Page 20 of A Forever Kind of Rancher

Today Boone wanted to make sure that Wendy was doing all right.

He pulled up to the front of the house and he smiled, just a little bit, when he saw the lights on in the kitchen. He wondered what it would be like to come home to her, and then he pushed that aside because it was a pointless little fantasy, and if he was going to have a fantasy it was going to be a big, dirty one, not a little domestic one about her in an apron holding a casserole pan.

Except he wouldn’t even let himself have a dirty fantasy about her, not right now. She was too vulnerable, and he wasn’t that guy. Not when her husband had proven to be such a horndog.

He wouldn’t even go there in his head.

He walked up the front steps and into the warmth. This was his house. His home. He hadn’t had one before, not really. It had been a place on his parents’ property, and places on the road all these years, and it was all fine and good, but there was something surreal about walking into something permanent.

Nothing is permanent, Boone.

Yeah, he knew that. Not relationships with older brothers, or little sisters, or anything.

You couldn’t trust a damned thing.

But when he walked in his house it smelled like heaven. And his kitchen was empty.

There was a plate sitting on the counter with foil over the top, and he assumed she’d done the cooking here, but took the rest back to her place and then vacated before his return which...was about right.

Attracted. Not wanting.

He lifted the corner of the tin foil and his stomach growled when the smell of roast and vegetables hit him.

Wendy might not be here, but a home-cooked meal was a close second. And when it made his mouth water, he could have it. So, there was that.

He opened the drawer in the kitchen island and took out a fork, and hunched over the counter, taking bites of food. And then there was a knock at the door.

His stomach went tight, and his heart did something he couldn’t recall it doing before except when he was about to ride a bull in competition. “It’s open,” he said, around a piece of roast, and without moving from his spot.

“I didn’t know if you’d be here yet or not.”

Wendy. And she was lying. Because she’d probably seen him come in and that was why she was here. Because she’d wanted to avoid him. Except she didn’t really.

He could relate.

She came into the kitchen, and she was holding a plate with something on it, but he couldn’t look away from her for long enough to take in what it was. She was wearing pink. The same shade as the dress she’d had on at the wedding.

Her blond hair was in a ponytail, and she had on just a little makeup. Her cheeks were the same color as her dress, and so were her lips. Like a strawberry fantasy just for him.

Even though she wasn’t for him.

There was something about it that made him want her more, and he had to wonder if that was just his body pushing back at years of being good.

Very few people would characterize Boone Carson as good. He understood that and he understood why.

Again, it was the bull riding, drinking, carousing, and on and on. But they didn’t see all the shit he did not do. Like turn away from hardship in his family. Like running away. Like kissing his best friend’s wife at his brother’s wedding.

He deserved a damned Boy Scout patch.

Did Not Fuck My Friend’s Wife.

Also knot tying.

He was good at knot tying.

He didn’t get credit for the things he deserved to.

“I baked a cake over at the cottage while the girls and I had dinner, so I figured I’d bring you some.”

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