Page 23 of Playing Dirty (Millionaire Cowboys of Lucky Ranch #2)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Forever Starts Here

Callie

A Few Weeks Later

I was still getting used to calling Rhett’s place home. His place on Lucky Ranch was big, sprawling, and more polished than anything I’d ever lived in, but the truth was—it still felt like his.

That afternoon, he leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest, watching me with that sly grin that said he already knew what he wanted, but he’d let me figure it out anyway.

“So,” he drawled, “now that you’ve officially decided against Lilly’s apartment above the shop and moved your things here… what do we need to do to make this place yours too?”

I tilted my head, looking around the room. Everything gleamed. The walls were a safe, neutral beige, the furniture sturdy, expensive. There wasn’t a speck out of place. It was beautiful, but it didn’t have much of me in it yet.

“Well,” I started, tapping my finger against my lips, “for one, these walls could use a little color. Nothing crazy, just… warmer. Maybe a pale blue in the bedroom, or soft sage in the kitchen. Something that feels lived in.”

Rhett arched a brow. “You want to paint my house?”

I smirked. “Unless you’re attached to this shade of… oatmeal.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Go on.”

“And,” I added, glancing at the blank wall over the dining table, “you’ve got all these old photos tucked away.

From before you were—” I waved vaguely toward the wide windows, where his fancy garage and perfectly kept fields sprawled— “you know, Mr. Millionaire. The way I remember you—us—as kids. Those should be on display. They tell your story. I want to see the Rhett who existed before the world thought money defined him.”

His grin softened, eyes warm in a way that always made my chest ache. “You want the scrappy kid version of me staring back at you while you eat breakfast?”

“Exactly. And, well— maybe some house plants.”

He laughed again, then nodded. “Alright. Paint, embarrassing photos, and plants. What else?”

I thought about the boxes stacked in his garage, dusty from neglect. The few things I’d kept from my years on the road with Tessa—posters, notebooks, odds and ends that never seemed worth unpacking until now.

“I’ve got some things in storage. Not much, but enough to make this place feel like mine too. A couple of trinkets, maybe a lamp or two. You’ll just have to put up with my sentimental junk.”

“Darlin’,” he said, pushing off the counter and sliding close enough to hook his finger through my belt loop, tugging me in, “if it’s yours, it’s not junk. It belongs here.”

That right there—that simple statement—hit me harder than I’d expected. This wasn’t just me moving in. It was him saying he wanted every part of me, even the messy, mismatched, sentimental bits.

I leaned into him, grinning. “So, you’re really okay with me changing things around here?”

“Long as you don’t go crazy,” he said, eyes glinting like he already knew where he wanted to poke at me. “One condition.”

I narrowed my gaze. “Condition?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice mock serious. “No pink. Anywhere.”

I laughed so hard I almost snorted. “Pink? You act like I’m about to turn your ranch house into Barbie’s Dream Home.”

“Not taking chances,” he fired back. “I’ll wake up one morning and the living room’ll be flamingo pink, the guest bathroom’ll be bubblegum, and I’ll be forced to sell the place just to keep my reputation intact.”

I pressed a hand to my chest, feigning offense. “First of all, bubblegum bathroom sounds amazing. And second, don’t tempt me. I might just paint the bedroom blush, throw in some ruffles, really lean into it.”

Rhett groaned dramatically and tipped his head back. “You’d kill me.”

“You’d survive,” I teased, tracing a finger down his chest. “Barely. But it would be worth it.”

“Woman,” he said, shaking his head, “I swear you’re trying to break me.”

“And yet you still asked me to move in.”

He smirked and leaned down. “Guess I like the idea of risking it all for you.”

His lips had just brushed mine when the trill of my phone on the counter broke the spell.

I sighed and pulled back, mumbling, “Saved by the bell.”

“Or robbed,” Rhett muttered, nipping my jaw once before letting me slip out of his arms.

I padded over and glanced at the screen. Emma. My thumb hesitated a beat before I answered. “Hey, Emma.”

“Callie, thank goodness you picked up.” Her voice rushed out like she’d been holding her breath. “I never got that letter from Frontier Market for the centennial celebration, and we’re running out of time. Do you—do you have any other ideas?”

I could feel Rhett’s gaze on me from across the room. He leaned against the counter, arms folded, that infuriating half-smile already tugging at his mouth like he was listening to every word.

I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “Yeah, I think so. What if we track down some vintage vehicles, wagons, old farm implements—the kind of things they used back when Lovelace was first settled? It could give people something tangible to connect with the past.”

Emma gasped. “That’s brilliant. Exactly the kind of thing we need. You’d really do that?”

“Of course.” I smiled, glancing at Rhett, who was already nodding like he’d signed himself up before I’d even finished the sentence. “I’ll talk to Rhett about it tonight.”

“I owe you one,” Emma said with relief. “I’ll let the board know we’ve got a new plan.”

“Glad I could help. Talk soon.”

I hung up, setting the phone aside. Rhett hadn’t moved, still leaning there with that smug look.

“You just volunteered us, darlin’,” Rhett drawled.

I crossed my arms, arching a brow. “And you’re nodding like you loved every second of it.”

He chuckled, that deep, satisfied rumble that always made my chest tighten. “Guilty.”

For a moment, we just stood there, the house quiet around us. My phone still rested on the counter, but my mind was already racing with wagon wheels and rusted plows, the scent of fresh paint still clinging to the walls we’d been talking about earlier.

“Feels good,” I said softly.

Rhett tilted his head. “What does?”

“Having a place that’s ours. A home. A…a purpose again.” I shrugged, trying not to sound too sentimental, but he didn’t tease.

Instead, he stepped close, his thumb brushing over my jaw in that way that always unraveled me. “Told you. You belong here.”

I let myself lean into him, just for a heartbeat, soaking in his steady warmth.

Then he cleared his throat and pulled back, mischief sparking in his eyes. “C’mon. I’ve got something to show you in the garage.”

I gave him a mock suspicious look. “This better not be another lesson in colors I’m not allowed to use.”

His grin widened. “Nope. Something better.”

And just like that, my pulse kicked up, curiosity chasing away the quiet.

Rhett tugged me toward the back door like a kid about to show off a secret clubhouse. I laughed, stumbling after him. “You’re acting way too excited. Did you buy another car or a gun for your collection?”

“Nope.” His grin was wicked, boyish. “Better.”

Rhett’s garage looked more like a showroom than a place where a truck had ever been worked on. The floor gleamed, not a single stain to be found, and his Ford sat under the bright lights looking like it had just rolled off a magazine cover.

“Go on,” he said, opening the driver’s door for me like he was presenting something priceless. “Climb in.”

I raised an eyebrow but humored him, sliding across the bench seat. That new-paint smell still lingered, fresh and sharp. My gaze landed on a small box sitting dead center on the seat.

I picked it up carefully, frowning. “What’s this? Paint samples? Touch-ups in case I scratch your precious truck?”

His laugh was low, teasing, as he slid in beside me and shut the door. “Open it.”

I shook my head but flipped the lid anyway, fully expecting swatches of color or maybe some fancy wax. Instead, nestled inside was another box—a smaller, velvet one. My heart jumped into my throat.

Before I could even form a word, Rhett plucked it from my hands, his fingers brushing mine. The smirk he wore softened into something almost boyish as he flipped it open. The diamond inside caught the light and sent sparks across the cab.

“Not paint, sweetheart,” he said quietly, eyes locked on mine. “This is the only kind of shine I’ve been waiting to give you.”

I sat there stunned, blinking between him and the ring, my pulse going wild. For once, I didn’t have a comeback, not even a smart remark about him being dramatic in his spotless garage.

Rhett leaned closer, his voice rough around the edges. “Callie Hart…will you marry me?”

The world seemed to stop right there in that truck. And even though the diamond was the biggest I’d ever seen, it was the man beside me—the gambler, the cowboy, the one who drove me crazy and made me feel at home all at once—that had me whispering, “Yes.”

His grin was pure relief and pure trouble, all at once. He slipped the ring onto my finger, then kissed me so deeply I forgot where we were until he finally pulled back, breathless.

“Come on,” he said, brushing his thumb over my hand. “Let’s get inside. We’ve got a future to plan.”

For a moment, I just sat there, staring at the diamond catching the light, trying to memorize the feel of his hand covering mine. All that history between us—the fights, the banter, the stolen moments—suddenly funneled into this one point.

“Guess I’m yours now,” I whispered, my throat tight.

“Guess you always were,” he said, brushing his thumb across my knuckles.

The words lingered in the cab, heavy and sweet, until I leaned into him again. The world outside the garage could wait.