Page 2 of Playing Dirty (Millionaire Cowboys of Lucky Ranch #2)

Chapter Two

Something Off

Callie

T he coffee maker gurgled like it was trying to clear its throat, and the smell of dark roast drifted through the rustic cabin, warm and familiar.

I padded across the kitchen floor in my old flannel robe—the one with a tear near the pocket and a coffee stain that never quite washed out.

After six months, Pixie, Matt’s cat, had slowly decided I was acceptable.

She wound herself around my ankles with a throaty purr, brushing her tail like a paintbrush against my calf.

The heater had kicked on, but it hadn’t quite caught up with the chill seeping in through the windows. It was the kind of morning that begged for fuzzy socks and a second slice of toast.

Matt was already at the kitchen table—dressed like he was heading to a boardroom, not the back office of Frontier Market. Gray suit, tie perfectly knotted, scrolling through something on his phone with his brows drawn tight.

I stopped in the doorway. “Since when do you wear that to restock canned green beans?”

He glanced up like I’d startled him. “Didn’t I tell you? I’ve got to head to Tucson this morning. Store manager training. Just came up last night.”

I blinked. “Tucson? Can’t they Zoom or something? This is the second time in two months.”

He shook his head. “It’s about new hiring policies—sensitive stuff. Frontier does these things in person.”

“Sounds expensive,” I said, trying to keep my tone casual. “Flights. Hotel. All that for a training?”

He gave a small laugh, the kind that stopped short of being sincere. “Company policy.” Then, standing, he slid his chair back and reached for his briefcase. “Listen, I’m sorry for the short notice. I meant to bring it up last night, but it was already late.”

He rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out a familiar keychain. “Here,” he said, placing it on the table in front of me. “I’ll need you to open and close the store while I’m gone. The spare register keys are in the drawer like always.”

I stared at the keys a beat too long. “Okay. Sure.”

“You’ll do great,” he said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the top of my head. It felt more like a tap than a touch.

“How long will you be gone?”

“Back Friday—at the latest.”

Matt was already making a coffee to go when I opened my mouth to ask something else, but he was out the door before I could find the words. Pixie jumped into the empty chair, curling herself into a neat circle like she’d claimed the space permanently.

I moved to the window and watched his taillights bounce down the gravel drive.

No goodbye on the fridge. No kiss on the lips. Not even a “text me when you get to work.”

I wasn’t mad, exactly. Just… unsettled. I’d moved in here in a rush, hoping we were building something. Lately, though, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was filling space, holding a place in a house that didn’t quite feel like mine.

And today, that place felt emptier than usual.

I pulled the black slacks from the hanger, slid them on, and buttoned them at the waist before reaching for the white blouse I kept pressed for work days.

It was simple, clean, and professional—just like Matt preferred.

No makeup today. Just a slick of Chapstick and my hair tugged back into a no-nonsense ponytail.

Pixie came in and watched me from the bathroom counter, tail flicking like she knew I was lying to myself again.

I used to dress for heat, for grit: tight jeans, ripped T-shirts, and eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man. That was when Tessa and I lived on Red Bull and fumes, chasing prize money down backroads and living in a dented camper.

God, that camper. Drafty in the winter, sweltering in the summer—but it was ours.

We’d sleep four hours, run on caffeine and adrenaline, and hustle like hell for the next sponsorship deal.

Tessa was a dragster racer and I handled the logistics, smoothed over the interviews, and made sure her helmet sparkled under the track lights.

We were unstoppable—until everything fell apart.

When we finally made it back to Lovelace, we parked the camper in Rhett Callahan’s side yard.

For a while, it felt like the perfect solution.

But then Tessa and Colt got back together, we sold the camper, and Matt offered me a job.

He’d stepped into my life like a sigh of relief.

Steady paycheck. Keys to a car. A roof that didn’t leak when it rained.

Stability.

That’s what I told myself I wanted. A life without constant risk. Something safer.

But safe didn’t set your veins on fire. Safe didn’t make you want to scream into the wind with joy or fury or purpose. Safe was waking up in someone else’s cabin, trying not to wonder if you were temporary.

I straightened my collar in the mirror and glanced at the calendar tacked above Matt’s desk. He’d penciled in Tucson Training – Back Friday in tidy block letters.

Three days.

I let out a slow breath, gave Pixie a half-hearted scratch under the chin, and grabbed my purse from the hook by the door.

If I couldn’t control the big stuff, I could at least show up looking like I had it together.

Armor on.

Time to go to work.

I was elbow-deep in a half-built display of taco chips when that god-awful squeaky cart announced its presence like nails on a chalkboard. I glanced up—and there he was.

Rhett.

Just the sight of him made my stomach flip and my blood boil, which felt unfair, considering how good he looked doing absolutely nothing but pushing that cursed cart like he owned the place.

“Big night planned?” I called out without turning around.

“Only if you count frozen pot pies and a loaf of sourdough as living large,” Rhett drawled behind me.

I stood and brushed chip dust off my slacks, then turned just enough to confirm what I already knew—there he was, leaning on the cart like it might roll away if he didn’t keep one boot anchored to the floor.

Stetson low, jacket open, exposing his western-style shirt tailored to his broad chest, eyes annoyingly warm and full of mischief.

He gave me that half-smile that used to mean trouble back when I was dumb enough to flirt back. “You know, most grocery runs involve more than sodium and nostalgia.”

I crossed my arms. “Maybe some of us shop for comfort, not content.”

That earned a soft laugh. “Fair enough.”

He hovered too long, pretending to scan the display. “You seen Tessa and the twins lately?”

I bent down to straighten a crooked bag. “Not really. She’s been busy. Newborns, you know.”

“She mentioned naming the boy after me?”

I looked up with a flat stare. “Pretty sure his name is Wyatt, not Pain-in-the-Ass.”

That made him laugh harder than I liked. He leaned closer, eyes catching the overhead light. “Have you ever missed it? The road, the races, wrangling sponsors and egos?”

I stiffened before I could help it.

Did I miss it? The adrenaline, maybe. The hustle. But not the feeling of being someone else’s unpaid therapist, errand runner, and emotional sponge. Even friendship had its limits.

“Nope,” I said coolly. “I like having a real paycheck. Health insurance’s a perk.”

He didn’t blink at the edge in my voice. “Didn’t mean anything by it. Just figured you were good at it.”

“I was,” I said. “Doesn’t mean it was good for me.”

The silence that followed was stretched, taut, and awkward. He scratched at his jaw, wanting to say something more.

Instead, he gave a slight nod and stepped back. “Well, don’t let me get in your way.”

I didn’t watch him walk off, but I felt it—his lingering weight, like heat off a just-turned-off engine. My cheeks flushed, not from the flirt or the memory of old smiles. It was the unsaid words between us—and the one comment he had made about Matt, which I still remembered.

Loser.

Like I didn’t already wonder.

But spiraling over Rhett in the middle of a chip display wasn’t on my to-do list. I shoved the thought aside like an expired coupon—useless and irritating.

Then came the scent—sunflowers, eucalyptus, and that witchy autumn magic Lilly always managed to bottle into her bouquets.

She breezed through the front doors like the human version of a mood reset, arms full of blooms from her shop and a clipboard jammed under one elbow, her cheeks pink from the cold.

“Don’t tell me you’re replacing the taco chip display with dahlias,” I called, half-teasing.

“Please,” she said, setting the buckets down by the floral stand. “These are classier. Barely.”

We both laughed, and the tension Rhett had left behind slipped off my shoulders just like that.

Lilly straightened a few price tags and handed me her clipboard. “Matt usually writes me a check.”

“Yeah, he mentioned it this morning before leaving.” I ducked behind the counter, opening the drawer under the register where Matt kept the checkbook.

A neat stack of pre-signed checks waited there—he’d told me about them last week, said if he ever got caught out of town on short notice, all I had to do was fill in the details.

I filled one out, tore it neatly along the perforated line, and handed it over.

Lilly tucked it into her clipboard, giving me a sidelong glance. “So, he’s really gone? Just like that?”

I shrugged, folding my arms. “Training thing in Tucson. Says it’s a big deal.”

“Well, I ran into Rhett on the way in,” she said casually, changing the subject. “He asked me if I’d seen Matt. Is he always that nosy, or is that just a perk for you?”

“Just a perk,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. “Lucky me.”

Lilly grinned. “Since Matt is out of town, why don’t you come to the Rusty Nail tonight instead of Ropers. It’s more chill. Where you can relax. Lately, it seems you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

“I don’t act like that?—”

“You do,” she said, slicing through my protest. “A yummy dinner and wine, and we can call it therapy.”

I hesitated. Part of me wanted to say no—to head home, pull on sweats, and stew in silence. But the bigger part of me knew if I didn’t get out of my head, I’d drown in it.

“Fine,” I said. “But I’m not talking about Rhett.”

“We’ll see,” she said, winking.

And just like that, I felt lighter. Maybe not fixed. But not quite so cracked open either.

I locked the office door behind me, the deadbolt clicking with a finality that made my shoulders sag just a little. Another shift done. Another set of numbers balanced, and another day, trying to make everything look easy.

The overhead fluorescents still buzzed inside, but out here behind the store, the world had softened. The sky was slipping into dusky purples, and a chill hung in the air that smelled like woodsmoke and coming frost.

The cabin’s back door creaked open, and Pixie darted out like she’d been waiting for this moment all day. She trotted over to the patch of gravel near the trash cans, sniffed around like the whole world needed her inspection, then flopped dramatically onto a pile of dry leaves.

I leaned against the brick wall and let myself breathe.

I didn’t hate my life.

It just… didn’t feel like mine sometimes. It was not the way it used to be when I was hauling tire pressure gauges out of a gear bag, chasing prize money with Tessa, living on coffee, adrenaline, and whatever gas station sandwich we could afford.

Back then, things were messy—but they were mine.

Now, with Matt, I wore order like armor.

My thoughts drifted, uninvited, to Rhett’s eyes. The way he used to look at me—like I wasn’t something to fix. Like he knew the mess and didn’t mind it.

I pushed the thought away.

Tonight wasn’t about Rhett.

Tonight was about remembering who the hell I used to be.