Page 24 of Take Me Please, Cowboy (The Calhouns & Campbells of Cold Canyon Ranch #1)

I t had taken her a full day to realize that Rye had been serious.

He wasn’t taking her calls. He wasn’t answering her texts. In fact, her calls went straight to his voice mail, and after asking Sophie Wyatt about it, when she stopped by with Summer Friday afternoon, discovered that Rye must have blocked her. Blocked her.

At first, she was hurt, really hurt, and then she was angry. Who was he to block her? She’d been a friend. And yes, she had strong feelings for him, but she’d never crossed the line, never behaved inappropriately. Why had he thought it essential to shut her out like that? It was rude, demeaning.

He was rude, demeaning. He’d taken her from such a high to such a painful low. And if this is what he wanted… if this was who he was… she was glad he’d finally shown his true colors, glad he’d cut her loose. Now she could move on. Be free. Meet someone new. Someday.

On Sunday, exactly two weeks after Rye had driven away, the entire Wyatt clan came over to Uncle Clyde’s for a Sunday barbecue.

They arrived in four trucks, and all spilled out, everyone carrying something.

Seeing them gather in the backyard was daunting.

There were babies and toddlers, dinner, dessert, and drinks.

The men set up folding tables and chairs in the shade while their wives covered them with cheerful yellow tablecloths and adding a vase of daises on each table.

The weather had warmed again and one of the younger Wyatts—Billy, maybe?

—found an old sprinkler and attached it to a garden hose so the kids could run through it, and they did, shrieking and laughing and getting soaked.

It was colorful and chaotic and just what Ansley needed.

Having grown up in a house with a lot of brothers and commotion, it felt good to pretend she belonged, even if she wasn’t actually part of the Wyatt family.

She’d felt lonely living here, and it had been a struggle making friends, but now she had all of the Wyatts to call friends, and they were friends.

They’d been there for her all week and had shared her excitement on getting the invitation to do the gallery show.

But watching the Wyatts, two of them still competing on the PRCA circuit, with Tommy and Billy heading to Las Vegas in December, it was hard not to think of Rye. But she couldn’t keep thinking about him, couldn’t keep hurting over him. She had to let him go. And yet it was hard to let him go.

How did one let love go?

Sophie had been sitting with Ansley at the end of a table until she saw her kids squabbling and had jumped up to separate them. Ivy, Sam’s wife, slid into the seat Sophie had vacated. “Granddad has been filling us in on your gallery exhibit coming up,” she said. “That is exciting. Are you ready?”

Ansley shook her head. “No. I need at least three, maybe four, more pieces. I think I can do it, provided I just paint, paint, paint.”

“Is the nursing aid providing any respite?” Sophie asked, returning to the table and squeezing in next to Ivy.

“Yes. She’s usually here from nine until one, and then your family has been great about stopping by and keeping Clyde company after his afternoon nap so I can get a little more work done. It’s been a huge help. I wouldn’t have anything ready for the gallery if it weren’t for the Wyatts.”

Sophie studied Ansley a moment. “So, what’s wrong? You seem a little down. Everything okay?”

Ansley shrugged. “It’s nothing, at least nothing that important. I’ll get over it.”

“Feeling homesick?” Ivy guessed.

“No.” Ansley flushed, feeling sensitive. “It’s a guy thing.”

Sophie’s eyes widened, understanding dawning. “When you asked me how could you tell if a number was blocked… is this the same guy?”

Ansley nodded miserably.

“What a jerk,” Ivy said. “Who is he?”

Ansley bit her tongue remembering that Rye said he was good friends with Ivy.

There was no way she could share any of the details with her, or the Wyatts.

As Rye had said, the professional rodeo circuit in Montana was small and close knit.

“Just… someone.” She forced a smile. “But don’t worry, I’m not letting him distract me.

I’ve got the show coming up and lots to do. ”

“What do you still need to do?” Sophie asked.

“I’d like at least one more big landscape, and I need to finish two smaller pictures, and then I’ve got to get them all framed. The big canvases don’t have to be framed, but the others do, and framing is time consuming.”

“I’m sure one of these guys could build you your frames,” Ivy said, nodding toward the four brothers and cousin gathered around the other table.

“Most of them can do anything and build anything. Not sure if you know, but Sam has been making furniture this past year. He’s become quite the craftsman.

He would probably enjoy doing something new. ”

It was an intriguing idea. “I wonder how much he’d charge,” Ansley said.

Ivy shook her head. “I don’t think he’d charge you. If you covered the supplies, he would be happy to help.”

“Can’t do that. I’m not a charity project. You are amazing neighbors and you’ve done so much, but that would be too much. He should be compensated for his time—”

“You could make a donation to our favorite nonprofit instead,” Ivy said. “I’m active in an organization that helps kids with disabilities ride. That way it’s a win-win.”

Ansley couldn’t resist Ivy’s confidence or smile. “I’m not sure it’s a win-win for Sam, but getting my pictures framed here, instead of lugging them elsewhere, is a huge timesaver.”

“Sam,” Ivy called to her husband. “Can you join us? We have something to ask you.”

Ansley shook her head at Ivy. “Not now. He’s relaxing—”

“He’s fine, and this is a good time. He’s in between commissions now.

” Ivy smiled as her handsome husband approached.

“He’s just finished the most gorgeous dining room table for Bitterroot Designs.

There’s nothing he can’t make.” She reached out to clasp Sam’s hand when he was at their side.

“Ansley needs some custom frames for her paintings, and I thought you might be able to help her.” She stood up, vacating her seat for him.

“You two talk. Sophie and I are going to serve the dessert.”

Ansley watched Ivy and Sophie walk away. They both looked awfully smug. But I suppose if you had a Wyatt husband you could afford to be a little cocky. Ansley didn’t have that confidence and she apologized to Sam. “Sorry about dragging you into this, Sam,” she said as he sat down.

“Tell me what you need.”

She quickly explained about her medium and small canvases needed to simply be framed for the exhibit. She pulled out her phone and showed him a few of her finished works. “The frames don’t need to be fancy. I can also paint them once they’re built.”

“Or I can do that if you’re running short on time.” He paused. “How are you doing on time?”

She hesitated. “Not good. I’m behind.”

“When is the show?”

She told him and he gave her a pointed look. “That’s less than two weeks away,” Sam said.

“I know.” Ansley pressed her lips together, feeling anxiety rush through her, but at the same time not wanting to put pressure on Sam. “But I can—”

“No, you can’t. I’ve got it. Don’t worry.”

“Sam, I—”

“I got this.” He raised a hand to fist-bump her. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you down.”

She smiled at him, grateful, reassured, but later that night when in bed she couldn’t sleep, thinking of how amazing the Wyatts were, and how lucky she’d been to meet them.

The Wyatts were the kind of neighbor everyone needed. The kind of neighbor that knew when to step up, and when to mind their own business. They’d been stepping up for the past two weeks without making a big deal out of it.

One day, she’d pay them back—somehow. But until then, it was such a comfort to have good people near her.

She needed Sophie’s smiles and Summer and Melvin’s hugs.

She needed good people to remind her that she was valuable even as she struggled to heal her banged-up heart.

It still stung how Rye had shut her out, but she’d recover. It would just take time.

*

Rye had just stepped from the shower when he heard a knock on his door. It was either his sisters or his mom since Jasper and his dad never came out to his trailer. “Hold on,” he shouted, grabbing a towel with his right arm, and struggling to wrap it around his hips.

Covered, he went to his door and opened it. His mom stood on the threshold.

“Looks like I caught you at a bad time,” she said. “I can come back.”

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yes. Just wanted to talk to you. It’s hard to find time lately for a proper conversation.” She gestured to his nearly nude status. “But this is probably not the best time, either.”

“I’ll dress. Give me a moment.” He opened the door wider to let her enter.

A few minutes later, he was back wearing loose sweatpants and a hoodie that he could zip over his shoulder and arm. His mom was sitting on the small couch, hands folded primly in her lap.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked thinking he could use one. He’d only been home from work for a half hour and a beer tasted nice right around now.

“Anything besides beer?” she asked, knowing him too well.

“I can make you a vodka and orange juice.”

She considered it then wrinkled her nose. “I’m good. If I have a cocktail, I won’t want to make dinner.”

“Then don’t. Order pizza tonight.”

“You have a solution for everything,” she said as he disappeared into the tiny kitchen for a beer.

“That’s my job,” he said, popping off the cap and sitting in the old armchair facing the couch.

He watched as her lavender gaze swept the interior of his home.

“You keep everything nice and tidy.” She didn’t sound surprised, though. She’d raised him to be organized, to keep things clean, and he, the oldest, had always tried to do what he’d been taught. It was easier that way, less friction between his parents, less drama for the family.