Page 2 of Take Me Please, Cowboy (The Calhouns & Campbells of Cold Canyon Ranch #1)

She’d only recently come to Montana from Texas, happy to escape her big family of overbearing men.

The last thing she wanted was to tangle with another.

It was good to be on her own… or almost on her own as she was living with her uncle, taking care of him, but Uncle Clyde was easy compared to her five brothers.

“I do appreciate you driving me to Bozeman. I don’t know how I would have got that canvas to the Sterbas’ law office otherwise.

It’s one of the biggest pieces I’ve ever done. ”

“It was beautiful, and I still think you should have charged a lot more.”

“I’ll be able to charge more as I get my name out. This sale was just really good for my ego. My first commercial sale.”

“In that case, I’m happy if you’re happy.”

“I’m really happy.” She smiled, more than happy.

Finally, she had time to focus on her art.

Finally, there was traction in her career.

If she kept working hard, she’d have her own gallery in the next year or two.

Marietta would be the perfect place for an art gallery.

There was money in Marietta, wealthy ranchers, tourists, as well as all the affluency from the East and West Coasts who came to Montana for their own piece of land with a mountain view.

Jackson signaled, taking the exit to Marietta and Paradise Valley. He’d picked her up from the ranch this afternoon as Uncle Clyde didn’t want her driving his truck and the painting didn’t fit in her small car.

“How is your uncle?” Jackson asked. “Still challenging?”

“I was warned he’d be difficult.” Ansley tried not to think about the dustup with her uncle this morning when she asked—begged—to borrow his SUV.

He wouldn’t even consider it and she lost her temper, upset that she’d lose her sale. Marching to the barn loft, she suddenly thought of Jackson, fellow Texan, and all-around good and gorgeous. He’d offered to help her should she ever be in a bind and today was most definitely a bind.

Jackson’s brow creased. “Did no one else from your family want to come out and help? Why you?”

She shrugged. “They all had careers.”

“And your family didn’t think you did?”

Ansley swallowed a sigh. “They think it’s a hobby. Something I dabble at, something I’ll stop as soon as I grow up.”

“Maybe I should commission something for the brewery.”

Ansley grinned. “Maybe you should. What would you like?”

“Surprise me.”

“How big should it be?”

“That’s your call. You’re the artist.”

“You’re serious?”

He nodded. “It’s FlintWorks’s tenth anniversary this year. Why not celebrate with some art?”

She couldn’t stop smiling. It was easy to brush off the challenges of living with Uncle Clyde while sitting next to Jackson.

Jackson exuded confidence—just like her brothers—but unlike her brothers, he’d been a big source of support as she tried to adapt to Marietta.

Jackson had also been raised in Texas’s Hill Country, but he had a real job, managing the family’s popular brewery FlintWorks while she pursued a path of her own, a path not respected by her family of overachievers.

Fifteen minutes later, Ansley pointed out the gravel road outside Pray, the road would take them up to Cold Canyon Ranch. The sun had set, and twilight engulfed the mountains, turning the landscape lavender and gray.

As they approached the ranch entrance, Ansley felt the whisper of loneliness that came from still being an outsider in a small town.

Maybe if she lived in town, she’d feel more comfortable, but Cold Canyon Ranch was exactly what it sounded like—a ranch high in the mountains, in the shadow of Emigrant Peak, where the sun rose late and disappeared early.

The wind blew through the canyon almost constantly, shaping and stunting the few trees.

If the ranch was cold during the summer, she couldn’t even imagine how frigid it would be in the winter.

Hopefully, she wouldn’t still be here at Uncle Clyde’s come winter, but she didn’t know who would live with him if she left.

She didn’t want to return to her family’s place outside Last Stand, Texas, but living in the middle of nowhere long term wasn’t going to be good for her mental health—or creativity.

She missed her friends, and she missed her family, her mom in particular.

But at least she was being productive here on the ranch.

One of the first things she did in early June was set up a studio for herself in the barn loft.

Uncle Clyde couldn’t use the space anymore and he gave it to her with his blessing.

She loved having her own place, a place no one went but her.

Ansley had never had her own dedicated space to draw and paint, confined to either her childhood bedroom, or sharing her mother’s sewing room.

But now she had a huge loft with wonderful light, and she could paint to her heart’s content—or whenever Uncle Clyde didn’t need her.

Jackson pulled up in front of the single-story farmhouse, a 1920s white house with a big, covered porch and the tall windows of the period.

The house looked dark, which made her anxious.

Hopefully her uncle was fine. She was later than she intended but she’d make a quick dinner for them, pasta probably, and with any luck, he’d disappear into the TV room until bed.

“Thank you again,” she said to Jackson, climbing out of the truck. “You saved me. I’m so grateful.”

“My pleasure. It gave me a chance to catch up with my friends over at Montana Ale Works.”

She closed the door, lifted her hand in a final wave, and watched as he continued around the circular driveway, headlights cutting through the darkness.

Letting herself into the farmhouse, Ansley found her uncle was waiting for her, not in front of the TV, but at the vintage square oak kitchen table with its twisted legs.

Two straight-back ladder chairs flanked the table and Uncle Clyde was in one.

He’d made a point of telling her when she first arrived that there had never been four chairs, only two, because there had been no need for more.

It had always been Uncle Clyde and his wife, and as they’d never had children they didn’t entertain, either.

“You’re late,” her uncle said brusquely as she entered the kitchen. “Wasn’t sure if you were even coming back.”

Ansley held her breath. Her uncle was in one of his moods and she didn’t have the energy to argue with him. “You knew I was taking one of my big canvases to a law office in Bozeman. I told you it would take several hours.”

“You didn’t tell me it would mean I’d miss dinner.”

“You haven’t missed dinner. I just haven’t made it yet. Give me a half hour—”

“You know I like to eat by six.”

“Then you should’ve made yourself something. You’re not helpless. Before I came you made yourself dinner all the time.”

He glared at her. “I knew this was a bad idea having you come here. I knew—”

“It’s not a bad idea as long as we both agree to get along. You’re the one in a bad mood. I came home happy—”

“As well as late.”

She shook her head. “Stop being such a grouch and let me make dinner and everything will be fine.” Her voice was sharper than she intended, but she was tired of taking whatever her uncle dished out.

She’d never even met him until she arrived Memorial Day weekend, late May.

It had been an interesting summer living here, and there were times her uncle was good company—well that was going too far.

He was satisfactory company—but there were other times, like tonight, when she didn’t know why she was even here.

It wasn’t as if she was being paid to be his live-in companion.

She was here as a favor to her parents, not that her dad would ever ask her to stay with his brother on the family ranch, but her mother had taken pity on Clyde and had also seen it as an opportunity for Ansley to get out and spread her wings a bit.

So, here she was, trying to keep an eye on her uncle as his health had begun to fail and no one knew what would happen to him—or the Campbells’ Cold Canyon Ranch—which had been in the family since the 1930s.

At the sink, Ansley washed her hands before drying. “I was thinking of just making some chicken and pasta. Would you like chicken Alfredo? Lemon chicken? What sounds best?”

“Whatever is the fastest. I’m hungry.”

“They’re both quick. We’ll be eating in thirty minutes.”

“I don’t know if I can wait.”

“Then how about a yogurt to tide you over?”

His lips pursed. “I just want dinner.”

He reminded her of a small petulant child, and her lips twitched picturing him in a high chair, waving his fists, having a tantrum. “I know. The message has come through loud and clear. Since Alfredo is your favorite, I will do that. But are you sure you wouldn’t like a snack to hold you?”

“You’re being patronizing.”

“And you, Uncle Clyde, are being a little demanding,” she retorted, “but I’m going to put it down to low blood sugar or high blood pressure as I know you wouldn’t normally be so difficult.

” Then she gave him her sweetest smile. “I’m going to quickly change, and I’ll be right down, and dinner will be ready before you know it. ”

Then as Ansley headed out of the kitchen, she shouted back to him, “And my trip to Bozeman went really well, thank you for asking. I stayed to see them hang the painting on their conference room wall. It was pretty awesome.”

*

Forty minutes later, they were at the table finishing dinner when her uncle cleared his throat. “Did you take any pictures?” he asked, voice gruff.

Ansley blinked, confused. “Of?”

“Of them hanging your painting in the office.”

She slowly smiled. “I did. Would you like to see?”