Page 31 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy (Wild Hearts Ranch #1)

She doesn’t take the hint, because of course she doesn’t.

Instead, she leans in even closer, kneeling between us to get to him, whispering something against Cash’s ear while her hand trails slowly down his arm like she’s auditioning for a soap opera.

Whatever she says earns a polite nod from him, but that’s it.

“That’s Brittany Carson,” Walker murmurs against my ear, sounding way too entertained. “She’s had a one-track mind about Cash since he moved into town. Real determined type. Like a dog with a bone.”

“Persistent,” I mutter, working hard to keep my voice even. My now-empty beer cup creaks in protest from how tightly I’m gripping it.

“Easy there, killer,” Walker says, nudging my side. “No one’s stealing your man.”

“He’s not my man,” I whisper and gain myself a sneer from Brittany. I already dislike her.

“Sure. So you’re just strangling your beverage because hydration’s a serious business?”

I glance down. My knuckles are white against the cup. Damn it. “Shut up.”

He grins, thoroughly enjoying himself. “Just sayin’, it’s kinda hot. You getting all fire-eyed and bitey like that.”

“I’m perfectly calm.”

“Sure you are,” he says, voice dipping low as he leans in again, breath warm against the shell of my ear. “And if I looked under that little dress, would calm be the word I’d find?”

I nearly choke on my beer. “Walker.”

“You have no idea how hard it is not to stare at your legs.” His voice is a rough whisper, meant for me and only me. “Or to imagine what they’d feel like wrapped around me.”

The heat in his voice makes me reckless. Bold. Dangerous, even. And I want to make him squirm as much as I am.

“Probably doesn’t help that I forgot to put on underwear.”

He goes still. Stone still. “You what?”

I smirk. “Oops?”

“Sophia—”

“Guess you’ll just have to keep wondering.”

He shifts in his seat like it physically pains him, then leans back with a groan. “That’s just mean. Are you serious?”

“I don’t know,” I say lightly, fluttering my lashes. “How serious is your reaction right now?”

He mutters under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear, “Jesus, I’m gonna wreck you.”

The words punch low in my stomach and coil heat through my core like a lit fuse.

“And I’m about two seconds from dragging you back to the truck to check for myself,” he adds.

“Better be quick, cowboy. I’m slippery.”

His eyes flare, and I know I’ve won this round. He’s suffering, and I feel spectacular about it.

That’s when Brittany chooses to finally flounce off, hips swinging like she’s in a country music video, flipping her hair in a full one-eighty that nearly smacks a passing toddler.

Cash shifts in his seat and glances over just in time to find me watching him like he’s personally responsible for my unraveling.

“What?” he says, brows raised. “Why do you both look like I kicked your dog?”

“Just admiring your people skills,” Walker says cheerfully. “Hell of a talent. But you missed out on something way more interesting.”

I shoot him a warning look, instantly suspicious.

He ignores it. “Turns out our girl here forgot something kind of essential when she got dressed today.”

“Walker.” I say it low. Dangerous. But not nearly deadly enough, apparently.

Cash narrows his eyes, suddenly very focused. “Forgot what?”

Walker leans in even closer. “She’s not wearing anything under that dress. ”

Cash’s gaze snaps to me, slow and sharp. “Is that right?”

His hand starts to reach for the hem of my dress, fingers brushing close to my thigh.

I swat him away without hesitation. “Don’t think so.”

He chuckles, low and dark. “Can’t blame a man for trying. But is it true?”

“I-I’m not—this is not up for public debate,” I stammer, my entire body going thermonuclear.

Walker smirks. “Pretty bold, though, if it is true. Coming out in a crowd like this, nothing between you and that little sundress but fresh air and confidence.”

“I call her bluff.” Cash leans in, just enough to invade my space in that maddening way he does. “You jealous of Brittany because I didn’t pay you attention or because she got to stand close and you didn’t?”

“Neither,” I lie with the strength of a thousand liars. “Why would I be jealous? There’s nothing going on here.”

“Oh?” Walker repeats with mock thoughtfulness. “That’s funny. Because last I checked, we’re scent-matched. All three of us.”

“And don’t forget,” Cash adds, his smile going slow and wicked. “I still owe you a lesson in what it means to be claimed.”

My brain exits stage left. My thighs press together on reflex. And still, my mouth, traitor that it is, fires back, “You two really need to learn the meaning of boundaries .”

Walker laughs softly. “We’re cowboys, darlin’. We never did take kindly to fences.”

“Can we please watch the rodeo?” I plead.

“Whatever you desire, sugar,” Cash agrees easily, but his hand finds my knee, thumb brushing the bare skin just above where my dress ends.

The next event is bull riding, and any thoughts about scent matches fly out of my head as I watch cowboys try to stay mounted on animals that look like they’re made of pure muscle and rage. And I thought Brutus was terrifying.

“This is insane,” I say as one rider gets thrown after only two seconds, barely rolling away before the bull’s hooves hit where he’d landed. “Why would anyone do this?”

“Adrenaline,” Walker says. “Glory. Money, if you’re good enough.”

“Ridge was the second-best bull rider in the country and close to taking the first spot,” Cash adds quietly. “Could ride anything they put him on.”

The mention of Ridge makes my chest tight. “I remember Belle telling me he was once a big rodeo star but had an accident?”

Walker nods. “Yeah. Bull riding. Three years ago.”

We watch in silence as another rider explodes out of the chute, clinging to a beast three times his size. Now that I know Ridge used to ride those monsters, I see the whole thing differently. It’s not just a sport anymore. It’s a gamble with your life.

I picture Ridge in that ring. That quiet, brooding man I’ve seen with a whiskey glass and a thousand-yard stare, once flying out of a gate with nothing but grit and rope to keep him from being crushed. My throat tightens.

“He must have loved it,” I say softly. “To be that good. To risk that much.”

“It was his life,” Cash confirms, eyes on the ring. “Everything to him. Making it to the pro circuit, ranked nationally… he was right there.”

“Then one bad ride changed everything,” Walker adds. “Six point nine seconds that went sideways.”

My stomach twists. That’s all it took to tear down a dream, to change the course of someone’s entire life. I can’t stop imagining Ridge getting thrown, hitting the dirt, not getting up right away. The panic. The pain. The silence that must’ve followed.

It makes sense now why he keeps to himself, why the rodeo is off-limits. Every second of this must feel like a memory that won’t stop replaying.

“I should talk to him,” I murmur. “When we get back.”

“Maybe,” Walker says, thoughtful. “Ridge is… complicated about it. Sometimes talking helps. Sometimes it just makes the ache louder.”

We fall quiet again, watching the rest of the show. Calf roping. Team roping. More barrel racing. But my mind keeps circling back to Ridge, to what he lost, to how easily something you love can break you.

By the time the rodeo ends, floodlights drape the arena in stark shadows. The crowd starts to thin, people buzzing about their favorite rides.

“That was incredible,” I blurt as we get up and start making our way toward the truck, the noise fading behind us. “Terrifying. But amazing.”

“Glad you enjoyed it,” Cash states, his palm settling on the small of my back like it belongs there. “Wasn’t sure it’d be your kind of thing.”

“I’m discovering I like a lot of things I didn’t expect to,” I admit, glancing between them.

They exchange one of those loaded looks again, and Walker grins. “That’s good to know.”

Back at the truck, we’re inside in no time, and Cash is driving us home already. I’m pleasantly buzzed from the beer and the excitement, pressed between them in the truck’s cab like I belong there. About halfway home, Cash pulls off at a scenic overlook sign we pass.

“Ice cream stop,” he announces. “Can’t have a proper date without dessert.”

The ice cream shop looks like it hasn’t been updated since the 1950s, all chrome and neon and checkered floors. The selection is impressive, though, with dozens of flavors in old-fashioned glass cases. And it’s a drive-through.

“Rocky road,” Cash orders.

“Vanilla with fudge,” Walker adds .

I scan the options. “Mango,” I decide out loud. “With rainbow sprinkles because I’m an adult who makes excellent choices.”

“All in cones,” Cash says and then pays.

With our cones in hand and slurping up the goodness, we are off again. But instead of heading home, Cash drives to another overlook, one where we’re alone up here. The valley spreads below us like a painting with only the moonlight bringing it life.

“Stunning,” I say, trying to eat my ice cream before it melts entirely in the warm evening air.

“Beautiful,” Walker agrees. He’s not looking at the scenery but at me.

“Cheesy,” I inform him, fighting a smile.

“You like cheesy,” Cash counters, licking his rocky road like it owes him something. It shouldn’t be distracting. It really, really shouldn’t.

“You know,” he adds, “things have felt different since you showed up at the ranch.”

“How so?”

“Lighter,” Walker answers. “Like someone flipped the switch and everything stopped feeling so… gray.”

“The hands noticed too,” Cash says. “Said we’ve been walking around like we’ve caught something contagious.”

“Lovestruck idiots,” Walker corrects. “Cookie’s exact words were moon-eyed fools .”

“That’s…” I pause, blinking down at my melting cone. “A lot. We barely know each other. ”

I watch them both devour and finish their ice cream in several bites, while I’m still licking mine.