Page 19 of Ride Me Cowboy (Coyote Creek Ranch #1)

Chapter Twelve

Cole

I T’S BEEN A FAIR few months since I was the first one out and about on the ranch.

Usually Caleb beats me to it, heading out to the stables and saddling up, inspecting the herd just before first light.

But after tossing and turning all night, I give up on even trying to sleep and head out, knowing that the early morning light will clear my mind, just like it always does.

Ain’t nothing I can count on quite so much as that.

I know it about myself, almost as sure as I know how to put one foot in front of the other—these stars, at dawn, have magic all right, and when I look at them and ask for answers, they never fail to give it to me.

Like after mom died, when I couldn’t get the pictures out of my mind.

The feeling of failure, because I’d been the one with her, and couldn’t help. I mean, I tried. I tried everything, but it was useless. She hit her head when she fell, and there was just no waking her up again.

I wasn’t enough.

Every lesson my dad had taught me about being strong and helping others had lain before me, but I couldn’t grab at one. I couldn’t save her.

I wasn’t the man my father had trained me to be.

I was so ashamed of myself.

But these stars weren’t.

These stars held me when my heart was breaking, and helped me know how to put it all back together again.

These stars weaved their magic. I’ve never gotten over that feeling, you know, of how bad I let her—and everyone—down that day.

But morning by morning, coming out here and riding alongside my dad, looking up at the sky, parts of me came back together again.

Pain is elemental. Like the stars, the night sky, the breeze and dawn, it is a living part of this universe, and Beth’s pain last night was as raw as anything I’ve ever felt, her grief as palpable as my own had been back then, as tangible as the knot of despair I’ve carried with me ever since my dad died.

I’ve learned to walk alongside those hurts, to carry them as a part of me, recognizing that expecting them to disappear is as futile as wishing their deaths had never happened.

And that’s just what Beth was trying to do with me.

To work out how to live in this world as a widow, to move forward. Maybe she thought moving on would do that for her. That kissing me, making love to me, would alleviate the awful hollow in her chest, the one I know so well.

She was wrong, and she realized that. She apologized for it.

Now all I gotta do is put one foot in front of the other around her until I can stop wanting her regardless.

Because my resolve from last night is unwavering: I’m not going to prey on some woman who’s in a state of grief, no matter how much I want her to be mine.

Beth

“Mornin’.” I jump in my seat at the sound of Cole’s voice.

That voice!

It should be illegal to sound so guttural and raw before ten in the morning.

Or to look like this, I think, as I turn slowly and watch him stride across to me, coffee cup in hand, wearing his full cowboy kit.

Including a whip all curled up neatly on one hip and a sheathed knife on the other.

His boots are dusty, his hat sits a little crooked and his jeans are slung low, held up with a brown belt that looks almost as old as this place.

I try to swallow but my mouth is suddenly dryer than the desert air.

“Thought you might want a coffee,” he says, placing it down in front of me then taking a step back, hands by his sides, a perfect study in relaxed friendliness. Only his eyes show a hint of something else—a wary speculation, like he’s waiting to see how I might react.

Does he think I’ll be angry? Push him away? Or hit on him all over again?

Well, that’s not going to happen. I learned my lesson last night. I might want Cole with the power of a thousand suns, but doing anything that brings back those feelings Christopher programmed inside of me is on my forbidden list. Even when I hate surrendering to him, after he’s cold in the ground.

“Always,” I say, belatedly, pushing a smile to my lips. It feels perfunctory and performative. “Thanks.”

He nods once, something like approval in the lines of his face. I try not to let that warm me too much. He turns and moves toward the door, then pauses. “You up for a run later, City Girl?”

I almost drop the coffee cup to the table, I’m so surprised. I stare at him, lost for words. “You’re serious?”

“If you wanna.”

I nod once. “I do. I—thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, Beth.” He tips his hat on that cryptic comment and leaves.

The day stretches ahead of me, impatience making it seem that time is standing still.

I finish my proper work around noon, but keep myself busy researching the cottage on the property.

There’s quite a lot of information on the city municipal website, and for under a hundred bucks, I’m able to apply for the original plans.

I put in the application and then start a Pinterest board of ideas, for how it could be restored to its original glory.

In the back of my mind, though, the whole day, is Cole. The way he’d sauntered in, all casually solicitous, delineating a way forward for us: as friends, just like he’d said.

I don’t know what I’d expected. He’s not a sulker and I know he wouldn’t act like one, but I guess I’d thought he might take a bit longer to lick his wounds or something.

I can’t help but like him all the more for the way he’s just moved past what happened. No, not just moved past it, because he’s not ignoring it. He’s being there for me, subtly, like he said he would.

Finally, the sky grows darker, and I push away from my desk, carefully closing down all the tabs to do with the cottage, before heading to my room to quickly get changed.

When I step into the corridor, Mackenzie’s emerging from her room at the same time, humming something pretty and melodious.

Her gaze jerks to mine, like we’ve both caught each other completely off guard.

“Hey,” I recover first, offering a smile.

She nods once. “You heading out for a run?”

I glance to the courtyard. “Yeah. It’s cooled off now.”

“With Cole?” she asks.

Something signals a warning, just from the tone of her voice, but I nod anyway. “He’s showing me how not to die on the ranch,” I say, light-heartedly.

“I’m sure he is,” Mackenzie says. “That’s what he’s like. A real good guy.”

I nod. How can I argue with that?

“He’s not like he seems, you know.”

I bite into my lower lip.

“All tough and whatever. He’s still cut up about losing his dad. We all are.” Her voice breaks a little.

“Yeah,” I say, ashamed to say I’ve barely even thought about that since I arrived. Even when I’ve seen for myself the subtle changes in Cole whenever his dad comes up. The pride, the grief, the absence.

“I saw the way you looked at him, the other night, at the bar. I just don’t want him to get hurt, you know.”

My heart twists. “I’m not going to hurt him,” I lie, because maybe I already have. “I’m just here until Reagan feels ready to come back to work, then I’m heading home to New York.” The word ‘home’ catches in my throat. I clear it, quickly. “Cole knows that.”

Her eyes hold mine for a beat too long, like we’ve just entered into an incontrovertible contract of some kind. “Well, okay then. Y’all have fun.”

She heads back to the kitchen, humming again, leaving me standing there, looking after her with a frown on my face and a tangle of feelings I can’t even begin to unravel.

We run together every night for the next week.

Cole takes his job as ranch tutor very seriously, evidently, because he spends half the time holding up his hand to bring me to a stop—not touching me, we’re both so careful not to touch—and explaining what different tracks mean, different sounds.

I can pick out a rattle snake’s shake now, and a coyote’s call, too.

I know where they’re likely to be, and when, and what I should do if I come across any of them.

I’m a good student. As with Christopher, when my life is in danger, I study hard and fast.

Cole surprises me with his fitness. I mean, he’s a big guy and he’s obviously very outdoorsy, but I still didn’t expect him to keep pace with me like this.

He never complains, no matter how fast and hard I want to run, and I can’t help but feel a hint of guilt about that, because I know he gets up early and rides out.

I saw him, a few mornings ago, when I couldn’t sleep and got up to make a coffee.

He was striding off to the stables, and about ten minutes later, he rode past, in the distance, but I knew it was him, even just from his outline against the sky.

There is something about the way he sits in a saddle, the way he holds himself, that’s firmly imprinted on my mind.

I’m distracted so I don’t see the way he holds his hand up to me.

“Beth,” he hisses. “Stop.”

I do, immediately. There’s something in his voice that conveys danger. A shiver runs down my spine and unconsciously, I step closer to him.

“What is it?”

“Do you see that?”

I follow his gaze to the line of pine trees, about a hundred yards away. I shake my head. I don’t see anything at first. But then, there’s a movement. A shift of something, and a quick flash of light, like reflective eyes.

“What is it?”

“A cougar.”

“A what?” I repeat, bringing to mind images of the predatory cats I’ve seen on documentaries.

“It’s okay. But we need to go back to the house now. Nice and steady. Don’t run. Just walk backwards a little way, okay.”

I’m sure as heck not going to argue with him. I’m shaking though, as we pace backwards, my eyes flitting to the cows that are grazing beside us, fenced by barbed wire. But I’ve got no idea if that’s enough to keep the cougar out.

“Are they in danger?”

“Yes.” He sounds so calm. I don’t feel calm. And perhaps he senses that, because he reaches down and grips my hand, gives it a squeeze.

“It’s okay. You’re fine.”