?”

Something passes over Walker’s face, a tightness around his eyes. “Ridge doesn’t do rodeos anymore.”

“Oh.” There’s clearly more to that story, but the way Walker’s jaw sets tells me now isn’t the time to ask.

“He’s fine,” Cash assures me, but there’s something careful in how he says it. “Come on, sugar. Let’s show you some real Montana entertainment.”

Walker opens the passenger door and helps me climb up.

The dress rides up as I slide across the bench seat despite my attempts at grace, and I catch both of them noticing.

The bench that looked reasonably sized from outside becomes impossibly small once we’re all in.

I’m sandwiched between them, my thigh pressed against Walker’s solid warmth on my right, Cash’s shoulder brushing mine on my left every time he moves.

Cash turns the key, and the engine rumbles to life.

The radio comes on, some country station playing a song about back roads and summer nights.

With the doors shut, their scents smother me in the enclosed space.

Not subtle or ignorable, but overwhelming, making my head swim until I’m drowning in Alpha pheromones. I’m suddenly hot and breathing quickly.

“You okay there?” Cash glances at me as he shifts gears, speeding away from the ranch. “Looking a little flushed.”

“Just warm,” I manage, nudging Walker and gesturing for him to roll down the window a crack. The cool evening air helps, but not much when I’m pressed between two men who smell like everything my biology is programmed to want.

We drive in silence for a few minutes, the landscape rolling by outside. The sun is still up but starting its descent, painting everything golden. I watch fence posts blur past, trying to focus on anything besides the heat radiating from both sides.

“Never been to a rodeo,” I say, needing conversation to distract me from how aware I am of every point of contact.

“You’ll love it,” Walker explains. “Though I bet it’s pretty different from Chicago entertainment.”

“Everything here is different from back home.” The truck hits a pothole and I bounce, pressing harder against Walker. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His hand comes up to steady me, warm on my bare arm, and doesn’t immediately let go.

“Cash takes the corners like he’s racing,” Walker explains, thumb brushing my skin in what might be an accident but feels deliberate.

“I drive with enthusiasm,” Cash defends, taking the next turn at a speed that has me sliding the other direction. My hand lands on his thigh for balance, and I sense his muscles tense under my palm.

“Enthusiastically trying to kill us,” I mutter, but I don’t move my hand right away.

“Never had a complaint before.” Cash grins, shifting gears in a way that flexes the muscles under my palm.

“That’s because everyone’s too terrified to speak,” Walker says dryly.