Page 13 of Stirring Spurs (Rainbow Ranch #1)

WYLIE

With the new paddock built for Noodles, I spend a good portion of my days with him, just sitting there in the quiet, letting him get used to the space.

It’s a good-sized lot, plenty of room for him to roam and graze, but he’s still a little skittish, like a squirrel on a wire.

Beau’s not sure what he’s been through, but whatever it is, it’s left him leery of folks, so I don’t push him too hard. I know it’ll take time.

I talk to him, soft and low, like I’ve done with every animal who’s ever needed a little extra patience.

“It’s okay,” I say, steady as I can, holdin' out the lead rope far enough so he knows I’m close but not a threat.

His giant brown eyes flicker over to me, but he doesn’t come any closer.

He backs up a step, his tail swishing like he’s not sure what to make of this whole human thing.

I let him have his space, sitting down on the fence rail.

The sun peeks out behind fluffy clouds, casting him in a beautiful light, but Noodles doesn’t seem to care.

I’d love to take a picture of him and show him what a handsome boy he is.

He’s all too aware of the world around him, his ears twitching at every little sound.

After a while, I get up slow and easy, careful not to make any quick moves, and I take a few steps toward him.

He flinches but doesn’t bolt—just a little side-step, like he’s weighing his options.

I hold out the lead rope again, barely close enough that he could sniff it if he wanted. “Come on, boy,” I murmur, “ain’t nothing to be afraid of.”

I lift my hand, palm facing him. His nostrils flare, and for a minute, I think he might run off. But then he takes a step closer—and pushes his muzzle forward into my hand.

I keep my voice calm, my movements steady. He sniffs my skin, lips twitching and tickling my hand as a soft breeze stirs the tall grass, and for a moment, a hush falls over the ranch.

“Good boy,” I say. “Got a sweet treat for you.”

I hop over the fence and walk to the tree where I’ve left my belongings. The morning sun has me down to my tank top. I left my flannel shielding the cake, and when I uncover it, the foil glistens in the beam of sunlight poking through the leaves.

There right on the foil, Boone’s written my name with a fat black marker. He’s made a smiley face for the dot on top of the ‘i’, and I huff a laugh thinking about him putting it there—for me.

I don’t pay much attention to love. Never been around long enough for it to take root, I reckon.

Life’s been a saddlebag full of dust and distance, too busy with the next job to worry about feelings.

Sure, there’ve been a few men along the way.

A night here, a quickie there. Folks would probably call 'em flings, but I don’t much care for labels. It’s just the way it goes.

One night, we’re two bodies sharing the same fire, swapping stories and laughing like it means something. And then, when the stars burn out and the sun rises, it’s over. No promises, no strings.

When the time comes, I pack up my gear, head for the highway, and hitch to the next stop. Ain’t no use holding onto something that ain’t meant to stay. Love’s for folks with time to spare, and I’ve never been one to slow down for it. The next job’s always calling, and I’m always answering.

But there’s something about this place that’s got me second-guessing.

The ranch. The people. The cookie—Boone Adams. I’ve never been one to let myself get tangled up in anyone or anything.

So why in the hell does this feel different?

It’s like the land itself has a pull on me, something I can’t shake.

Something I don’t wanna quit. Every time I think about leaving, the damn feeling gnaws at my gut, like I’d miss something.

Like maybe—just maybe—this time, I’m not meant to roll on through.

That damn smiley face on top of my name reminds me of Boone’s—the one that burrows right to my insides.

I peel the foil back, and four large slices of vanilla cake with white frosting greet me. Another smile sprouts on my face. Vanilla. He remembered.

As I return to the fence, Noodles walks right up to the barrier, poking his curious nose over the top.

“That got your attention, eh?”

He nudges my shoulder, the first time he’s attempted his version of a hug, and a warmth spreads through my chest. Slow and steady.

“Hang on there. You’ll get yours.”

I lift a piece off the plate, and the moist cake rests on my palm. I do my best to keep my fingers out of the frosting.

“Reckon this might convince you to let me climb on your back? ”

It doesn't take but a second for Noodles to open his mouth and inhale the entire piece.

“No manners,” I say. “I’m taking that as a yes. One more piece.” I raise another, holding it just out of his reach. “Then we’ll save the other two for lunch. One for you and one for me. Sound good?”

He lets out a snort, which I take as confirmation, so I feed him another piece before returning the plate to the tree and carefully covering it with the foil. Boone’s smiley face beams up at me, and damn if my stomach doesn’t get all stirred thinking about seeing him again.

After dinner, which is a mouthwatering roast beef, alongside mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, fresh bread, and a salad with more colors than a rainbow, I rush up to my room to shower and change.

I don’t have anything fancy, but I want to at least be clean.

He’s seen me in my work clothes but not my black shirt.

Of all my shirts, it’s the least faded. After a quick shower, I run a comb through my hair, brush my teeth, pop my hat on, grab the bunch of white clover I snatched from outside the paddock this afternoon, and mosey down to meet him.

When I poke my head into the kitchen, I don’t see Boone.

Or anyone. The lights are off except for a small one on the back wall.

We never agreed on a meeting place, and I just assumed it would be here.

My chest tightens, and I contemplate bolting up and knocking on his door, but then a small note on the stool catches my eye.

It’s a folded piece of paper with my name on it.

Wylie. With that damn smiley face above the ‘i’ again.

Unfolding the message, the same handwriting meets me inside.

Meet me at the truck. Boone.

Before his name, he’s drawn a ridiculous little heart. My mouth gets all dry, like crackling mud in the sun, and I smack my lips together, trying to gather some moisture.

Inside the first ‘o’ in his name he’s drawn a smiley face that matches the one above mine. I wanna groan, but I’m too fucking happy.

Heading out the front, I walk past the barn, quiet now after making sure the horses were all bedded down for the night. I pause, taking an extra careful listen. Nothing. Even Dennis must be tuckered out.

The ranch pickup has been pulled out of the garage, and I spot Boone in the back, loading items into the cargo bed from his wagon. Got my first look at it with Beau, but now that I’m not working, I can fully appreciate how well maintained it is.

I’m not trying to startle Boone, so I kick my boots in the gravel a little more than I need to as I approach.

“Need help?” I ask.

Boone turns around, and my breath hitches in my throat.

He’s also showered, and I immediately wonder how we missed each other passing in the hallway.

My dick pulses in my jeans when I picture him in the shower moments before or after me.

Pondering if I’d lingered a little longer, would I have seen him in his towel?

Or maybe he’d have joined me. Easy, Wylie. Easy.

He’s got on a fancy shirt. It’s plaid in all these greens that make his eyes pop like newly-shined spurs, but the buttons are a deep amber pearl, shimmering from the light outside the garage.

His hat tips back, and there are more waves escaping it than I’ve seen before.

After he drops the cooler in his arms onto the truck bed, he walks over to me.

“All set, Phyllis. But thank you.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s a family joke. Our great Aunt Phyllis was known for waiting until the last dish was dried and put away before asking if Ma needed any help.”

“Oh. Gotcha. You should’ve waited for me. More than willing to load the truck,” I say.

“Then none of this…” He nods at some blankets, a cooler, and another smaller bin in the bed, “would be a surprise.” He motions to the passenger side. “Come on, cowboy.”

“Brought you these.” I hand over the clover, suddenly embarrassed at the juvenile gesture, as heat creeps over my face. “Saw them outside the paddock today and thought you might like 'em.”

Boone takes the flowers, gives them a quick sniff, and says, “Mmm, take a whiff.”

He holds them out, and I do as I’m told.

“They almost have a faint vanilla scent, right?” He pulls them back, taking another smell. “You know almost all the parts of white clover are edible. The flowers can be dried and used for tea. The leaves are delicious in a salad. I’m saving these.”

He takes my hand and walks me to the passenger side of the truck.

“You okay letting me drive?”

He’s talking about the truck, but I’m hoping he means tonight. Us. Whatever this is we’re doing.

I nod and climb in, admiring the shiny, clean cab, the leather seats gleaming in the soft light spilling from the garage. Boone jogs around the front, his boots thudding against the gravel, and hops in beside me with a grin.

“Don’t have the resources or time for a vehicle of my own, but gosh, when I do, this is exactly the type of ride I’d want,” I say. “Mighty clean for a ranch vehicle.”

“That’s all Beau. This is his prized pony. He insists it’s the one vehicle not covered in dust, hay, and—well, shit.”

A laugh trots out of my mouth, because he’s right. Everything else on the ranch has fallen to that fate.

“Good call,” I reply. “Such a nice truck.”

I run my hands along the leather seat beneath me, admiring the upgrades.

“He says we need at least one truck that doesn’t look like a disaster for heading into town, errands, shopping. And courting.”

He tosses me a wink, gives the truck’s engine a turn, and we rumble off down one of the dusty dirt roads that snake through the heart of the ranch like veins through a tough old cowboy’s hands.

“You do a lot of that?” I ask.

“Errands? Shopping? Try to avoid it if I can. We use what we grow and raise here on the ranch best we can. The other stuff Winnie will grab. Or Beau, when he heads into town for business. I make the lists, and they buy the stuff. Works out well for me.”

That tumbling in my stomach comes back, and I take a deep breath before replying.

“No… courtin'.”

“Oh gosh, no. I mean, it hasn’t really been a priority. Too occupied with my family, the staff, and keeping Dennis out of the house. And most of the cowboys who come through aren’t here for long. They stay for the rodeo at the beginning of the month then skedaddle. ”

I swallow hard, my throat dry and crackly like a ditch in a drought.

“I’ve had a few… admirers over the years, but nothing serious,” he says.

Boone takes a right past the edge of the potato crops and into a cornfield. Never noticed the road before, and we’re surrounded by tall stalks that rustle and brush against the truck’s side.

“What about you?” he asks. “A different… person in every ranch?”

Is that what he thinks of me? Hitching around from place to place, staying to work and make a little money and fucking whoever is willing?

“No. Not at all. Mostly, I just… stay to myself. Most places aren’t as…”

“Queer?” Boone’s hand lands on my knee, sending a flash of electricity up my leg.

How does he do it without worry? Yeah, we’re alone in the truck in the middle of nowhere, but still.

“I mean, we called it Rainbow Ranch for that reason. If you come here, you’re either queer, questioning, or a fierce ally. We don’t tolerate anything less.”

“Yeah. That.”

His fearlessness gives me a shot of bravery and without overthinking it, I move my palm to the top of his hand—the warmth of our skin touching melts any resolve I had about playing coy with Boone Adams.

“I know there are other guys out there.” My thumb rubs over his rough skin until it lands on the smooth nail of his thumb. “But it never seemed worth the risk. Lots of horrible stories.”

Boone nods, takes my hand up to his mouth and kisses the back of it .

“Not on our ranch.” He gives my knuckles another peck. “You’re safe here.”

His lips brush my fingers, lingering a little longer, and Lord, my heart pounds so loudly, I’m sure he can hear it. My inclination would usually be to pull back. But we’re all alone out here in the truck. It’s late. We’re safe.

The truck bounces over the last ridge of the cornfield, the tall stalks parting like a curtain, and suddenly, the world opens up.

The engine hums quietly as the wheels roll onto soft grass, and the land stretches out into a clearing—one I’ve not seen or heard about in the few weeks I’ve been here.

It’s perfectly framed under the vast, open sky.

Starlight spills down like liquid silver, untouched and pure.

Boone brings the truck to a stop, the quiet settling in around us.

He pulls the key from the ignition with a deliberate motion, holding it for a moment before dropping it into his pocket.

His eyes flick to me, and a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth gives me my first glimpse of his dimple tonight.

“Ready, cowboy?”

The question hangs in the cool evening air, the kind of stillness that makes everything feel sharper.

“Yeah,” I reply, my voice rougher than I intended. “Cookie.”

His grin widens, teeth flashing.

“I know it's a pretty common name for ranch cooks, but no one really calls me that.”

“Really?” I reach over, taking his hand and running my fingers lightly over his. “I think it suits you.”

My pulse races, the excitement building like the hum of a live wire.

My hands are steady on the seat, but inside, there's a heat rising, something wild and untamed. Boone doesn’t wait for me to say more.

He’s already reaching for the door, pulling it open with a satisfying creak.

The truck door slams behind him, and the night feels even more alive, like it’s waiting for us to make a move.

I swing my legs out, planting my boots on the earth, and as I stand, the breeze catches my shirt, ruffling it against my skin. The stars are brilliant, their light scattered across the sky like a trail of dust. For a moment, before joining Boone, all I can do is breathe it in.