Page 38 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy (Wild Hearts Ranch #1)

SOPHIA

T he rest of the day crawls by. Every time I check the clock, it’s moved approximately thirty seconds.

By five thirty, I’ve changed outfits three times, finally settling on denim shorts that showcase my legs and a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to my elbows.

Casual but cute. My flip-flops complete the I definitely didn’t spend an hour getting ready look.

Standing outside their door at six on the dot, I feel stupidly nervous. It’s just dinner. With three men who feature prominently in my morning orgasm dreams. Totally normal.

Cash opens the door, and my mouth immediately goes dry. He’s wearing dark blue jeans that fit him perfectly and a black button-down that has his blue eyes practically glowing. His hair is damp and pushed back, and dear God, he smells amazing .

“There’s our girl,” Cash grins as he pulls the front door wider, stepping aside. “Come on in, sugar.”

The smell crashes into me first, something rich and savory, warm bread and herbs.

I enter the home, the creak of old wood beneath my flip-flops grounding me. I quickly take them off near the door and continue barefoot. The ranch house is massive with wide hallways, vaulted ceilings, and antique rugs underfoot, but there’s a lived-in comfort to it.

My fingers brush along the edge of a hall table as I move through the space, nerves fluttering like they do on a first date. Voices drift from the kitchen, low and teasing, and then?—

Walker rounds the corner, and my breath catches as it had earlier today.

He’s wearing a forest-green T-shirt that hugs his shoulders, sleeves rolled just enough to expose strong forearms. His hair is slightly tousled like he ran his hand through it in frustration, or maybe nerves, and there’s flour smudged along the side of his neck.

“Evenin’, darlin’. Been waitin’ on you.” Then he ducks back into the kitchen.

Behind him, Ridge leans against the far wall in a dark navy shirt, auburn hair pulled off his gorgeous face. His posture is relaxed, arms folded, but the way his gaze tracks me tightens my stomach. He doesn’t just look at me. He sees me.

“You all look…” My voice fails for a second as heat cl imbs my throat. Edible. Dangerous. Like a buffet I want to sample one at a time. I swallow and recover, barely. “Really nice.”

“And you’re beautiful,” Ridge says simply.

Not flirtatious. Not coy. Just real. And that undoes me more than anything clever ever could. His voice wraps around me like velvet, rough at the edges, and I have to look away or I’ll combust.

The dining room is just off the open living space, cozy but elegant.

The table is set like they’re expecting company, not just me.

Real plates, actual napkins folded into triangles, and wildflowers spilling out of a mason jar in the center like someone cared a little too much. That someone being them.

It’s sweet. And so alarmingly domestic that something aches deep in my chest. I can’t remember the last time someone made dinner for me just because they wanted to. Not out of obligation. Not for optics. Just… to see me smile.

“Walker’s cooking,” Cash explains, appearing at my side with a glass of lemonade I didn’t even ask for. “Ridge handled the music. I’m here for my sparkling personality.”

“And modesty,” I murmur, lips curving despite myself.

He flashes me that cocky grin, all dimples and hotness, and my thighs clench. God help me, I’m in trouble.

Country music drifts through the space, something easy and warm that fills the air. I wander, letting myself absorb the scent of garlic and rosemary, the flicker of candles on a side table, the sound of Walker humming low under his breath in the kitchen. It’s too much. Too good. Too tempting.

That’s when I spot a photo on the mantel.

My smile fades.

It’s Rose, seated on the porch of the guesthouse, her grin wide. And beside her, a much younger Nolan. My first Alpha has his arm around her shoulders, chin tilted just right to show off his best angles. Even in still life, he manages to suck all the air from the room.

My stomach knots. The sight of him, that easy smile and confident stare, pulls me straight into a memory I didn’t ask for.

“Jesus, Sophia, do you have to be so emotional about everything?”

“No, you can’t take that job. What would people think?”

“I’ve already decided. Discussion over.”

“You’re lucky I put up with you.”

A wave of cold washes through me. I wrap my arms around my stomach without thinking, trying to breathe past the tightness.

Ridge appears at my side. “Rose was an incredible woman. Kind, generous. Treated everyone like family.”

I nod, throat thick. “Shame her grandson was a walking dumpster fire,” I manage.

Ridge huffs out a dry laugh. “That’s insulting to dumpster fires. At least they provide warmth.”

“And light,” I add, grateful for the distraction.

“Occasionally cook food.”

“Serve a purpose in society.”

“Unlike the Alpha who never deserved that title,” he finishes.

Our eyes meet, and something warm sparks between us. But it’s his grin that really gets me. It softens all his edges and has me forgetting that when I was with Nolan, I didn’t think I’d ever feel safe laughing.

And right now, I’m standing in a home that smells delicious and welcoming, with three cowboys who have nothing but open arms for me.

I drift into the open kitchen doorway, the scent smothering me in the best possible way. Rich, buttery, savory, and my stomach practically growls in response.

“That smells incredible,” I breathe, stepping in farther.

Walker is pulling out a massive roast from the oven, arms braced as he sets it gently on the stovetop.

“Wait ’til you try it.”

The kitchen is chaos, though. Steam curling up from mashed potatoes glistening with pools of butter. Green beans sautéed with almonds. Fresh cornbread stacked high. Roasted vegetables, two kinds of salad, and mac and cheese that definitely isn’t from a box .

“Holy shit,” I say, eyes wide. “Did you cook for the entire county?”

He wipes his hands on a towel and glances up at me, a little color rising to his cheekbones. “Didn’t know what you liked,” he says, shrugging. “Figured I’d make a little of everything. Cover my bases.”

“A little of everything?” I arch a brow.

His mouth tips in a lopsided smile. “Used to watch my mom make Sunday roasts. Every damn week, like clockwork. She’d hum while she worked, made it look easy. Taught me all her tricks before I hit high school.”

I step closer, unable to stop myself from inhaling again. “If this tastes half as good as it smells, I might propose.”

That gets a real smile. “Careful what you promise.”

“Still a better offer than my last relationship.”

That earns me a low, amused sound from his throat. Then he tilts his head toward the counter. “Want to help carry things out?”

“Sure.”

We load our arms with dishes, moving around each other. Our hands brush once. Then again. The third time, my fingers linger too long on a bowl of roasted carrots, and I glance up to find Cash and Ridge watching us. Something warm and electric crackles between us.

“Sit here,” Cash says, pulling out a chair between him and Ridge at the round table.

“Not even letting me pick my spot? ”

“Strategic placement,” Walker calls as he brings in the roast. “Keeps the conversation interesting.”

“Or keeps the flirting even,” I mutter under my breath, only half joking.

Before I can even lift a serving spoon, Cash and Ridge are already loading up my plate. Mashed potatoes, cornbread, salad, vegetables, generous portions of everything. I watch in amused horror as the mountain grows.

“I can’t eat all this,” I protest.

“Try,” Walker suggests, sliding in across the table with his own plate. “You need your strength.”

“For what?” I ask, too late in realizing the trap.

Three sets of eyes lock on mine. The air thickens with something darker, heavier, and a not-so-innocent smile tugs at Cash’s mouth.

Ridge just grins my way, that tempting, impossible-to-resist smile that gets me every time.

I take a bite of the mashed potatoes and groan. “Okay, that’s ridiculous.”

Walker glances over, clearly trying not to smile. “Too much salt?”

“Too much perfect ,” I mumble around another forkful. “Like, I’m offended. Why does it taste this good?”

Cash snorts. “Because he’s a show-off. Did you count how many side dishes he made? He’s compensating.”

“For what , exactly?” Walker drawls, raising a brow. “Because I’ve got a ten-pound roast and the confidence to serve two salads. Sounds like I’m thriving.”

“You made two kinds of salad,” I say, pretending to be scandalized.

Walker leans in slightly. “You said you liked options.”

Ridge clears his throat. “Some of us just wanted to eat dinner without a pissing contest.”

“It’s not,” Cash states, reaching for another roll. “I already won.”

“With what , the personality of a golden retriever?” Walker deadpans.

“They are beloved,” Cash points out. “You, on the other hand, are broccoli. Useful. Occasionally impressive. But no one craves you.”

“Speak for yourself,” I mutter, immediately regretting it as three sets of gazes swing my way.

Heat rushes up my neck, and I stab a green bean. “I meant the broccoli. Obviously.”

Walker’s low chuckle is warm against my skin. “Uh-huh.”

“Try the cornbread, Sophia. It’s Rose’s recipe.” Ridge, mercifully, changes the subject.

I don’t waste time and help myself, nodding with approval as I take a mouthful. “Tastes like Sunday mornings.”

For a second, no one speaks, just the soft clink of silverware and the quiet strum of country music from the speaker on the counter. It’s warm. Comfortable .

Until I glance toward the mantel and see him .

Nolan stares back at me from the photo like a ghost. It’s the face of a man who made me feel like I never quite measured up. Who made me feel invisible, even while I sat right beside him. Who kept me as his possession for show only.

Walker is staring at me. Of course he is.