Page 27 of Wicked Cowboy
Grandma’s voice arrives with the soft scrape of her shoes. “You planning to polish the air next?” she asks. “Looks like you already shined everything else.”
“Barn needed it.”
“Mmm.” She sits on some hay and smiles at me. “I like her friends.”
“They’re… enthusiastic.”
“They’re loyal,” she corrects. “Frankie has her own cheering section. That tells me something about the kind of person she is.”
I check the knot on a rope beside me. “I didn’t say there was anything wrong with her.”
“You didn’t say much of anything at all.” She watches me with that clear-eyed kindness that leaves no place to hide. “And she watched you walk away like the floor disappeared under her feet.”
I grip the rope until my knuckles go white, then force my fingers to loosen. “You see everything, don’t you?”
“Only the important things.” She rests a palm on the bench. “You can’t keep pretending you’re saving people by leaving first.”
I hate that she’s right more than I hate how good it feels to hear it. “What if it’s me, Grandma?”
She smiles like she’s been waiting years for that question. “It is you. You are the kindest, most reliable man I know, and that’s something that attracts people. Some of them aren’t right for you, but some, like Frankie, are perfect.”
“If she walks away,” I manage, “I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“Then don’t let her walk away.” Grandma nods at the door like she just gave me the weather report. “She’s coming.”
“How do you—”
“Because I asked the Lord to send her and then I texted Luke, who’s faster.” She pats my cheek. She gets up and leaves the barn through the side door.
Footsteps cross the concrete a minute later—unhurried, sure. I stand with my palms braced on the workbench and take a deep breath.
“Rhett?” Her voice is soft.
Frankie stands by the big doors, sunlight at her back. She’s in jeans, my flannel, and boots she must’ve borrowed from the hall closet. A few curls have escaped from her ponytail. She looks incredible.
“Hey,” I say, and it comes out rougher than I intend.
She studies me for a breath, taking in the too-neat coils, the immaculate sweep lines, the man-shaped mess in the middle of it. “Hi.”
“Your friends seem fond of you,” I say, unsure what I should be saying.
“Mm.” Her mouth crooks. “They’re also chaotic and my ride or dies.”
“Good people, then.”
“The best,” she says. “Why did you run away?”
I swallow. “It was a reminder.”
“Of what?”
“That I’m not part of your world,” I say. “Videos, glitter, and excitement.”
She nods slowly, considering. “Okay. Is that it? Or was there also a reminder about a woman who once left when this place asked too much?”
I flinch. She watches the hit land and waits it out with me.
“I shouldn’t have walked off,” I say.