Page 64 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy (Wild Hearts Ranch #1)

SOPHIA

I breathe in deeply as I step out of the main house, the air clean and crisp with that after-rain smell I never knew existed in Chicago.

The ranch spreads out before me, puddles reflecting the sky like scattered mirrors, and I can’t help but giggle at myself that city girl Sophia actually looks forward to feeding goats.

Who would have thought? Months ago, I was navigating Chicago traffic and dealing with nightmare clients who wanted their websites to pop more without any actual direction. Now I’m walking across a ranch in my pale green sundress and muck boots, heading to feed animals that have somehow become mine.

This feels more like home than my Chicago apartment ever did. More real. More… everything.

The guys were up and gone before I woke, which is saying something since we’ve been sharing a bed—two king-sizes pushed together to accommodate all four of us—and usually at least one of them lingers for morning kisses.

But with the fundraiser happening in eleven days, everyone is pulling double duty.

Ranch work doesn’t stop just because we’re trying to save said ranch.

I check my phone as I walk. The fundraiser tracker shows $237,000. We’re halfway through our time, including tickets sold for the rodeo so far. My stomach clenches with anxiety. We need $263,000 more in eleven days. The math isn’t looking good, but I refuse to give up hope. We’ve come too far.

Since Ronan’s last unwelcome visit, where he ended with Walker rearranging his face, he hasn’t shown himself on the property.

But we’ve heard through the town grapevine that he’s been spreading poison, telling anyone who’ll listen that we’re scamming people, that Ridge can’t really ride anymore, that the whole thing is a desperate grab for money we don’t deserve.

Some people believe him. But more believe in us.

At least, I hope they do. I have June and the book club ladies pushing bake sales and asking for donations.

They are amazing, and I tear up thinking about their kindness.

Even Belle, who I first met on arriving at the ranch, is now donating half of her earnings from the cowboy calendar to our cause.

The crunch of gravel comes from behind me, and I turn, expecting to see one of the ranch hands arriving for the day. Instead, a black Mercedes pulls up near our house, so out of place on our dusty ranch that it might as well have landed from space.

The door opens, and out climb legs that go on forever, mini shorts that barely qualify as clothing, boots, and a shirt tied up just below breasts.

Brittany Carson!

“Fucking hell,” I mutter under my breath. “What does she want now?”

She spots me immediately, of course. She starts toward me with that runway walk that probably takes years to perfect. Her presence can’t be good news.

“Sophia!” she calls out. “You got a sec?”

I force a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. Can’t be too rude, seeing as her family’s money could still save us if they decide to support us again and not listen to Ronan.

“Brittany. What brings you out here so early?”

She stops just far enough away to avoid any actual ranch dirt. “Oh, be a doll and point me in the direction where I can find Cash?”

“He’s working,” I say, proud of how level my voice stays. “And even if he weren’t, I don’t think he’d want to see you. We’ve been pretty clear about boundaries.”

“Don’t be all upset with me,” she begins, examining her manicured nails. “I’m actually here to help. My family has decided to extend quite a generous offer.”

“What are you talking about? ”

She smiles. “Well, I convinced Daddy to donate enough to ensure you win this little fundraiser of yours. All in exchange for Cash taking me as his Omega.”

My hands tighten on the feed bucket until my knuckles go white. “Excuse me?”

“It’s a small price, really. You have the other two men, and everyone’s happy. Isn’t that fair?” She tilts her head, blonde hair catching the sunlight. “You taking all three is rather greedy, don’t you think? Some might even say selfish.”

The rage that floods through me is volcanic.

“Greedy?” I set the bucket down carefully because I’m afraid I might throw it at her perfectly contoured face.

“Let me explain something to you, Brittany. Cash isn’t a prize to be bought.

He’s not property your daddy can purchase with a big enough check.

He’s a person, an Alpha who chose his mate.

Me. His scent-matched, true mate. Not some fake wannabe in expensive boots who thinks she can buy her way into his bed. ”

Her face goes red under her spray tan. “You don’t know who you’re messing with. My family?—”

“Your family can take their money and their threats and shove them where the sun doesn’t shine,” I interrupt, my Chicago street kid coming out in full force.

“Cash is mine. Ridge is mine. Walker is mine. And I’m theirs.

That’s not greed, sweetheart. That’s fate.

That’s biology. That’s love. Something you wouldn’t understand if it bit you on your surgically enhanced ass. ”

“You little?—”

“Mind you, I’m being polite compared to what Cash would say if you approached him with this bullshit. He’d probably laugh in your face. Actually, no, he’d probably just feel sorry for you. Because it must be exhausting, constantly chasing after men who don’t want you.”

Brittany’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. “You’re making a huge mistake. When your little ranch is foreclosed and you’re homeless, don’t come crying?—”

“Leave.” My voice drops to something dangerous. “Now. Before I forget my manners entirely.”

She spins on her designer boots with a huff. “You’ll regret this, you backwater little?—”

That’s when I grab the bucket and open the goat pen, shaking my head.

Suddenly, Harold charges out like he’s been shot from a cannon.

“Harold, no!” I call out, but there’s probably not enough conviction in my voice.

He’s already reached Brittany, that goat head low, and connects with her ass with the precision of a guided missile.

She shrieks, arms windmilling, and goes face-first into the largest mud puddle on the entire ranch, the one that’s been growing for three days since the rains started and is now the consistency of chocolate pudding.

I shouldn’t laugh. I really shouldn’t .

But I’m chuckling anyway.

“You BITCH!” Brittany screams, struggling to get up but slipping back down, now covered head to toe in mud. Her hair is brown, her outfit is ruined, and I think I see tears cutting tracks through the mud on her face. “You did that on purpose! You made that feral beast attack me!”

“Harold’s not feral,” I say, walking over to grab his collar while trying to hide my grin. “He’s just not a fan of intruders on our ranch.”

She finally manages to stand, mud dripping from everywhere. “I’m going to sue! I’m going to destroy you!”

“Good luck with that,” I call as she squelches to her car, leaving muddy footprints. “Hard to prove assault by goat!”

She peels out, sending gravel flying, and I turn to Harold, who’s looking tremendously pleased with himself.

“Good boy,” I tell him, scratching behind his ears. “Extra treats for you today.”

He butts my hip gently, and I swear he’s smiling.

After securing Harold back in the pen and actually feeding the goats, I head to the main barn. We’ve transformed it into a training facility, complete with professional-grade equipment. My boots echo on the concrete as I slip through the side door.

The space opens up before me, impressive even after seeing it every day. Soft landing mats surround the mechanical bull in the center, weights and strength training equipment line one wall, and there’s even a reaction time board that Ridge has been using to sharpen his reflexes.

And there he is.

My hunk.

My Alpha.

Ridge is on the mechanical bull, wearing only jeans, boots, and a hat, his chest bare and glistening with sweat.

One hand grips the rope while the other is high in the air, perfect form even on a machine.

The bull spins and bucks, but Ridge moves with it fluidly, like the machine is an extension of his own body.

I stand frozen, mesmerized by the play of muscles across his back, the way his thighs grip, the sheer power and grace of him. He’s spectacular. Beautiful. Mine.

The mechanical bull makes another violent turn, and that’s when he spots me. His concentration breaks for just a second, but it’s enough. He has to grab on with both hands to keep from falling and hits the stop button with his knee.

“Enjoying the show?” he asks, grinning as he climbs off.

“Just checking on my champion,” I tease, walking closer.

He meets me halfway, and despite the sweat and the fact that he probably needs water and rest, he pulls me against him immediately. His kiss tastes sweet, and I melt into him like I always do.

“You look absolutely delicious today,” he murmurs against my lips, hand sliding down to pat my ass. “This dress will get you into so much trouble.”

“It’s just a sundress,” I protest, but I’m pleased.

“On you, nothing is just anything.” He pulls back to really look at me, and I take the opportunity to do the same.

There’s a new bruise on his ribs from yesterday’s practice, purplish green against his tan skin. His jeans hang low on his hips, and I can see the V of muscle that disappears beneath the denim. Even after three years away, his body remembers what it was built for.

“How’s training going?” I ask, trying to focus on anything other than how much I want to drag him to the nearest hay bale.

His expression shifts, becomes more serious. “Good. But I need to lift my game. Not much time left, and muscle memory only goes so far.” He pauses. “I’m going to the arena tomorrow. Practice on real bulls.”

My stomach drops. I knew this was coming, but knowing and accepting are two different things. “Real bulls.”

“Have to. The mechanical bull is good for form, but it’s predictable. I need the unpredictability. Need to remember how to read an animal, not a machine.”

I nod, forcing myself to be supportive even as fear claws at my throat. “Just… please be safe. Wear a helmet. So many riders do now. And a mouth guard.”

He cups my face in his hands, thumbs stroking my cheekbones. “I adore how much you care about me.”

I laugh, but it comes out shaky. “Ridge, I’m terrified. Every time I think about you on a real bull, I see all the ways it could go wrong. I see you unconscious in the dirt. I see another accident that you don’t walk away from.”

“Hey.” He draws me closer, forehead resting against mine. “I’m not the same cocky kid who thought he was invincible. I’m older, smarter. I know my limits.”

“Do you, though?” I pull back to search his eyes. “Because sometimes I see that look, that rodeo champion confidence, and I worry you’ll push too hard.”

“I have too much to live for now.” He kisses me again, deeper this time, like he’s trying to prove his promise through touch alone.

“You’ll be amazing,” I murmur when we break apart, and I mean it even as my heart races with worry. “I know you will. You’re a legend.”

He grins, predatory and perfect. “Anyway, training can wait ten minutes.”

“That’s all?”

“Twenty if you stop talking.”

“Thirty if you’re lucky,” I tease. “Then I’ll tell you something funny that just happened.”

“Deal.” He’s already walking me backward until the backs of my knees hit a stray bale of hay near the main entrance.

Before I can catch my breath, he hooks an arm around my waist and hauls me down with him.

We land in a soft explosion of straw, laughter breaking free of me even as I end up sprawled across his chest.

His hat is gone, his hair mussed, and that wicked grin is aimed straight at me like I’m the only thing worth looking at.

“You planned that,” I accuse, half breathless.

“Maybe.” His voice is rough silk. “Maybe I just wanted you right here.”

And then he kisses me, hard, hungry, the kind of kiss that tilts the whole world sideways. My palms press against his solid chest beneath me, hay sticking in our hair, and still I can’t bring myself to care.

This shouldn’t be real. It feels too much like the kind of dream I’ll wake up aching from. But the scrape of his stubble against my skin, the heat of his body caging me close, the sound of him groaning my name, none of that is a dream.

When he finally breaks away, his lips hovering a breath from mine, I whisper the only truth that matters.

“I don’t ever want to wake up.”

And from the way his arms tighten around me, neither does he.