Page 4 of Ride Me Cowboy (Coyote Creek Ranch #1)

“I wasn’t,” I say, honestly. “I just…” the words trail off, as I turn to look at the rose garden.

How do I tell him I came here because I needed something to do, something to occupy me, whilst simultaneously being left completely alone to process everything that’s happened over the last few years, and particularly the last few months?

If I’m honest, I came here hoping to heal, and that’s something I intend to achieve all on my own.

“Thank you,” I finish, lamely, glancing across at him to find his eyes resting on me in that ‘sees too much’ way of his.

“Reagan’s left you some notes in the top drawer.”

I go to reach for them, but his voice stills my hand.

“Why don’t you leave it for now? You’re still getting settled in. I’ll show you your room.”

At his words, which my past makes me perceive as a reprimand, I startle a little but cover it, I think.

“Sure,” I say, over-bright, compensating. “Lead the way, boss.”

His lips twist in something like a smile. “Cole will do just fine.”

It’s an interesting comment, as though he doesn’t like being reminded he’s in charge. Curiosity fires inside of me before I can control it; before I can remind myself that this is temporary, and so are these people. I don’t care about them, or this ranch. This is a job, pure and simple.

No, it’s an escape hatch. I’m going to hole myself away here for just as long as I can, because one thing’s for sure: I was never going to get the space I needed to recover in Manhattan.

Not with Christopher’s family breathing down my neck, checking up on me all the time, doing their darn best to support me.

The house is larger than I assumed from outside.

I realize there are two wings, built around a central courtyard that’s got large, bluestone pavers with grass in between, and a huge pine tree right at the center.

I’d seen the top of it from outside but had presumed it was behind the house, not at its core.

“Yeah, our great, great, great grandpa built the house. The tree was big, even then,” he says, slowing his pace a little to eye it off.

“Why build around it, rather than choose another site?”

He looks at me, expression impossible to discern.

“’Cause this is the best spot on the ranch,” he says, simply.

“The high point, to get the breeze, close enough to the creek out back to fish and fetch water, back in those days, not to mention a view of the road in case some highway robbers came out looking for trouble,” he adds, lips twitching in something like a smile.

I feel my own smile responding, ever so slightly.

“My mom always loved it,” he says, voice a little lower, before he clears his throat and starts walking again, his hips swaggering in that way that makes his butt look ridiculously good. Muscled and toned and… stop thinking about his butt.

“This side of the house is pretty deserted,” he says, with a hint of apology, when this is great news for me.

“This is Mackenzie’s room—the intern,” he gestures to a closed door on our right.

“She’s been here a couple of years now.” He hesitates, slows, then turns to look at me.

“She’s a good kid, but she’s…rough around the edges.

She can be prickly. Don’t take it personally if she snaps at you.

She snaps at everyone. In fact, it’s a sign of trust.”

“Got it,” I say, halfway tempted to tell him that if walking on eggshells was a competitive sport, I’d be a gold medalist. “I’ll give her a wide berth.”

His frown etches deep parentheses on either side of his mouth.

“I didn’t mean that. You just seem like someone who’d take Mackenzie’s brand of humor to heart. Don’t.”

I try to ignore the fact that he’s already gotten a read on me and just nod to signal my understanding.

“Great.” We walk past another door, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Then another. At the end of the hallway, he gestures to the last one. “This is you.”

The minute I step inside, I realize that this room has something the others don’t: windows on three sides, showing an almost complete panorama of the ranch.

The beautiful garden, then the landscape this part of Arizona is known for, with those dramatic, flat-topped mesas in the background and a lush, overgrown pine forest in the front, and then, a pair of timber French doors that open out onto the courtyard.

There’s a double bed in the middle of the room, a small desk, and an old rocking chair.

“It’s lovely,” I say, genuinely. I mean, it’s nothing like my room back home, with the sweeping views of Central Park and the deluxe, professionally decorated suite of furniture, but it’s homey and comfortable, and right now, what I want more than anything is to be comfortable.

I expel a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“My brothers and I are on that side,” he says, tilting his head across the courtyard. “When Cass is home, she’s in the room next door to yours, but she’s not here for another month or so yet.”

“Got it,” I say, not particularly bothered by who sleeps where, only needing to know that this is my room, my private space. Something I haven’t had a whole lot of and need to start getting used to.

“So, any questions?”

I bite into my lower lip. “I mean…” But I hesitate.

I’m so used to Christopher. How I hate that man and what he’s turned me into.

I vaguely remember the woman I was before him.

Confident, funny, relaxed, smart. But a week or so after our wedding, I started to learn that asking questions was one sure fire way to get on his last nerve.

I dig my nails into my palm, my voice just a whisper when I say, “How does this work?”

His brow furrows. “How does what work?”

“Being on the ranch. Can I cook my own food? Or do I cook for everyone? Or do I eat in here? Do I keep to set hours or can I work whenever I want to?”

He drags a hand over his jaw. “Reagan always worked from early morning to just after lunch, but that was because of her kid. It suited her. I don’t have a problem with you choosing your own hours.”

I nod.

“You can cook your own food. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?” He looks totally aghast at the idea, so a laugh bubbles in my throat.

How long has it been since I’ve just spontaneously laughed? I immediately snuff the sound—it’s so rare it almost frightens me. “No. I eat everything.”

“Great.” He visibly relaxes. “I mean, you do you, but I don’t reckon my guys here would let you hear the end of it…”

“When you say, ‘your guys’, you mean… your brothers?”

“The staff,” he corrects. “You’ll meet them over the next few days, I’m sure.

They’re teddy bears,” he says, as though he knows I need to hear that.

“Gruff, about as smooth as a barbed-wire fence, some of them, but they’re salt of the earth, decent men.

Any of them give you trouble, though, you let me know. ”

“No women?”

“Other than Mackenzie?”

I nod.

“Nah, but that’s just the way it’s happened. We don’t discriminate. Some of the best ranchers I’ve ridden alongside have been girls.”

Something warm floods my chest at that. And I’m not sure why I ask it, but hear myself say, “Your mom?”

Surprise briefly flexes his features, but then he’s back to the impenetrable, tough guy mask.

“Yeah.” It’s a quick admission, and it definitely doesn’t invite any more questions.

Duly noted. Hey, if I plan on being a closed book then, surely, he’s allowed the same thing.

I make a mental note not to ask anything else I don’t need to know.

“We tend to lunch together,” he continues. “Down at the sheds. The cook usually serves food at noon. Breakfast and dinner are up to you.”

“Oh. Do I have to eat lunch with everyone?”

He drags a hand through his hair. “You can do what you want, remember? But the offer’s there, if you’d rather come on over. I can show you the way, if you’d like?”

“That’s okay,” I say, quickly, because I know I’m not going to sit around with a heap of cowboys and share a meal.

I’m here to be alone, after all. “I’ll let you know if I change my mind,” I say, to forestall any objection he might be about to make.

The question for today is moot, anyway. It’s the middle of the afternoon. Lunch has been and gone.

“Reagan left her number in the office but we’re trying not to bother her, you know, given the whole new baby thing. So, any questions, come to me, first.”

My mouth goes dry at that, but I nod. “Got it.”

“Okay then, Beth.” He stays standing there, though. “Need anything else?”

I look around the room then shake my head. “No, thanks. I’ll settle in then get down to work. Thanks…for the tour.”

He pulls a face. “It was hardly a tour. Just holler if you want to see the ranch proper.”

I nod.

“I’ll get back out there,” he nods to the window that frames a view of the wide, sweeping plains, the mountains, and despite my best intentions not to be interested in anything about this life, I find myself wondering what it must feel like to conquer a landscape like this.

To saddle up, or whatever it is exactly that a cowboy does, and just ride like the wind.

Ride, feel the power of the horse beneath you, the sheer untamed strength of nature.

I glance back to say something like that to Cole but luckily, he’s already left.