Page 4 of Playing Dirty (Millionaire Cowboys of Lucky Ranch #2)

Chapter Four

Little White Lies

Callie

T he mirror in Rusty Nail’s restroom was set in a vintage tin frame, worn smooth at the edges from decades of use.

A single overhead bulb cast a warm glow, flickering not from neglect but from age—the kind that gave the place charm.

I leaned in, bracing my hands on the cool porcelain sink, its surface polished by time, and studied the face looking back at me.

Tired. That’s what I saw. Not just the kind of tired makeup could fix, either. This was the kind that settled behind your eyes and made your jaw stay clenched even when you told yourself to breathe.

I blotted my lipstick, dabbed under my eyes with a paper towel, and smoothed the front of my blouse like it might magically erase the tension from my shoulders. If I tilted my chin just right and ignored the shadows under my eyes, I could almost pass for composed.

Almost, but I knew better.

Even though it had been a year since Tessa and I came home, I never expected I would be living in a remote cabin during a storm that had every weatherman in the state worked up.

And definitely not without Tessa. She’d always been the one with the map, the backup charger, and the Plan B through Z.

Me? I was just stubborn enough to act like my situation was the same thing.

Now it was just me. No map. No backup. No warm voice on the other side of the trailer telling me everything would be okay.

The thought of spending the night alone in Matt’s cabin with snow piling up around me made my stomach twist. Sure, Tessa and I had been through worse. Yet back then, I wasn’t pretending someone was coming back for me.

“He’ll be home soon,” I whispered to my reflection. “Everything’s fine. I’ve got this.”

But I didn’t believe a word of it.

And that was the part that scared me the most.

The cold hit me like a slap the second I pushed open the door and walked outside the Rusty Nail. Snow was falling thicker now—big, heavy flakes that stuck to everything, softening the parking lot into a quiet, white blur.

And there he was.

Rhett stood under the awning, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, head tipped back like he was watching the sky think.

His breath curled into the cold, and for a second, he didn’t move.

Just stood there in that stillness that always seemed to follow him, like he belonged more to open fields and back roads than anywhere people gathered.

When he spotted me, his mouth tipped into a smile that wasn’t smug or teasing. Just quiet.

Familiar.

“You made it out alive,” he said as I stepped up beside him.

“Barely,” I replied, tugging my coat tighter. “That neon drink that Sawyer ordered for Lilly and me. Pretty sure my tongue is still glowing.”

He chuckled, then nodded toward the far end of the lot. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

We crunched side by side across the snow, our boots leaving a crisp trail behind us. My breath fogged the air, and every part of me wanted to soak in the comfort of having someone next to me, even if that someone had a knack for getting under my skin.

At the edge of the lot, he slowed to a stop by my rental. “You want me to follow you back to the cabin?” he asked, like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t the nicest offer I’d heard all day. “Roads might get tricky.”

I paused, hand already on the door handle.

“No,” I said with a soft smile. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

The words came out too fast, too practiced.

Rhett nodded once, like he wasn’t surprised, then stepped back to give me room.

But as I slid behind the wheel, my chest went tight. The snow brushed softly against the windshield, and I sat there for a second, hands frozen on the wheel, listening to the silence grow.

What are you doing, Callie?

I didn’t have an answer.

Only the sinking feeling that I’d just made the kind of mistake that didn’t show up until later, when it was dark, cold, and no one was around to fix it.

I turned the key.

Click.

No engine rumble. No lights. Just that hollow, soul-sucking sound of a dead battery.

“Come on,” I whispered, trying again.

Click.

I slumped forward and pressed my forehead against the steering wheel, closing my eyes. Of course. Of course, this would happen—rental car, no jumper cables, no charger, no Matt.

The snow was coming down harder now, and the windshield wipers—bless them—were useless. My breath clouded the windows while a low pulse of panic started behind my ribs.

A soft knock on the window made me jump.

Rhett.

He was already brushing snow off the hood with one hand, motioning for me to pop it with the other. I scrambled for the latch, the cold sneaking into the car the second I cracked the door open to yell, “It’s probably the battery!”

“I figured,” he called back, already lifting the hood.

I stayed where I was, watching him through the frosted glass. He leaned in, tugged something, and jiggled a cable like he knew what he was doing. His breath misted in the air, and the snow dusted his shoulders, catching on his dark lashes.

He looked exactly how I remembered from a thousand small-town moments—calm, solid, infuriatingly competent. Like when I sprained my ankle in fifth grade in the middle of the three-legged race, he’d picked me up without a word and carried me across the finish line.

He closed the hood and stepped back to the window. “Try it now.”

I did.

Click.

I groaned and let my head fall back against the seat.

He gave a soft sigh and opened the door. “Come on. You’re riding with me.”

“I can wait for roadside,” I offered, even though we both knew I was bluffing.

He looked up at the sky. Snow was swirling sideways now. “You want to sit here alone and freeze out of pride, or you wanna get home before this turns ugly?”

I hesitated for half a second. But the cold was creeping up my spine, and I couldn’t lie to myself any longer.

“Fine,” I muttered, grabbing my purse and slamming the door a little harder than necessary.

He didn’t say anything—just opened the passenger side of his truck for me, like he knew I’d cave eventually. Like he always had.

The heater in Rhett’s truck blew steady warmth, but it didn’t reach the knot in my stomach. Outside, the snow thickened, swirling like ash over the windshield as the wipers thumped a slow rhythm. We hadn’t said a word since I climbed in.

He kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift like he wasn’t in any kind of hurry. Like this wasn’t strange. Like it was normal for him to be driving me back to Matt’s place through a snowstorm, in the dark, on slick country roads.

I kept my eyes on the blur of pine trees outside the window.

“Does Matt know you’re out here alone tonight?” Rhett asked finally, voice casual but quiet.

“No,” I muttered.

“Why the hell not?” Rhett turned his eyes from the road to look me in the eyes.

I swallowed. “He would’ve if the storm had been in the forecast when he left. It wasn’t.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just adjusted the heat and kept his eyes on the road.

“He walked me through everything when I moved in,” I added. “How to start the backup generator. Where the flashlights are. That kind of stuff.”

Rhett nodded once. “Still. Long way to leave someone sittin’, storm or not.”

I hated how that landed. Not sharp. Just… honest.

“He’s got a corporate meeting in Tucson,” I said. “He didn’t plan this.”

“Oh. I see.” He glanced at me. “You expectin’ him back anytime soon?”

I hesitated. “Yes, of course. He’s only supposed to be gone for three days.”

His jaw flexed like he was chewing on words he wouldn’t say.

I leaned my head against the cold window. “You ever think maybe I’m doing the best I can?”

“All the time, Cal.” His voice was low. “Just wonder when you’ll let someone do the same for you.”

That cracked something in my chest.

I didn’t reply. Neither did he.

The rest of the drive passed in silence, but the air between us was full of things we weren’t saying.

And I wasn’t sure anymore if that made it safer… or worse.

The blast of cold air followed us inside, curling around my legs as I shut the door behind Rhett. I hovered by the thermostat, twisting the dial up even though I doubted the furnace had much left to give. The heat stuttered on with a metallic sigh, like the place was waking up begrudgingly.

Rhett stood in the middle of the room, his hat in his hands, snowflakes still melting across his shoulders. I tried not to stare—but he looked too damn solid. Too familiar. Like every fantasy of the perfect guy just showed up at my door in a flannel jacket and muddy boots.

“You sure you’ll be okay out here?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine.” The words came too fast, too fake. My voice didn’t even sound like mine.

He didn’t answer, just glanced toward the fireplace. “You know how to light one of these?”

“Matt showed me.” I hesitated. “Didn’t really think I’d need to remember.”

He gave a slow nod but didn’t move. And neither did I.

For a beat, we just stood there, the quiet stretching out like a held breath.

I walked him to the door, mostly because I didn’t trust myself to keep the space between us otherwise. When I opened it, the wind rushed in—cold and sharp, and suddenly it felt like we were standing in some kind of invisible tug-of-war.

He paused. His eyes swept my face with quiet intensity. Then, slowly, he reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes, letting his fingers linger just a second too long against my cheek.

My breath caught.

He pulled me into a hug—steady, warm, and too good. I pressed my hands to his chest, not pushing him away, just… holding on.

When he pulled back, we were still too close. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath against my temple. His lips hovered there, like he might kiss me, or sweep me off my feet and carry me away.

“You’re tempting me, Callie.”

The words hit harder than I expected, and the worst part? I wanted to tempt him, just for a second or—two.

I swallowed. “Matt’ll be home soon.”

He stepped back, slow and careful. “Call me if you need anything.”

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

I stood there for a long time after the door closed, watching his taillights disappear into the blizzard. The silence felt heavier now. Heavier than the logs by the hearth. Heavier than the ache behind my ribs.

A soft meow broke the quiet. Pixie padded out from under the coffee table, stretching like she’d just decided the storm didn’t concern her one bit.

She weaved between my ankles, tail flicking against my calf like a question. I reached down and scratched behind her ears, grateful for the excuse to do something—anything.

“You hungry too?” I whispered.

Pixie just blinked at me, unimpressed, then hopped up onto the couch like she owned the place.

I envied that kind of certainty, which prompted me to wonder—Should I have asked Rhett to stay?

No. He wouldn’t have. Not here. Not in Matt’s cabin, where the walls still smelled like cedar and expensive aftershave. Rhett had too much respect for boundaries and for me. Maybe for Matt, too, which felt more complicated than I wanted to think about.

I turned the lock and pressed my back to the door, closing my eyes and willing the heat to kick on like it was supposed to. I even whispered, “Please,” like maybe the universe was listening.

A click. Then… nothing.

I spun around and tried the thermostat. Still set on HIGH. Still useless.

My breath fogged as I shoved my feet into boots and yanked on my jacket. Outside, the snow bit through the thin denim of my jeans as I stumbled around the side of the cabin to check the propane tanks.

Empty.

The kind of empty that made your stomach drop.

Inside again, I slammed the door behind me and tried Rhett’s number. It rang once, then failed. I held the phone up to the window. Moved around the room like the signal might be hiding in the air somewhere.

No bars.

No heat.

No Rhett.

The couch creaked as I collapsed onto the cushions, arms wrapped tightly around myself, heart pounding in that high-pitched, fluttery way that always came before the tears.

They slipped out anyway.

Silent, stupid tears for a woman who used to pride herself on how well she handled things.

I sank deeper into the couch, arms wrapped tightly around myself, heart fluttering like it might lift right out of my chest.

Pixie leapt silently up beside me, kneading the throw blanket with determined little paws before curling into a warm loaf by my thigh.

I rested a hand on her back. “At least one of us knows how to stay calm when everything’s falling apart.”