Page 44 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy (Wild Hearts Ranch #1)

RIDGE

T he afternoon sun beats mercilessly on my shoulders as I work the fence line near the animal shelter section.

The posts have been sagging for weeks—probably from the goats using them as their personal scratching posts.

The throb in my hip is there, quieter than usual.

Three years since the accident, and I still move like an old man some days.

I’ve got my toolbox spread out, new wire coiled at my feet, trying to focus on something other than the Omega who’s been haunting my every thought. Yet my gaze keeps drifting to the pen beyond the fence I’m repairing, where she’s attempting to feed the rescue goats.

She’s completely swarmed, clearly out of her element.

Not a ranch girl—that’s obvious from how she holds the feed bucket like it might explode.

But there she is, boots planted uncertainly in the mud, wearing jeans and a shirt, and that red hair fluttering in the breeze as she tries to fend off eager goat heads.

“Harold!” Her voice carries across the field, sharp with exasperation. “Back it up. I see you, and no, my shirt is NOT a snack for your face!”

Harold, our biggest and most stubborn billy goat, butts against her hip with enough force to make her stumble. The bucket tilts dangerously in her grip.

“Oh, you think you’re tough?” She plants a hand on her hip, staring him down with more courage than sense. “I’ve dealt with Chicago rush-hour traffic, buddy.”

I pause mid-hammer swing, something dark and possessive stirring in my chest. She’s arguing with them like they understand every word, and maybe they do. Harold tilts his head, considering his options, before making another grab for her pocket.

“That’s it!” She backs up, holding the bucket high above her head. “Y’all had better be glad you’re cute, or I’d be filing workplace harassment charges. This is a hostile work environment! I know my rights!”

I chuckle to myself.

Mabel, our escape-artist doe, sneaks behind her and starts nibbling at her calf through her jeans.

“OW!” Sophia jumps, spinning around so fast she nearly loses her balance. “What kind of evolutionary advantage is that supposed to be? Darwin would be appalled! ”

I’m fighting not to laugh out loud now. The way she moves, all that untamed energy, that mouth that never stops, it makes me want things I shouldn’t want. Dark things. Things that would probably scare her if she knew the thoughts running through my head.

“Listen up, you mangy lot,” she announces, attempting to pour feed into the trough while using her knee to block Harold’s advances. “Form an orderly line, or I swear I’ll turn every last one of you into stew. Don’t test me. I have recipes. Google is free, and I’m not afraid to use it!”

The goats surge forward in complete chaos, ignoring her threats entirely. She squeals, laughing despite herself, and the sound shoots straight through me like lightning. I’m grinning like a fool, watching and listening to her.

I turn back to the fence post, gripping the hammer harder than necessary. Need to focus. Can’t spend all day watching her like some kind of stalker. That’s Cash’s job. Just need to secure this last section.

When I look back up, not even ten seconds later, she’s gone.

The bucket is on its side, feed scattered everywhere.

Every single goat is perched along the natural rise in the ground, necks craned as they peer over the edge at the five-foot drop into the deep riverbed below.

Ice floods my veins, colder than any winter storm.

“Sophia!” I call out.

Nothing. Just the wind through the grass and my own blood roaring in my ears.

I drop everything and vault over the fence line into the pen, boots sliding in the mud as I race to the edge. The slope is nearly vertical here in this section, all loose dirt and exposed roots, and below?—

The river is moving fast enough to take down a full-grown steer. The banks are sheer clay walls with nothing to grab on to. If you go in, you don’t come out without help.

I can’t see her. Just ripples. A disturbance in the current that could be anything.

A sound, so faint I might be imagining it, then a splash. Maybe her voice, cut off by water.

That’s all it takes.

I launch myself down the slope without thinking, half sliding, half falling until I hit the water like a sledgehammer. The cold knocks every thought from my head except one: Find her.

The current immediately tries to claim me, pulling me downstream toward the rapids. I fight against it, diving under, eyes burning in the murky water. Can’t see more than a foot in front of me. My hands sweep through nothing but silt and branches.

I surface, gasping. “SOPHIA!”

Just the rush of water that suddenly sounds like mocking laughter.

I dive again, deeper this time, lungs already protesting. The water is so dark it could be midnight down here. My hands search, finding nothing, nothing, nothing?—

I breach the surface and spot hair floating like silk ribbons in the current.

My heart squeezes.

Frantically, I swim over and grab her, hauling her against my chest as I kick desperately for the edge of the river. I’m gasping. She’s limp in my arms, a rag doll.

“Don’t you dare,” I call out. “Sophia, do you hear me?”

The current fights me for her, trying to tear her from my grip, but I’ll die before I let go. I fight to get us up the bank, using strength I didn’t know I had left to haul us both up the muddy slope. All I can see is her face, too pale, too still.

I lay her on the grass, hands shaking as I tilt her head back, check her airway. She’s breathing… Just.

I drop to my knees beside her. “Don’t you dare do this to me.”

Her eyes flip open, wide and unfocused. She coughs violently, water sputtering from her mouth as her chest heaves like her lungs can’t decide whether to work or give out.

I push the wet hair from her face. “Sophia, hey. Look at me. You’re okay. Just breathe.”

She wheezes in another breath, then coughs again, deep, racking, like it’s clawing its way up from her ribs.

I shift her onto her side, steadying her with one hand on her shoulder, the other rubbing circles on her back. “That’s it. Let it out. You’re safe now.”

Her fingers clutch the grass, nails digging in. She’s shaking all over.

“You hit your head?” I ask, gently running my hand over her scalp, checking for anything bleeding or swollen. “Sophia. Talk to me.”

She flinches at my touch but doesn’t pull away. Just coughs again, slower this time. Less frantic.

“Why didn’t you swim?”

She doesn’t answer. Maybe she can’t. But she’s breathing now, chest rising steadily beneath her soaked shirt, and it’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.

“R-Ridge?” Her voice is barely there, scraped raw.

“I’m here. Not going anywhere.”

Terror and guilt twist in my gut like barbed wire being pulled tight. One second she was there, laughing, threatening to turn my goats into dinner, and the next she was gone. I’d looked away. Just for a moment, but it was enough. Almost enough to lose her.

“I-I don’t know how to swim,” she gasps, cheeks flushing.

God. She could’ve drowned. Right here on my land. Because I didn’t know. Because I didn’t think.

I cup her face gently, trying to steady both of us. Her skin is cold and slick with river water, but her cheeks are burning with embarrassment.

“Hey,” I say softly, brushing a soaked strand of hair from her face. “You didn’t do anything wrong, all right? This isn’t your land; you couldn’t have known how steep it gets there. But you scared the hell out of me.”

Her lashes flutter, water clinging to them. She looks so damn vulnerable that it tears at something deep inside me.

“I’m going to teach you how to swim, sweetheart. Personally. Okay? And get that fence up there damn fast too.”

“Okay,” she whispers back. “I’d like your lessons.” She blinks slowly, her eyes struggling to focus. “The goats… Harold pushed me…”

A weak, watery cough cuts her off.

“Harold’s going on a diet after this,” I tease, but it cracks like dry timber. “Actually, forget the diet. He’s getting turned into curry.”

A faint ghost of a smile curves her lips, and she’s laughing lightly.

“Ridge… I need to tell you?—”

“No.” The word rips out of me, too sharp. I try again, gentler. “No deathbed confessions. You’re not dying. I’ve got you.”

“I know,” she agrees softly, coughing again. “Just… need you to know…”

Something in her voice makes everything inside me still.

“Know what?”

“I feel it. The pull. The… connection to you, as strong as it is to Cash and Walker. ”

Her voice is hoarse, but her grip on my hand is steady. Stronger than it should be after what just happened.

“Been fighting it since I got here,” she adds, her gaze flicking between my eyes like she’s afraid of what she’ll find there.

I’ve spent all this time convincing myself she didn’t feel it for me the same way. That whatever was happening between her and the others… it didn’t include me.

“I think we’re scent matches,” she whispers.

The words nearly stop my heart.

I glance down at our hands, trembling, hers so small wrapped around mine like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered here. And maybe it is.

“I can’t scent you,” I admit. The confession tastes bitter after holding it down so long. “Some days I think I’m losing my damn mind.”

Her fingers curl tighter, staring at me.

“I didn’t think it could happen for me anymore. Not after the accident. Not with all the ways I came out of it… wrong.” My voice cracks on the last word, yet I push through. “But I think there were signs I’ve been too scared to look at.”

She blinks up at me.

I pause, swallow hard. “The pain in my hip, three years of living with it every single day, every step like broken glass under my skin. But since you got here…”

I search her face, needing her to understand .

“It’s like my body forgets to hurt. Like it eases just by being around you. You… soften it. You soften me .”

Her breath catches, eyes shining with what looks an awful lot like a realization.