Page 8 of Take Me Please, Cowboy (The Calhouns & Campbells of Cold Canyon Ranch #1)

After an hour fussing at her easel, she gave up, returned to the house for a long soak in the tub, and then switching to the shower feature to wash her hair.

Tonight wasn’t a date. This wasn’t a romantic thing, and there was no pressure. They were just meeting up, two people in a new place killing some time.

There was no need to be nervous, she reminded herself, blow-drying her hair and then touching up some of the natural waves with her hair iron.

It was important she go in with zero expectations than be hurt, or disappointed.

Or hurting or disappointing Rye, because honestly, that was sometimes worse. Being the bad guy. Being labeled selfish. Self-centered. Insensitive.

Ansley wasn’t looking for a relationship.

Nor was she interested in hooking up with a stranger.

She didn’t do hookups, and when she dated, things tended to get serious quickly.

Her last serious relationship was very serious.

Clark had wanted to get married, but even after two years together she didn’t feel ready.

He waited one more year, asked her again, and when she still said no, he ended things.

Angrily. Brutally. It had been a messy and painful end to three years together, and as much as she hated disappointing Clark, she just couldn’t commit to marriage. Not even to an engagement.

Perhaps one day she’d marry, but she wasn’t ready anytime soon.

She thought of her mom’s life, the six kids, the endless dishes and loads of laundry, the hours in the kitchen, the hours driving carpool, never mind all those parent-teacher meetings and the overseeing homework, the focus on grades.

The Campbells were good students, too. It wasn’t like Callen and Andi had raised a bunch of troublemakers, but with five sons, the Campbell boys sometimes got into it.

They were smart and ambitious, but they weren’t perfect.

So no, Ansley wasn’t rushing toward marriage or children.

She was finally out on her own, away from her family, which loomed large in Last Stand. As the youngest, they’d loomed large over her.

Growing up, she’d been shy, and her dad had always said she was sweet, but beneath the shy sweet exterior, she’d been a fiery little girl who was fed up with her bossy brothers, perplexed by her cheerful but overworked mother, and a little intimidated by her tough dad who loved and disciplined in equal measure.

Montana provided a new start. Montana meant she could find herself, figure out her own path, pursue her own interests and dreams, whatever they might be. Even if they weren’t fiscally intelligent.

Her dad had always harped on making good financial decisions, and yes, being wise with one’s money was important, but not to the exclusion of all else.

Life was more than paying bills. Life was filled with beauty and art, and she loved her art.

Painting gave her tremendous satisfaction.

Creating made her feel complete, like the person she was always meant to be, and if she only made a little money off of it, fine.

If she was able to keep a roof over her head, why not do what she wanted to do?

Ansley finished dressing, tucking her sleeveless red blouse into the waistband of her jeans.

She added a number of necklaces, layering them to fill the deep V of the blouse’s neckline before pulling her hair back into a long ponytail.

No, she’d leave it down tonight, the long, feathered layers her ode to the seventies.

Ansley loved the seventies and early eighties—the music, the fashion, the sense of possibility.

From everything her mom had told her, it was such a different era than today.

She wished she’d grown up then, before there was social media and technology that blared bad news all the time.

She sat down on the edge of her bed, put on socks and then her boots.

She wasn’t trying to pretend bad things didn’t happen, but sometimes it was hard to find the good things in America with all the negativity, and yet she knew there were good people, and great things being done.

But the good news didn’t get the attention of the bad news, and there were times Ansley felt overwhelmed by the problems of the world, problems she didn’t know how to fix.

Which was yet another reason she’d come to live with Uncle Clyde for a while.

She wanted to focus on what she could do—which was create beauty.

And maybe art wasn’t as important as other things, but art and beauty could make others feel good.

Beauty could inspire, and her art could maybe make people happy.

It was a way she could give back to the world.

It was a way she felt useful and productive.

Her dad didn’t get it. Her brothers didn’t get it.

She wasn’t sure her mother understood, but it was enough that she knew what Ansley wanted to do.

Ansley had too much she wanted to accomplish to spend time defending her choices to her family.

Better to move here and just get busy, doing what she wanted to do, being who she wanted to be.

Ansley grabbed a jean jacket from her closet, turned out her bedroom light and scooped up her small leather backpack.

After locking the house, she got into her car and began the half-hour drive to Marietta.

It used to take her even longer, but she’d become more comfortable with the narrow winding road that took one down the mountain.

At least on the highway it was easy driving, the highway in excellent condition.

Highway 89 was a major route for those going to Yellowstone, which she hoped to see one day soon.

Ansley was on the outskirts of Marietta when he called her. “You’re going to have to park off Main Street a few blocks,” he said. “It’s pretty busy down here.”

“I’m not far away, so I’ll start looking for parking once I’m in town.”

“Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.”

Rye’s words wrapped around her insides, warming her. “See you soon.”

Hanging up, she focused on navigating the neighborhood east of Marietta’s historic district.

Her uncle had told her there had been a lot of development in the past ten years with new neighborhoods created northwest of town, with new housing developments, schools, banks, and shopping centers.

But Marietta had done a good job retaining its historical character with its red brick buildings and turn-of-the-century Western facades.

Marietta reminded her of small towns you’d see in rural Texas, and she liked that.

She liked the charm, and the history of turn-of-the-century America.

Someday, she wanted to paint the courthouse, and majestic Copper Mountain properly.

She’d sketched the mountain peak a couple of times but didn’t feel as if she’d done it justice yet.

She was still new to mountain landscapes, which was why selling the Bridger Mountain piece had meant so much to her.

She might not be rich and famous, but she loved her art, and was getting better every day.

Ansley found a parking spot three blocks over, near the corner of Second and Bramble. It was a small spot, but she had a small car and even though she wasn’t the best parallel parker in the world, she got the job done.

Shouldering her small leather backpack, she walked quickly down Second to Main Street, coming out very close to the diner.

Despite all the cowboy hats dotting the crowd, she spotted Rye Calhoun almost right away.

He wasn’t necessarily taller than everyone else, he wasn’t necessarily bigger, but he radiated strength even as he stood still, thumbs hooked over his leather belt.

He commanded attention. He commanded her attention.

Her insides did that flutter again, a whisper of adrenaline that made her heart pound.

The attraction baffled her. Why him? Why now?

She didn’t know the answers, only that she was compelled to be with him, and eager to see him smile at her, the smile that made her feel… special.

*

Rye watched her walk toward him through the crowd filling Main Street.

The sun poured down on her, a spotlight that haloed her, making her long hair even more golden, kissing her lovely face, and bare shoulders, a gilding that made her shimmer and shine.

She was beautiful, remarkable. He had beautiful sisters, sisters he cherished, but Ansley…

she took his breath away. The sun adored her, too, seeking her out above all others.

He didn’t quite know how to internalize his response to her. She elicited such a strong reaction that it bewildered him. She was too golden, too lovely, too untouchable.

She wasn’t for him. He didn’t deserve a Texas homecoming queen.

There was no room in his life for such radiance.

His world was full of hard things and tough choices.

He should want to keep her from that, shielding her from his reality.

And yet, here she was, smiling at him, her dark blue eyes full of light as well.

“Hello,” he said, stepping forward, to greet her.

She was still smiling up at him, and as she lifted her face, he kissed her cheek, the brim of his hat brushing her forehead. Without even thinking he took her hand, her fingers slipping between his as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Rye glanced down at their hands and then out to the crowd, chest tight, filled with bittersweet sensation. “You look lovely,” he said gruffly, his voice deepening further.

She gave his hand a light squeeze. “Thank you. You look quite handsome.”

He didn’t know what he was feeling, only that he was feeling, and they were strange emotions, big and fragile at the same time, reminiscent of the boy he was once with a million hopes and dreams. “I hope you’re hungry, because I am.”

She nodded. “Very. I’ve only had a sandwich today wanting to be sure I had a big appetite for tonight.”