Page 20 of Stirring Spurs (Rainbow Ranch #1)

BOONE

The next few days, my feet barely touch the ground as I move around the kitchen.

It’s like I’m floating, untethered, as if every step I take is lighter than air.

My hat’s the only thing keeping me from drifting away.

There’s this incredible sense of joy and possibility, making even the simplest tasks feel like a celebration.

When I stir a pot, chop vegetables, or flip sizzling bacon, it’s like I’m doing it all in a dream, carried along by a rush of warmth and anticipation.

And the reason for it all? Mr. Wylie Anderson. The thought of him, the bond we’ve started to build, the hitch he puts in my step when I think about being close to him—especially hanging out my bedroom window, gagged by his fingers as I tried to hold back moans while he pounded me.

I can’t help but smile as I go about my day, lost in this new glow. It’s like I’m walking in a soft bubble of happiness, suspended in the promise of what could be. Maybe, just maybe, I can take care of everyone on the ranch and be cared for in return.

“Boone. Boone Earl Adams.”

The sound of Beau’s voice, so similar to my own, washes over me, not quite registering as I stare, lost in the mixer blades whirling in the bowl.

“Oh, hey.” I turn the mixer off, taking a swipe of the whipped cream.

“What are you daydreaming about?” Beau walks next to me, staring at me with his head cocked. I nod at the bowl, and he shakes his head, steals a taste, and pops his finger in his mouth.

“Delicious,” he says. “As usual.”

“Can’t have waffles without whipped cream.” I lift the beaters and unlatch the bowl from the stand.

“Technically, you can.” He wipes his finger on his shirt. “But I’m sure glad we don’t.”

I smile, floating over to the cupboard and grabbing the large mint serving bowl.

“You sure seem smitten lately.” Beau leans against the counter, arms crossed.

I raise my eyebrows and curl half my mouth up.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” He swipes another taste. “So has everyone on the ranch. Just wanna make sure you’re… okay.”

Beau knows me better than anyone. Ma said when we were learning to talk, we’d babble, talking in incoherent sounds, having complete conversations only the two of us seemed to understand.

“I’m fine.” He reaches for another sample, and I smack his hand away.

He huffs a breath, a sound I’m well-versed in.

“I’m fine.” I repeat, and move to him, grasping onto his shoulders, peering into eyes that reflect my own.

“Okay, okay. Listen, I’m your big brother. It’s my duty to worry about you. ”

“Nothing to worry about,” I say, pulling him into a quick hug.

“You know these cowboys.” He draws back, returning to lean on the counter as I plug the waffle iron in. “Just passin' through. A different conquest at each stop. I want to make sure you take care of… this.” He walks over and pokes my chest.

“Cowboys, eh? Takes one to know one, I guess.” I give him a teasing smile.

“Exactly why I’m worried.”

“Well, don’t be.” I pop the bowl of whipped cream into the fridge. “And you’ve stayed.”

“'Cause I have reason to.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder. “A few, actually.”

“Well, maybe Mr. Anderson does, too.”

“Sure hope so.” Beau gives me a peck on the cheek, the smell of his tobacco deodorant mixing with the cinnamon in the waffle mix.

“Now, make yourself useful and take those out.” I nod toward plates of eggs, bacon, and biscuits. “Winnie’s off, and these waffles won’t make themselves.”

“Sure thing.”

Beau picks up a few platters before he pauses, and says, “Love you more than corn in the fields.”

“Love you more than stars in the sky.” I return my half of the mantra we’ve shared since forever.

My twin brother, my steadfast protector—of my body, soul, and heart—heads to the dining room, and I get to finishing breakfast.

Once I’ve cleaned up and have lunch prepped and spread out on the buffet, I decide to surprise Wylie with cake. It baked while I was making the sandwiches, and delivering it to him seems like the perfect excuse to steal a kiss in the middle of the day.

Heading out past the barn, I spot him walking with Noodles.

He’s got the horse on a shorter lead and Wylie’s face is focused and calm.

His red and brown flannel sleeves are rolled up as the late April sun warms the day.

The top buttons are open, letting his chest hair peek out.

The memory of burying my face in it sends my heart knocking in my chest.

There’s a quiet ease to their stride, the kind that comes with familiarity and trust. In only a few weeks, they’ve built a partnership nobody expected.

Wylie walks beside Noodles, the horse’s strong, steady steps matching his own.

His hand rests lightly on Noodles’ neck, and there’s a softness in the way he touches the horse.

My heart melts witnessing their connection.

But just as I’m about to approach, something catches my eye. I glance over at the barn, and sure enough, there’s Dennis poking his head out from behind the door. His ears flick back and forth like he’s got a plan brewing. And, knowing Dennis, it’s probably not a good one.

I watch as he suddenly trots out into the yard, his tiny hooves making a cheerful clip-clop sound on the gravel. Without hesitation, he makes a beeline for the paddock—for Noodles—his little tail flicking like a mischievous spark.

Dennis loves to stir up a bit of chaos, and it’s clear that today is no different.

He lowers himself close to the ground, and more like a cat than a horse, manages to scoot under the fence.

With a playful nudge, he nips at Noodles' flank, causing the larger horse to snort in surprise and shuffle away a few steps. Noodles doesn’t seem particularly bothered, though—like the other animals, he’s already used to Dennis’ antics.

Wylie lets out a chuckle, shaking his head as he watches the mini horse bounce around in the most dramatic way possible. Dennis gives a little hop, a snort of his own, and then races around Noodles in a wild circle.

“Dennis, you rascal,” Wylie mutters with a smile, clearly amused by the playful antics. He shakes his head again, but there's a warmth in his voice that tells me he’s not really mad.

Watching Dennis run circles around Noodles while Wylie calmly walks alongside brings a wide smile to my face.

The contrast between the two horses couldn’t be more obvious—Noodles is all solid, graceful strength, while Dennis is a whirlwind of mischief and speed.

They’re like night and day, but somehow, they make a perfect pair—kind of like Wylie and me.

As I walk closer, a flutter reverberates through my chest. There’s something about the way Wylie interacts with the animals, the easy care he shows them, that tugs at something deep inside me.

It reminds me of Pa and my siblings. I’ve always had a soft spot for cooking, but connecting with animals never came as naturally to me, and I deeply admire those who have an innate way with them.

I lift the cake in my hands, a small offering to add to the moment, and take a step forward.

“Hey, there,” Wylie says, draping the lead around Noodle’s neck.

He walks over to the fence, and to my surprise, the horse follows even though he’s now free to roam.

“Brought something to add to your little party.”

“Dennis wasn’t invited, but…” he looks at the tiny bu gger trotting around the perimeter, seemingly making his own fun.

“He has a way of inviting himself,” I say.

“Exactly.”

Dennis arrives near us, pauses, and shakes his head furiously until Wylie reaches down and gives his mane a pet.

“You little stinker,” he says.

Dennis takes this as his cue to jet off.

Noodles pokes his nose at Wylie’s shoulder, and he wraps his arm around the horse’s head, gently petting the soft skin below his eye.

“Think he’ll be ready to participate next weekend?” I ask.

“Walking with me? Probably. But he’s not ready to let me mount him. We’ll have to work up to it.”

“Relatable.”

Wylie laughs, his cheeks tingeing red and making my pulse pick up.

“Who’d have thought he’d be so tame,” I say, handing the cake over to him. “Before you arrived, we’d all but given up on him.”

“Just needed something to sweeten the deal.” He nods to the cake. “And the right person, I suppose.” He turns and kisses Noodles right on his nose. The horse nudges into him, and my insides roll like Ma’s old wooden pin over freshly made dough.

Wylie gazes at me, his eyes locking with mine. There’s a depth in his stare. Sure, he’s talking about Noodles, but maybe, just maybe, he also means us.