Page 9 of Take Me Please, Cowboy (The Calhouns & Campbells of Cold Canyon Ranch #1)

He grinned, delighted by her confession.

She wasn’t just gorgeous, she was smart, sweet, and strong.

Ansley had backbone, grit, spirit. He liked her feistiness.

He liked her. Rye wasn’t easily distracted from his goals or sense of purpose.

He normally had tunnel vision—work, work, work.

But today had been such a surprise. She’d knocked him off-balance with that smile of hers and the humor in her blue eyes.

He offered to get her coffee so he could spend five more minutes with her.

He’d lingered in town after his meet and greet hoping he’d hear from her.

This—walking with her, holding hands with her—was exactly what he’d wanted.

Time, as well as a reprieve from his unrelenting schedule and the unrelenting demands.

Perhaps it was corny, but it was a joy to break free and do something different…

unexpected. She was unexpected and having an evening to just relax and get to know Ansley better was a vacation in itself.

But like all vacations, they eventually ended, and one was forced to return to the reality of the ordinary world.

He’d return to his reality soon enough. So tonight, he wasn’t going to be practical, and he wasn’t going to think of Sunday when he drove back to Eureka.

That was still two days away. Tonight, he was just going to enjoy Ansley and enjoy this—dinner with a beautiful woman in a small town celebrating a significant anniversary.

He was proud of being from Montana, proud of his heritage as a fourth-generation rancher, although his grandfather’s addictive personality had meant that he made bad choices with the ranch in Eureka, forcing his dad to sell off the most profitable land and turning to construction to support his family.

They still lived on part of the property, but it would never be what it once was.

Rye always vowed that once he had enough money he’d buy a proper ranch, land that would allow them to make a living from it, rather than this piecemeal life of construction and competing.

One day he wouldn’t have to compete at all.

One day he wouldn’t have to be on the road, away from everyone he loved.

One day.

“You’re a million miles away,” Ansley said, reaching across the picnic table to put her hand on his.

He dipped his head. “I am.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing. Everything.”

“Come on. You can do better than that.”

“Thinking of my family, and the property we have outside Eureka. Thinking that one day I won’t be on the circuit anymore competing.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “It’s hard on the body, and hard on the family.”

“You miss your family when you’re gone?”

“I worry about them,” he admitted, unwilling to say too much tonight. He really didn’t want reality to overshadow the Friday night street party. He turned her hand over, stroked the inside of her wrist with his thumb. “But I’m glad to be here. With you.”

Her blue gaze met his. Her cheeks were pink. “You are?”

“I love small towns. I love being here for the eighty-fifth rodeo.” He hesitated, his thumb drawing slow circles over her pulse. “I don’t know if I told you, but I was here ten years ago, for the seventy-fifth Copper Mountain Rodeo, and it was one of my worst weekends ever.”

“You didn’t qualify for the Sunday finals?”

“Worse than that. I was thrown off my horse in my very first event, and then stepped on. I ended up in the ER, needing surgery to set my arm.” He winced, remembering. “I broke it in three places. It took forever to heal.”

She never looked away from his eyes. “Ouch.”

Ouch indeed, but now he was here, older, harder, no more stars in his eyes, which made this moment even more special. Beautiful moments were far and few. With any luck, tonight would never end. “But here we are,” he said, “and my gut says it’s going to be a good weekend.”

“I like the way you think,” she said, smiling at him.

And he liked the way she was looking at him, as if he were someone wonderful, as if at any moment he’d transform into a superhero.

No one ever looked at him like that. He wanted to ask if she could come to the rodeo tomorrow but that would be jumping ahead too quickly.

He had to slow down and just enjoy this evening, enjoy her.

“Have you heard from your uncle?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I did call the hospital on my way here, but Uncle Clyde was sleeping. I’m planning on going to see him in the morning. I’m not certain he’ll be ready to come home, but I’ll at least be able to talk to his doctors face-to-face.”

Beautiful, kind, compassionate.

The whole package.

Slow down, Calhoun. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

Rather than think about tomorrow, he watched her expressive face and listened to her voice, amazed at how it wrapped around his heart, making him tender.

If they were somewhere else, he’d pull her into his arms, but that was dangerous.

It was so much better—smarter—to remain here in public where nothing could happen.

As it was, these past two hours had done a number on him.

He was feeling things, feeling alive, and he’d forgotten what it felt like to feel… open. Human.

Feelings were things that he kept locked up and put away, but somehow, Ansley had a secret key to the lock on his heart. She made everything feel easy. Being with her was effortless. Being with her, he felt younger, stronger, as if he weren’t thirty and trapped in a life he hadn’t asked for—

No, that wasn’t fair. That was harsh. He didn’t want to be ugly.

This all—these past thirteen years—had been his choice.

He’d volunteered to provide. He’d insisted that his sisters go to college, even if part-time.

He’d wanted Jasper to have the best care possible.

But that didn’t make the commitment painless, and it didn’t take away the struggle and the quiet whisper of resentment. What about me? When will it be my turn?

Inner conflict was the hardest of conflicts because there was no one to blame. There was no fire or storm creating havoc. There was no destructive wind. Not even a slippery roof in his case. There was just him, and his struggle between being strong and giving, and small and bitter.

He refused to be bitter. He was a better man that that.

But still, it had been a while since he felt like a good human being.

So much of his energy was spent just keeping all the balls in play that he rarely had time to just be, much less be in the moment, and this night with Ansley was everything a special night could be.

So close to perfect that he couldn’t slip into analysis.

Better to just let it be what it was—a wonderful escape.

A respite from his rigid routine. He had to enjoy it, because it wouldn’t last. How could it?

He’d leave Sunday night and then there would be work on Monday and another rodeo at the end of the week, this time in Oregon.

He wasn’t complaining. He would be ashamed of himself if he complained as it was a privilege to be able to take care of his family.

And yet, this, tonight was wonderful. He felt younger, happier, and free. As if anything was possible and magic existed in the world.

Impulsively, Rye lifted her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“Yes, cowboy?” she said breathlessly.

“Want to dance?”

She nodded and smiled, the smile that made his chest ache, the smile that made him feel like the luckiest man in the world. “I’ve been dying for you to ask.”

“Can’t have that.” He rose, their hands still locked. He wasn’t about to let go of her.

As they threaded their way through the crowd, he spotted Jackson Flint, the guy who’d stopped to help him yesterday when his truck overheated. He was with a beautiful woman and clearly only had eyes for her.

Rye smiled faintly and held Ansley’s hand a little tighter.

He could tell folks were watching them, and they were probably wondering how a beat-up cowboy like Rye could have snared a gorgeous creature like Ansley.

He didn’t know, either, but he felt good and proud.

It wasn’t just because she was beautiful.

It was her confidence. She was a straight shooter.

No beating around the bush, no silly protests, no games.

It felt good not to play games. But honestly, right now none of that mattered.

The only thing that mattered was drawing her into his arms, holding her close, his left hand low on her waist, his right hand taking hers.

It was one of those western dances where everyone knew the steps.

He knew the steps, but the dance wasn’t important.

She was, and she felt incredible in his arms, her hips against his, her long legs matching his steps.

Neither spoke during that dance, and as the sky grew darker, the night indigo with a swath of stars, Rye drew her even closer until it felt like they were one.

One dance turned to two, and still no words.

There was no need for conversation. They were in a world of their own, and the world was magical.

And then the music stopped. The band announced they were taking a ten-minute break and the couples on the dance floor began to return to their seats, but Rye and Ansley remained where they were, his arm still around her waist.

“You’re a good dancer,” she said, tipping her head back to look up at him.

“It’s you,” he said. “You make it easy.”

“With the right person, dancing is easy.”

Just like that, his body hardened, the desire hot and intense. He swallowed, battling the need, shocked by the strength of it. He wasn’t a kid. He had tremendous control over his body, and yet he felt a craving that went deeper than just the physical. He wanted to know her, he wanted—

He stopped there.

This wasn’t going to happen. He was a fool to tease himself, never mind tempt fate.