Page 49 of Ride Me Cowboy (Coyote Creek Ranch #1)

In having the security of knowing I would only be here a few months, I let myself be totally open to Cole in a way I might otherwise have guarded against, and as a result, I fell head over heels in love with him.

“Yeah, we have,” I say with a slow nod and weeping heart. “I guess I just didn’t understand what we were doing until today.”

“Today has been emotional,” he says, gently, yet dismissively, royally pissing me off.

“In a way that’s opened my eyes.”

A muscle clenches in his jaw. “Wait and see what tomorrow brings. You might feel differently in the morning.”

“Don’t do that,” I say, quickly. “Don’t tell me I don’t know what’s in here.” I push my fingers at my chest quickly. “Don’t tell me I don’t know how much you mean to me.”

“Beth—,” he says, quickly, like he’s pleading with me not to say anything further.

But for the third time today, my mouth takes on a mind of its own. “I’m in love with you, Cole Donovan, and I’d put every penny I own on you being in love with me, too. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Cole

Tell me I’m wrong.

Her words jackhammer around my brain, getting louder and louder with each pass. Panic is like a knife in my side. She can’t love me, and I can’t love her. Because if I let myself love someone like Beth, and then lose her, I don’t think I’ll ever recover.

“You’re wrong,” I say, because I sure as hell can’t buy into the reality of this.

“I like you, Beth. I think you’re great.

” Great? I want to shout at myself. Great is what I’d call Caleb.

Beth is…a whole thousand things more than that.

Except I can’t admit that to her. I need to be so careful here.

I suck in a breath, focus on what I need to do in order to control this.

“This isn’t love; not for me, and I don’t think for you. ”

It can’t be. I’ve always known she’d be leaving, and I’ve accepted that. It’s stopped me from doing something stupid, like caring more than I should.

“You really mean that?”

I want to protect her, to know she’s happy, but that can’t be here with me. I refuse to risk it. I nod once.

“Then look in my eyes and tell me,” she says, and I realize I’ve been staring somewhere over the other side of the room, trying to untangle everything.

Sitting on the bench like she is, our eyes are almost level.

I force mine to slip sideways, to hold her gaze, and my gut rolls like I’ve just been bucked from a bronco.

I force myself to keep lookin’ at her though, even when every second swooshes acid around my throat.

I need her to be happy, but if she stays, I’ll spend my whole life looking over my shoulder, waiting for the inevitable goddamn disaster.

“Say it,” she challenges, tilting her face. So beautiful, strong and determined in that moment, my chest seems to be cracking open.

“I told you, I like you, a whole goddamn lot, Beth. You are a great woman. But you know I’m not looking for anything more than this. I said that, right from the start.”

“And nothing’s changed since then?” Her voice is laced with contempt. I hear it, and I get it. Everything’s changed, except for one thing. I can’t love her.

“Not enough.”

Her eyes narrow. “Tell me you don’t love me.”

“Why?”

“Say the words. Look into my eyes and say, ‘ I don’t love you, Beth.’.”

“Don’t do this.” My throat feels dry. I glance toward the kitchen window, but her hand reaches up and grabs my chin, dragging my face back to her. I can’t love her. The thought scares the shit out of me. “I have loved everything about spending time with you, being with you. I have loved?—,”

“But you don’t love me.” She says each word real slow and clear, like she’s trying to drum it into her head, and heart.

I grind my teeth. Doesn’t she get it? I don’t love anyone. Not if I can help it. “It’s not really about you.”

“Then just say it,” she keeps pushing, but her lip trembles, like she knows what she’s asking me to do: to ruin everything between us. To ruin it real good. Because only then will she actually leave.

Well, so? Isn’t that what I want? For Beth to be okay?

Maybe I have to be a little cruel to be kind.

If telling her I don’t love her will send her packing, so she can forget about this whole stupid idea of loving me, and get on with her life, then isn’t it worth it?

I want her to stay, more than I can say, but that would be so wrong for her.

I know I’ll never let her into my heart.

God, I wish that I could. I wish I could get over what losing mom, and dad, did to me, and just be like Beau, open to the whole wide world.

I wish I could be open to what Beth is offering me.

But I can’t.

And the only thing to do then is push her away, to give her the best chance of moving on.

Without me. The thought lands in my gut like a boulder.

I close my eyes for a second, bracing against what she’s asking me to do, then blink and look into the depths of hers, that remind me so much of ice and the sky, of impossible futures and infinity.

“This time with you has meant so much to me, but Beth…I don’t love you. ”

Her lips part in surprise, like she didn’t really expect me to say it, which makes me feel about a thousand times worse than I’d expected.

Just saying the words is physically painful, like a knife being pressed to my side.

Fuck. I don’t love you. The words cut me deep.

They are the last thing I want to say to this woman.

What I need to tell her is I can’t be with you.

It’s different. I open my mouth to explain, but she’s nodding slowly.

“Okay.” She’s so brave though. She’s had to be. Her marriage made sure of that.

And now I’m just some other guy she’s having to protect herself from—the exact opposite of what I intended.

Nausea rolls through me at the idea of ever being a source of pain to her. It’s the last thing I meant to happen.

“I think you should go, Beth,” I say, quietly. “Not because I want you to leave, but because if you really do feel like you say, then no good can come of staying here.”

“Because you’ll never love me,” she says, softly, but with the slightest hint of a question. Like even then, she’s wondering if maybe I’ll change my mind.

Man up, Cole. Tell her you’ll never love anyone. That you’re shit scared of watching someone else you love die, of knowing you couldn’t save them. Tell her that it’s nothing to do with her, that it’s just easier to let someone go before it gets too much, rather than risk going through all that.

“That’s not what we are, and that’s not your fault.

This is me, Beth. It’s the way I am. The way I’ll always be.

” I say it with finality, hoping it gets through to me—and to her.

Apparently, it does, because a moment later, Beth is nodding, and sliding sideways on the bench, dislodging the hand I hadn’t even realized I was pressing against her thigh.

“Okay,” she jumps down in a way that makes my body tighten and yearn, that makes my heart twist because it’s over.

I’ll never reach for her again, and touch her, because she’s my girl.

I’ll never have a whole long day to get through knowing that no matter how tired I am, no matter how stressed by the ranch’s finances, none of that will matter when I can finally get her alone, beneath the blanket of stars. Just her and me. “I’ll go pack my bag.”

The reality really hits me then. I watch her leave, even when every muscle in my body is trying to galvanize me to action, telling me to run after her. I don’t. Not only is this for the best, it’s what’s right for Beth. I’ve lost her, but at least I know I’m setting her free for a reason.

She’ll move on, forget about me, and the next guy she’s with will be able to open himself up to really being with her.

The next guy will be able to let her love him, and admit his love right back, without feeling like it’s lighting a match that will set the world on fire.

The next guy won’t be such a goddamned coward.