Page 26 of Wicked Cowboy

Willow gasps. “Ohhh. That’s him, isn’t it? Wicked Cowboy.”

“Please lower your voice,” I hiss.

Jade, unhelpful, waves. “Hi, Rhett! I promise we are normal.”

Tasha extends a coffee as a peace offering, “For you. Thank you for rescuing our girl from vehicular pumpkin homicide.”

Rhett takes it because refusing would be rude, and he was born incapable of being disrespectful. “Thanks.”

Willow is already filming the gravel. “Live from the scene of the crime—”

“Willow,” I say, irritated. “We’re guests. Put your phone away.”

She pouts, then slides the phone into her pocket with the reluctant flair of a woman who has never complied with anything quietly. “Fine. But if he so much as tips his hat, I’m taking a mental picture.”

Jade leans in, whispering not quietly enough. “Frankie, he’s a lot.”

Tasha’s mouth twitches. “He’s the correct amount. For you.”

Rhett’s face doesn’t change, but I feel him go still beside me. I turn to reassure him, already reaching for his sleeve, but he’s already stepping back.

“I’ve got work to do,” he says evenly, and tips his hat toward my friends, toward me. “Nice to meet you.”

“Rhett—”

“It’s fine,” he adds to no one, and is gone a beat later, disappearing into the barn.

My friends, oblivious, are already cooing over Martha and asking about a million questions. Luke appears from nowhere, thrilled at the prospect of a new audience, and begins telling tales to the girls, who are enthralled by his every word.

I smile, answer questions, and pretend that Rhett walking away didn’t hurt.

“Hey,” Tasha murmurs, reading me correctly as always. “You okay?”

“Sure,” I say. “It’s complicated.”

“All good things are.” She squeezes my fingers once, quick and certain, and then floats off to flirt with Luke.

“We’re proud of you,” Willow whispers. “Even if you fell for a cowboy like a cliché.”

I laugh because crying wouldn’t. “I didn’t fall, I just drove through his pumpkins.”

Jade sighs dreamily. “Same difference.”

Martha ushers everyone toward the porch like a general marshaling troops. I trail behind, look back, and catch a last quick glimpse of Rhett’s silhouette through the barn door—a sure, solitary line against the dim. I want to run after him and say the thousand things, to promise I’m not here to turn his life into a story for the group chat.

Instead, I carry plates and pour coffee and let the house swallow us in sugar and cinnamon and chatter, because sometimes you can only do one true thing at a time, and mine right now is to show everyone how okay I am.

Chapter ten

Rhett

I fix things when I can’t fix myself. It’s a habit, and today I lean into it hard.

I shouldn’t have walked off. I tell myself it was the smart play. The yard filled up with strangers, and every nerve I own said retreat.Then Frankie looked at me like she always does, steady, there, and I still turned away.

The tool rack gleams. The floor’s swept into tidy lines. Nothing is better.

“Rhett?”