Page 66 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy (Wild Hearts Ranch #1)

SOPHIA

Five Days Later

T he parking lot of KMTN Rural Radio is nearly empty when Cash drives his truck into a spot near the entrance. We’re close to over half an hour outside our town, in Raven Hill, because apparently this tiny station broadcasts to half of Montana despite looking like someone’s converted garage.

Cash cuts the engine but doesn’t move to get out. His fingers drum against the steering wheel.

“You okay?” I ask, though seeing my usually confident Alpha anxious is oddly endearing.

“Just… not used to this.” He gestures vaguely at the building. “Talking on the radio. Being interviewed.”

I laugh. “Cash, you literally charm every person you meet. ”

“That’s different. That’s one-on-one, not thousands of people listening.”

I pull out my phone, showing him my latest blog post. “Speaking of thousands, I told my followers we’re going live at two. They’re already commenting about setting reminders to tune in.”

He groans, letting his head fall back against the headrest. “Well, hell, sugar… no pressure.”

“They already love you,” I explain, reaching over to poke his side where I know he’s ticklish. He squirms away, catching my hand. “Remember when I posted that photo of just the back of you fixing the fence? Shirtless? I got three hundred marriage proposals for you.”

“You got what now?”

“Oh, did I not mention that?” I grin innocently. “My personal favorite was from someone who offered to trade her prize-winning cow for one date with you.”

“A cow?”

“A prize-winning cow. Apparently, she’s worth quite a bit.”

Despite his nerves, he laughs, bringing my hand to his lips. “Only prize I want is sitting right here.”

“Smooth talker.”

“Learned from the best.” He kisses each knuckle slowly, deliberately, and my stomach does that familiar flip. “You sure about this? We could still leave. Tell them I got food poisoning.”

“From my cooking? ”

“I’d never blame your cooking. Maybe Walker’s. Remember that experimental chili?”

“The one that made Ridge cry actual tears?”

“That’s the one.”

We’re both laughing now, the tension easing. This is what Cash does—deflects with humor when he’s uncomfortable. But underneath, I can still feel his anxiety through our bond.

“Hey.” I squeeze his hand. “Just be yourself. That’s all they want. The real Cash who makes terrible cowboy puns and can’t go five minutes without touching me and who once spent three hours teaching the kittens to fetch.”

“He still won’t do it consistently.”

“Not the point.” I lean across the console, cupping his face. “You’re amazing. And this interview is going to help save our home. We can do this.”

He stares at me for a long moment, blue eyes soft. “What would I do without you?”

“Probably still be letting Brittany drape herself all over you.”

“Hell, don’t remind me.” He shudders dramatically, then checks his watch. “Okay. Let’s do this before I lose my nerve.”

The station is exactly what you’d expect from rural Montana radio…

Wood paneling that hasn’t been updated since the seventies, signed photos of local celebrities, mostly rodeo riders and one country singer I’ve never heard of, and a receptionist desk that’s cu rrently unmanned but has a bell with a handwritten sign saying Ring for Service!

Cash dings it, his other hand finding mine immediately.

A man appears from a back hallway, late forties, beer belly straining against a KMTN polo shirt, face lighting up when he sees us.

“You must be Cash and Sophia! I’m Dave, afternoon drive time.

” He pumps our hands enthusiastically. “Been following your story online. It’s got so many people invested.

Big corporation against the farmer. Anyway, follow me so we can get started.

” He guides us down the narrow hallway, past walls covered in old concert posters and faded bumper stickers.

The studio is smaller than my closet back in Chicago was. Two microphones face each other across a scarred wooden table, an ancient soundboard taking up one wall. There’s barely room for three people, and when we squeeze in, Cash’s thigh presses against mine.

“Here, put these on.” Dave hands us headphones that have seen better days. “When the red light goes on, we’re live. Just talk normal, don’t eat the mic, and try not to swear.”

“No swearing?” Cash mutters with a grin. “You know who you’re talking to?”

“That’s why I said try .” Dave smirks, settling at the soundboard. “Okay, we’ve got about thirty seconds. You both look great, by the way. Not that anyone can see you, but still.”

Cash adjusts his black hat, the one he wears for special occasions, and I resist the urge to fix my hair even though, as Dave pointed out, no one can see us.

“Going live in five, four…” Dave holds up fingers for the last three counts, then points at us as the ON AIR sign lights up red.

“Good afternoon, Montana! You’re listening to KMTN, your home for country classics and community news.

I’m Dave Morrison, and, folks, do I have a treat for you today.

Sitting across from me are two people you’ve probably been hearing about: Cash Winslow from Wild Hearts Ranch and Sophia Hollis, the Omega blogger who’s captured hearts across the internet with her story. Welcome, you two!”

“Thanks for having us,” I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds in the headphones.

“Pleasure’s ours,” Cash adds, his drawl more pronounced than usual. Nerves, definitely.

“Now, for anyone who’s been living under a rock,” Dave continues, “tell us what’s happening this weekend and why it matters.”

I lean toward the mic, finding my rhythm. “This Saturday, Ridge Colter, three-time rodeo champion, is coming out of retirement for one last ride. We’re calling it Eight Seconds to Save Everything because that’s exactly what it is. We need to raise money to save Wild Hearts Ranch from foreclosure. ”

“And not just any foreclosure,” Cash adds, warming up now. “This is about keeping local land in local hands, not letting developers turn it into another shopping complex.”

“How much are you trying to raise?”

“Half a million,” I answer, watching Dave’s eyes widen. “We’re at three hundred twenty thousand now, with four days to go.”

“The response has been incredible,” Cash adds, and I can hear the emotion in his voice. “People from all over, not just Montana, stepping up to help.”

“And this is all documented on your blog, Sophia?” Dave asks me.

“Every crazy minute of it,” I confirm. “From inheriting a ranch I’d never seen to falling in—” I catch myself, cheeks heating. “To finding my place here.”

Cash’s hand finds my knee under the table, squeezing gently.

“The phones are already lighting up,” Dave says, grinning. “Let’s take our first caller. You’re on with Cash and Sophia.”

“Oh my God!” The voice is young, female, and very excited. “Sophia! I’ve been following your blog since day one. We’ve been dying to hear your voice for real!”

“That’s so sweet,” I say, genuinely touched. “Thank you for reading. It means the world to me.”

“And, Cash,” the caller continues, “you sound just as good as she says you look.”

Cash tips his hat even though she can’t see him, a grin spreading across his face. “Ma’am, I reckon that’s the nicest thing I’ve heard all day.”

The caller does a small squeal, which I can only interpret as a swoon.

“And, Sophia, you are keeping all three cowboys as yours, right?”

Dave’s eyebrows shoot up, clearly not expecting the conversation to go in this direction. I’m chuckling, as my blog comments are filled with these kinds of questions.

“They’re all mine,” I confirm, chin up, daring anyone to judge. “And I’m theirs.”

“That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.” The caller sighs. “You’re living every Omega’s dream.”

“ Dream is one word for it,” I tease. “Though Cash here has a habit of embarrassing me with details that don’t need sharing.”

Cash’s mouth curves slowly, wickedly. “Like how you sing when you’re alone in the barn or the kitchen?” He drawls it into the mic, and my whole body lights up.

“Cash!” I smack his arm, laughing even as my cheeks burn.

Dave is laughing. “I’ll paint a picture of Sophia’s face blushing pink and her whacking him in the arm. It’s hilarious to watch.”

“What?” Cash shrugs innocently. “World deserves to know their blog queen sings to the chickens.”

“Oh, fine,” I shoot back, leaning toward the mic. “Then the world deserves to know Cash practices his pickup lines on horses.”

The caller gasps, then dissolves into laughter.

Dave nearly falls out of his chair, wheezing into his sleeve. “All right, folks.” He chuckles. “Sounds like Honeyspur’s got more going on than rodeos and ranch work. Let’s take the next call.”

“Hi!” Another female voice, bright with excitement. “Cash, this is embarrassing, but we’ve been begging Sophia for photos. Do we finally get to see what you look like?”

Cash groans low, dragging a hand down his face before shooting me a look that says Traitor . “See what you’ve done to me, sugar?”

“You’re a hot commodity, cowboy.” Dave laughs. “These ladies want the goods.”

I can’t resist. Mischief bubbles up in my chest. “There will be a cowboy calendar, which features my three Alphas, available at the event, and the best part is, they are each cuddling kittens,” I tease into the mic, sweet as honey. “Part of the money goes to help our fundraiser.”

“I need ten copies, please,” the caller says mid-laughter. “I’m being serious.”

“Next caller!” Dave jumps in hastily, clearly trying to keep things family friendly. “Line three, you’re on.”

“This is Bob from the local Livestock Supply shop.” The voice is gruff, steady. Businesslike, but warm underneath. “I’ve been listening to you two, and I want to up our donation. We were in for five thousand, but make it ten.”

I actually gasp. “That’s… that’s incredible. Thank you so much.” My throat tightens, unexpected tears pricking my eyes.

“You are a good man, Bob,” Cash adds. “Much appreciated.”

“Of course. Besides, my wife would kill me if I didn’t help after reading your blog. She cries every time.”

The lump in my throat turns to a burn in my chest. I glance at Cash, and for once, he doesn’t hide the emotion in his eyes. Pride, grief, and something sharper that makes me want to kiss him right there in front of the whole county.

“Tell her thank you,” I manage, my voice wobbling with emotion even though I try to laugh it off. “Though maybe don’t let her read the comment section, or she’ll cry for a whole new set of reasons.”

Bob chuckles. “She already does. But she swears you write like Rose would’ve. She misses her too.”

I press my hand against my chest. That belonging swells until I’m afraid my voice will crack if I speak again.

Cash lays his hand over mine beneath the table, grounding me. Strong, steady. “We’ll make her proud,” he says, simple and sure, his words more vow than promise.

More calls come in, locals sharing memories of Rose, fans of my blog asking questions about ranch life, someone asking if Ridge is single. He’s not, I confirm firmly. Through it all, Cash relaxes more and more, his natural charm coming out.

“Tell us about Ridge,” Dave says during a break in calls. “How’s he feeling about Saturday?”

Cash’s expression shifts, all playfulness gone. “Ridge is the strongest man I know. What he’s doing, coming back after three years, after the injury that ended his career… it’s brave as hell.”

“He’s been training like a man possessed,” I add, pride swelling in my chest. “Five hours a day, minimum. Mechanical bull, strength training, rewatching old footage until he can call the moves before they happen.”

“Is he nervous?” Dave asks.

“We all are,” Cash admits, his voice low, steady. “But Ridge has this focus, this determination. When he sets his mind to something, nothing stops him.”

“Even a two-thousand-pound bull?”

Cash’s mouth quirks, that flicker of dark humor back. “Especially a two-thousand-pound bull.”

Dave glances at the studio clock. “We’ve got time for one more caller.”

“Sophia?” The voice is older, female, hesitant. “This is Martha. I just wanted to say… my husband and I lost our farm two years ago to developers. Reading your story, watching you fight… it helps. Even if we c ouldn’t save ours, knowing someone might save theirs… it matters.”

Her words slam into me. I grip the mic tighter, swallowing hard.

“Martha, I’m so sorry about your farm.” My throat burns, but I push through it.

“This fight isn’t just about us. It’s about everyone who believes land should mean more than money.

About families, and roots, and—” My voice cracks, and I have to laugh softly at myself, blinking fast. “Sorry, I’m a mess. ”

“That’s why we’re donating,” Martha says, her tone steadier now. “It’s not much, but every bit helps, right?”

“Every bit really does,” I manage, though the tears slip free this time. My vision blurs, and I don’t even care if half the county hears me sniffle live on air.

Cash’s hand slides under the table again, warm and solid over mine. He doesn’t say anything, but the weight of him there steadies me.

“And that’s what this is all about, folks,” Dave says. “Community. Supporting each other. If this is any sign of how the weekend will be, we’re in for something unforgettable.”

The ON AIR sign clicks off, and I rip off the headphones, swiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. Professional radio personality right here. Somebody give me a medal.

“You two were perfect,” Dave explains, standing to shake our hands again. “Absolutely perfect. The phones are still ringing. And before you leave, can we get a quick photo of you two for our website?”

Cash takes off his hat, running a hand through his hair, and I catch the glint of sweat at his temples. He looks rugged and untouchable, and yet entirely mine.

“Thanks for having us,” he says easily, that smooth charm sliding back into place like it never left. Then we head out of the studio and out of the building.

Cash leans in closer. “Don’t worry, sugar. If you keep cryin’ on air, folks’ll just donate more. Nobody can resist a teary-eyed Omega fightin’ for her land.”

I elbow him gently in the ribs, laughing. “So you’re saying I should ugly-cry my way through the whole fundraiser?”

He grins, wicked and soft all at once. “You do that, and we’ll have enough money to buy the whole damn county.”