Page 12 of Rogue Cowboy (Montana’s Rodeo Cowboys #3)

“I thought you loved guacamole,” Cole said later that night when they were at Rosita’s on what felt like an obligatory date because she’d once told him that chicken, cheese and pepper enchiladas were her favorite. And he knew about the guac from LA.

But she didn’t want to be an obligation to Cole.

And she didn’t want him to pay for dinner.

The server hesitated, watching Riley.

“I do, it’s just…” She trailed off, not wanting to say that her favorite treat was too expensive.

It would sound insulting, and Rosita’s Mexican Grill was a family-owned and run restaurant.

But she was hyper aware that she helped her mom at the ranch with the horses.

Sure, she did chores, but she didn’t have a specific job with a salary.

She didn’t have outside employment or a side hustle like her brothers.

She still lived in her childhood bedroom.

“You loved guac in California. You said it should be its own food group.”

“Amen to that, sister,” the server said. “Guac coming up?”

Riley took a breath, what she wanted and what she should do warring, along with her confusion as to how to navigate this unexpected situation with Cole.

“Yes, please,” Cole said, his dark gaze glued to hers as if her face mapped out a top-secret mission.

The server left. Riley took a nervous sip of her water.

She shouldn’t have come—not that Cole asked exactly.

He’d just said that she’d promised to take him to her favorite Mexican restaurant in town and that it would be his treat.

She’d been reading over the texts between them when she had a moment of peace, and she hadn’t exactly promised to take him. And she hadn’t expected him to pay.

“Explain.”

She stared at him, irritation rising. A one-word command to encompass so much.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” she muttered, having trouble reconciling the fantasy Cole from their weekend and text exchanges with the reality sitting across from her.

If she thought she could wait him out or change the subject, she’d be delusional. She watched the condensation form rivulets on the glass that chased each other down to the table.

“I wasn’t expecting you to arrive. I don’t know what you want.” Her fingers flexed spastically, and the glass tipped.

Cole righted it, catching her fingers. “I was clear.”

“Courting?” She sounded like a frightened sheep, bleating.

Stuck on repeat. She looked around and lowered her voice.

She knew people here, and it would get back to her family that not only was she out with a man, but she’d been mad or tense or nervous.

She hated being under a microscope. Hated it, and she felt herself hunch.

“And this isn’t a date,” she reminded.

“Good. You’re a married woman.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Face reality.”

She jerked upright. “You have no right to tell me what to do.”

He smiled, and she felt like she was caught in some trap. “Don’t I?”

Before she could dredge up a suitably scathing answer, the server arrived with his beer and her horchata she hadn’t been able to resist ordering.

“Guac will be up in a bit.” And before she’d walked away, a young man hurried up with a bowl of supplies and a folding table.

They were silent while he sliced and mashed the avocados, onions, jalapenos, spices, lemon and with an expert flip of his wrist, he flicked in a few red chili flakes, before placing the bowl before them with a flourish and then adding fresh, warm homemade chips, before packing up again and leaving.

Cole’s sharp gaze tracked the man’s progress from the table, and then quartered the room, reminding her of how Rohan had acted when he’d first come home nearly two years ago. Maybe he still acted alert and on edge out in public. She didn’t know because she mainly stayed on the ranch—more and more.

“You were snapping your flag of independence in my face and telling me why this isn’t a date,” he prompted.

“Dating takes two people.”

Even Riley realized how stupid that sounded without Cole waggling his finger first at her then him before he picked up a chip and scooped some guac on it.

“I can count. Full honesty. I don’t have much dating experience.”

She nearly choked on a chip. He had to have had a line of women since freshman year of high school. She tucked her hands under her thighs so she wouldn’t be tempted to stuff any chips and guac in her mouth and inhale them to give herself something to do besides obsess over him.

“And no experience with women since we married.”

Her mouth dropped open at that nearly inconceivable thought. She’d not only trapped him with her stupidity and panic, she’d jailed him.

“Cole, I never meant…” She shut up as the server approached again, eyebrows raised. She must have clued in that this was not a good time to take the rest of their order as she pivoted.

“I meant my vows, but since it wasn’t a conventional marriage, I had no right to hold you to not dating for five years,” he said calmly like he was giving her a gift or an out.

Unbelievable.

“Six—and you were free to do as you wanted,” she said. “You still are.”

“That’s why I’m here. I want you.”

Riley felt her face heat. Sweat prickled her scalp. Even her neck felt hot with embarrassment. Oh. No. They weren’t going to talk about personal stuff in the middle of a family restaurant loved by locals and tourists alike. Not here. Not now.

Not ever.

Cole dipped another chip in the guac, and she watched him, fascinated by the way he moved, the energy and confidence that wafted off him.

It would be so easy to launch herself into his arms. Let him take care of her.

Banish the nightmares. The jumpiness combined with the listlessness that seemed to poke more and more holes into the Riley she’d been. Deflating her.

But she had to be strong. She had to remake her life. She knew that, but somehow she’d just never got back on track.

He was relentless so she bit into the chip, and he fed it into her mouth.

Like we’re lovers on a date.

She struggled to swallow and fight the urge to tug on her floral, western-style shirt to cool herself off. Maybe she should dump water down her front to cool herself off. Then they could leave, and she could avoid both Cole’s and the public’s scrutiny.

She actually imagined her departure. Planned it out.

Spill. Apologize. Jump up and run the few blocks to Crawford Park, duck down to the riverfront trail, run across the footbridge and then climb down to the riverfront and jog along the trail closer to the field where competitors were setting up their rigs for the weekend.

Before she knew it, Cole had slid into the small booth next to her.

“What are you doing?”

“You looked like you were going to do a runner.”

“I was thinking about it,” she admitted, so shocked that he’d read her mind, but just as she’d sensed his eased tension, he’d sensed her rising anxiety.

Probably like reading a horse.

Not exactly a flattering comparison.

“Tell me what’s happening.”

Of course her instinct was to clam up. Heck she hadn’t even told her family.

But maybe if he knew what a wreck she was, he’d procure the papers, she’d sigh and adios her for good.

Surely his friendship with Rohan—which had seemed a little tense today: her fault—wouldn’t guilt him into any more moments of martyrdom.

“I don’t date. I haven’t dated.” That hadn’t even occurred to her. If she expected him to look relieved, he didn’t. “You can’t expect me to date after what happened.”

“You were attacked.”

“But I was there.”

The fury that flashed across his face was so fierce and scary and gone just as quickly that she thought perhaps she had imagined it.

“You were working. It was an industry party. You went with your band. You had every right to think you were safe. Those pricks drugged you and then promised to take care of you and instead of getting you an Uber like they said, they took you, nearly passed out from the drug they put in the drink they insisted you drink so you could talk ‘business,’ and they attacked you.”

“How…how do you know all that?” Had she told him? She didn’t remember all the details, just being uncomfortable at the party, embarrassed, and then feeling sick and scared and texting him and blocking the rest out.

Even the part where she was hiding behind someone’s trash cans in an alley, vomiting, dizzy and half-dressed was a blur, but she did remember Cole picking her up and wrapping her first in his jacket and then in a blanket.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“We need to.”

He wasn’t the boss of her.

“This isn’t the place.”

“Where?”

“Nowhere,” she admitted.

The server came, giving Riley time to calm herself and order her favorite meal she was sure she couldn’t eat. When the server left, she could feel Cole’s questions beating at her.

“Why did you stop singing? Performing?”

She could feel the pull of his will, and all the excuses she’d fed her family over the years just felt like trying to catch the rain. She swallowed, but her favorite food tasted like nothing, and she felt she’d choke on it.

“I…I…feel—” how to explain “—hyper aware of myself and everything around me. Like I’m on a stage and everyone’s staring, even though they probably aren’t, and I know that feels so arrogant, and I feel like everyone will know that I…

I…” She faltered under his intense regard.

“It’s hard to act normal,” she finished in a rush.

Cole reangled his body, so he could look at her, and one finger stroked along her jaw.

“Did you meet with a counselor as you promised?”

She ducked her head. She thought of all the internal excuses she’d used—she didn’t want to talk about it. She was a Montana cowgirl. She didn’t want to hurt her family. And now, it was so long ago she should be over it. But she knew he’d see right through her.