Page 30 of Wild Love, Cowboy (The Portree Cowboys #1)

The Taylor dining table groans under the weight of platters piled high with barbecue, corn bread, and enough side dishes to feed a small army.

I'm wedged between Grant and Eric Taylor who’s at the head of the table, surrounded by overlapping conversations, laughter, and the occasional good-natured argument.

“Mia, would you like some pepper for your potatoes?” Celia asks sweetly, sliding a small ceramic bowl of freshly ground black pepper my way like it isn’t a biological weapon.

Grant's hand shoots out like he’s diving for a live grenade. “Mama, NO! Mia’s allergic to—”

Too late.

The bowl breezes under my nose and the betrayal is instant. My body seizes, my eyes water, and I feel it— that diabolical tickle igniting at the base of my sinuses like a pepper gremlin himself just lit a match.

“Black pep—AH’TSSCHHHUHH!”

Then another. “HAHH’TSCHHHuhh!” “aaaaahh”

And another, louder, more orgasm-adjacent than any noise I’ve ever made in public.

Each sneeze rips through me like I’m mid-exorcism and also auditioning for a porno.

I grab my napkin and clamp it over my mouth, which only makes it worse .

It muffles the sound just enough to make it sound suggestive .

My face is drenched in tears. My nose is running. My entire soul is leaving my body.

Eric freezes, fork hovering mid-air, eyes wide like he just witnessed the second coming.

“ Good Lord, girl! ” he booms. “If that’s how you sneeze, I can only imagine the sounds you make when someone brings you flowers!”

“ Dad! ” Grant nearly tips his chair backward trying to physically distance himself from his own genetics.

Celia snatches the pepper bowl like it’s a loaded gun. “Eric Taylor, you shut your mouth before I feed you your own belt!”

But the damage is done.

Christian is howling , slapping the table like a drunk seal. “Oh my God , Mia, are you okay?”

Lily is doubled over, wheezing. “Was that a sneeze or a romantic climax ?! I’m sweating!”

Ryan looks traumatized but impressed. “I didn’t even know a human throat could make those noises, outside of you know, the bedroom.”

Even Connor—stoic, always-business Connor —is choking silently on his water, face red, tears in his eyes, lips pressed together like if he opens his mouth, he’s getting excommunicated from dinner.

And me?

I’m sitting in a puddle of my own mortification , face red, napkin soaked, sinuses on fire, questioning every life decision that led me to this godforsaken dinner table.

I manage to croak, “I’m fine.”

Eric, completely unbothered, reaches for his cornbread. “Well hell, Mia. If you ever decide to release an audiobook of sneezes, I’d buy two copies. One for me and one for the truck.”

“For the love of all that’s holy , Dad!” Grant practically yells.

I bury my face in my hands.

Celia reaches across the table to pat my hand. “Well, we'll just keep the pepper far away from you from now on, honey. Though I must say, I've never heard anyone sneeze quite so...enthusiastically”

Everyone at the table erupts in uncontrollable laughter again. I’m mortified, and yet... through the humiliating symphony of Taylor-family cackling and my complete emotional unraveling…

I start to laugh too. A pathetic, tear-streaked, wheezy laugh.

The conversation shifts, and I feel Grant's leg press against mine under the table. When I glance at him, the warmth in his eyes makes my heart stutter in a way that has nothing to do with pepper allergies.

“So, Mia,” Lily says, refilling my water glass, “did Grant ever tell you about the time he entered a line dancing competition to impress a girl?”

Grant groans. “Lily, no.”

“Lily, yes,” I counter, turning to her eagerly. “Please do continue.”

She grins wickedly as she leans in “Well, he was sixteen and head over heels for Jessica Palmer, who happened to love line dancing. So naturally, our rodeo star here decided to enter the county competition despite having two left feet.”

“I'm not that bad,” Grant protests.

“You fell off the stage,” Ryan deadpans from across the table.

My eyebrows shoot up. “You fell off a stage?”

“More like tumbled,” Ryan clarifies, clearly enjoying his brother's discomfort. “Right into the judges' table. Knocked over three drinks and a plate of nachos.”

I turn to Grant, delighted by the flush creeping up his neck. “And what did Jessica think of your graceful performance?”

“She ended up dating the winner,” he admits with a rueful smile. “But in my defense, that guy was practically professional.”

“Grant has many talents,” Eric says, raising his glass. “Dancing just isn't one of them.”

“And what are his talents?” I ask before I can stop myself.

Eric's grin turns mischievous. “Well—”

“Don't answer that,” Grant interrupts hastily.

The meal continues with more stories—Grant's first rodeo, Lily's brief rebellious phase, Christian's countless mishaps and how he just got back from a trip to Scotland, where he lost his heart to a girl, never to see her again.

Each tale his family tells, reveals another piece of the man sitting beside me, layers beneath the confident cowboy exterior I'd initially dismissed.

It’s pure chaos and somehow, this —this whole unhinged, chaotic, wildly inappropriate circus—is starting to feel like home.