Page 7 of Playing Dirty (Millionaire Cowboys of Lucky Ranch #2)

Chapter Seven

Suspicions Confirmed

Rhett

T he first thing I saw when I pulled into the drive was a box propped neatly against my front door, half-dusted in fresh snow. A scrap of duct tape flapped loose on the side like a makeshift flag of surrender.

Taped to the top was a wrinkled index card.

"Neither snow nor sleet nor Montana nonsense. You owe me coffee. —Joe"

I huffed a quiet laugh and shook my head.

Joe had dropped off the trail cams like we’d planned—storm or no storm. The guy ran his business like a general store from the Old West—juicy gossip, fully stocked, and deliveries were always on time.

I grabbed the box and stepped inside, the house swallowing me whole with its usual silence. I set the package on the counter, brushed melting snow off my jacket, and stood staring at it like it might blink first.

Inside that box sat our trail cams, but hunting elk was the furthest thing from my mind.

I didn’t open it.

Not yet.

I pulled off my coat, draped it over a chair, and poured myself a drink. No ice. No pretense.

Just burn.

Then the buzz of my phone on the counter stopped me mid-sip.

Callie: Thanks again. For everything. Pretty sure I’d be a popsicle by now without you. Turns out my winter survival skills are trash.

I stared at the screen, thumb hovering. That damn smile of hers flashed behind my eyes—mischief and softness, all wrapped into one.

She was joking. Light. Grateful.

But I wasn’t laughing.

She didn’t know how close I came to crossing a line in that cabin. How easy it would’ve been. One more minute by the fire. One more flicker of hesitation.

Hell, she would’ve let me.

I saw it in the way she leaned in, the way her voice caught when our hands brushed. The way she looked at me was like I was solid ground after too long drifting.

She was right there.

But I didn’t move.

Because no matter how bad I wanted her—how much I still wanted her—I wasn’t the guy who took advantage just because the lights were out and she was scared.

Callie needed safety. Not seduction.

She needed someone to show up and not ask for anything in return.

So, I didn’t touch her. Didn’t kiss her. Didn’t let a single part of me give in to what I knew we both felt.

And that decision? It has scraped at my ribs ever since.

I locked the screen and set the phone face down beside the box.

The house was quiet again. Too quiet.

I ran my hand across the unopened package and finally exhaled. This weekend, the boys and I planned to set up the trail cams on the ridge in the area of the fresh tracks.

But tonight?

I sat here and wrestled with the truth—I hadn’t made her mine.

And I’m not sure how I’ll survive it.

The knock came just as I sat down, glass still half full, silence pressing in like a second skin.

Three firm raps—Sawyer’s signature.

I didn’t have to look. He always knocked like he expected you to be armed, but owed him a beer anyway.

I opened the door and found him standing there with a six-pack swinging from his fingers and that shit-eating grin that meant either trouble or wisdom—or both.

“Didn’t expect company,” I said, stepping aside.

“I bring beer and judgment,” he replied. “A man like you should never be left alone after a night with a woman he wants but didn’t touch.”

I groaned. “Right to the point, huh?”

He walked in, dropped the beer on the kitchen island, and cracked two open like he owned the place. “I came to check on you, not eulogize your balls.”

I snorted despite myself and took the bottle he offered. “You want a seat or just here to make snide comments standing up?”

“I like the view,” he said, nodding toward the sleek countertops and the trail cam box still unopened. “Place still looks like a real estate brochure. Sterile as hell.”

“Better than clutter,” I muttered, taking a long sip.

“Better than lonely?” he asked, voice low.

That one landed—harder than I wanted to admit.

I leaned against the island, bottle in hand. “What do you want, Sawyer?”

He held my gaze for a beat. Then, quieter, “Why didn’t you make a move on her?”

I looked out the kitchen window. Snow reflecting moonlight like shards of glass. “Because it wouldn’t have been fair.”

“To her?”

“To both of us.”

“Bullshit,” he said, dragging a stool out with the toe of his boot and sitting. “You didn’t make a move because you were afraid you’d both like it.”

I glared. “You done?”

He didn’t blink. “Not even close.”

I slammed my beer down on the counter, not hard enough to break anything—but close.

“She was vulnerable,” I said. “Cold, tired, barely holding it together. You don’t take advantage of that. You don’t cross that line.”

“She’s also a grown woman,” Sawyer said calmly. “And I know you—you don’t just want her body. You want her . You’ve wanted her since before she left with Tessa years ago.”

I let that one hang in the air. Because it was true, and we both knew it.

“Let’s just focus on the actual problem here,” I said, brushing past the ache in my chest. “You found anything else on Matt?”

“Yeah,” he said, the shift immediate. “I wanted to see if Joe’s gossip about that Wyoming license checked out.”

I reached for my laptop on the kitchen island, flipped it open, and turned it toward him. “Show me.”

Sawyer opened Google Maps, and in a few clicks, there it was. “Casper, Wyoming,” he said, tapping the screen. “This is the address listed under his driver’s license.”

I leaned in.

It was a single-family house. Nice neighborhood, clean street. But what caught my eye wasn’t the house—it was what sat across from it.

“What’s that?” I asked.

Sawyer zoomed in.

“Looks like an old barn,” he said. “Not much else around it. Just a fence, a patch of trees, maybe a lot.”

“Abandoned?”

He shrugged. “Could be. Roof looks half-caved. No signs of upkeep.”

We stared at the screen together for a long moment, something electric rising between us. Not excitement.

Purpose.

I crossed my arms. “That barn could give us the angle we need.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

Sawyer was still studying the satellite view on my laptop when my phone lit up again on the counter.

Callie.

I stared at it a second too long. My name on her screen was probably buried in some contact list under mechanic or annoying neighbor . But still—she was calling.

Sawyer raised an eyebrow. “You gonna answer that, or want me to do it in my most charming Southern drawl?”

I swiped and hit speaker. “Hey.”

She hesitated. Just enough to make me feel it. “Hey. Um… sorry to bother you.”

Her voice was soft. Hesitant. Like she wasn’t sure I’d pick up, let alone listen.

“I just… I heard from Matt.”

I straightened. My stomach knotted.

“He finally texted,” she continued. “Said he’s not coming back yet. Offered to double my pay if I keep the store going until he gets back.”

Sawyer muttered something under his breath.

I gripped the edge of the counter. “That right?”

“Yeah,” she said. “He said he appreciated me holding it together.”

“Did he ask how you’re doing?”

Her pause was answer enough. “No. He didn’t.”

The silence stretched. I didn’t fill it.

“You okay with that?” I finally asked.

“I guess I don’t have much choice.”

Her voice cracked right there at the end. Just a little. Like something in her was bending and pretending not to.

Sawyer leaned back on the stool, jaw tight.

I exhaled slowly. “All right. Talk later.”

“Okay,” she whispered. Then hung up like it hurt her to do it.

I stared at the screen until it faded to black. Set the phone down, slower than I meant to.

Sawyer ran a hand down his face. “She doesn’t even hear herself, does she?”

I didn’t answer.

“It’s like listening to someone try to sleep on barbed wire and call it a damn mattress.”

That one dug in.

I rubbed my thumb over my jaw. “She’s stuck.”

“She’s loyal,” he corrected, “which turns into stuck when someone like Matt is pulling the strings. And make no mistake—he’s pulling hard.”

I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Her voice was still echoing in my mind.

Sawyer stared at me, like he knew what I wasn’t saying. “You’re not gonna let this ride, are you?”

I shook my head once. Firm.

“No. I’m not.”

He nodded slowly. “Didn’t think so.”

I looked toward the trail cam box, then back to the laptop still showing Matt’s quiet little street.

“She deserves to know the truth,” I said.

“And we’re gonna get it,” Sawyer replied, tapping the screen like it was a war map. “Trail cam. Abandoned barn.”

“You thinking about scouting the lot and checking for posted signs?”

“Yes, but the weather’s been crap, and I wanted to talk to you first. Here’s what I think. If we’re going to use one of those cams, I say we mount it across the street from that house.”

“And wait.”

“And watch,” he said. “We don’t need confrontation. Just the truth.”

I nodded slowly, the wheels turning.

Sawyer shut the laptop and looked at me again. “You ready for this?”

“I’ve been ready since the moment she said he didn’t even ask if she was okay.”

Sawyer’s jaw ticked. “Then we roll out before sunup.”

“Say it,” I muttered.

He grinned. “Oh-dark-thirty.”

I gave a dry chuckle and reached for another beer. “You and your damn Navy timing.”

“It’s how we win,” he said, and for once, I believed him.

Sawyer cracked his knuckles and leaned back in the chair like this was just another day.

“Reminds me of a recon I did in Kandahar,” he said.

“Hotter than hell, I was crammed in a goat shed with a busted radio and a thermal scope that only worked if you smacked it twice and whispered sweet nothings.”

I raised a brow. “Were you spying on livestock or insurgents?”

He shrugged. “Little of both. Goats had better alibis.”

I huffed a laugh and shook my head. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe. But I know how to wait. And watch. And I don’t blink when the target steps into the frame.”

He stood then, nodding toward the box of trail cams. “We got this, brother. And when that son of a bitch shows his face, we’ll have what we need.”

I looked out the window, past the snow and the moonlight spilling across the ranch, and wondered—why hadn’t I walked away from this mess when I had the chance?

Because Callie was still tangled in it, and I wasn’t done fighting for her.

Not even close.