Page 15 of My Cowboy Valentine

“I could use a beer…or two,” Rowdy replies grimly.

“Can we go home now?” Shelley asks, motioning towards the door to the conference room.

I need to have a serious talk with her tomorrow because I’m less than impressed by Shelley’s lack of dedication to quality. But I need to hash things out with Rowdy first, which requires patience—a quality I’ve never nurtured.

“In that case, we’ll take a raincheck. Consider tomorrow’s lunch fully covered. Good work, everyone. Drive safely.”

Rowdy draws closer to me as the team mills out, whispering, “We’ve got a lot to sort out still. How about we grab a pizza and head back to my place?”

My cheeks flush despite my best attempts at remaining emotionless. His eyes narrow, and the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly. I fear he can read me like a book. If that’s the case, then he already knows my body wants to stage a wanton mutiny and wrap itself around him.

“That is unless you’d feel more comfortable wherever you’re staying?”

Neither option will forestall the inevitable. But with each passing moment around this man, I become less convinced I want to do that. “No, your place is fine. And yes, we’ve got a lot to sort out.”

After bidding goodbye to everyone, locking up the facility, and following Rowdy’s silver GMC dually to Stuckey’s and thenout into the middle of Alpha Ridge Creek’s boondocks, I park my challenger in the massive white gravel driveway next to his truck, getting out and savoring the crisp air. I may hate everything about being back in my hometown, but the lack of smog is refreshing. So are the untamed views.

The verdant ranch sprawls infinitely, no matter where I look, and the ranch house steals my breath. Instead of some hokey, old-fashioned Victorian as I imagined, the place is stunningly contemporary with low-pitched rooflines, extended eaves, and vast windows and sliding glass doors that create an airy, contemporary curb appeal. Wood with black-painted accents and beige stonework combine effortlessly with the surrounding forest, exuding a pristine, harmonious esthetic.

Rowdy catches me drooling. “You like it, city girl?”

I could answer and tell him the truth. But it feels too much like getting along and giving in, which are the last two things I ever plan on doing around this dipshit. Better to pick a fight instead.

Pointing towards the pickup hitch on the back of Rowdy’s truck, I say, “This has redneck written all over it. I’m surprised you don’t have a pair of fake testicles hanging from the back.”

His face relaxes, and he chuckles. “Who needs a fake pair when the real deal’s?—”

“Seriously? I don’t need to know anything about your…stuff.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure? I think it’s customary for a fiancée to have a look at the goods before the wedding night. Even take it for a test drive or two. Unless we’re going to play this shit show off as an Amish affair or something.”

I shake my head. “I can’t believe you just said that.

“The part about the test drive or the part about the Amish?” The cowboy counters grumpily.

My heart pounds against my chest, my breath comes faster, and my cheeks burn.

Rowdy leans back on his heels, holding the pizza box in one hand and scrutinizing me. “Are you having trouble breathing there, Red?”

“No,” I pant, feeling like a fool. “It’s the elevation. That’s all.”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course, it is.” Nodding towards the entryway to his house, he turns on his heels, striding up to the porch. In growly tones, he mutters, “Might want to figure out how to stop blushing so much in front of me. Don’t you think acting this embarrassed around your significant other is a little weird?”

Thankfully, he walks away without seeing how his question makes my skin sizzle. I never could hide my feelings. It’s the worst part of being a ginger. “At least reporters will mistake my blushing for actual affection. As for your mannerisms, do you even know how to treat a fiancée?”

He stops in his tracks without looking back. “Don’t tempt me, Red.”

“What does that mean?” I manage breathlessly, gulping for air.

He doesn’t answer, opening the door and nodding for me to enter. Lights come on automatically as I walk in, circling to get a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the place. It has light wood floors and accents, ivory walls, and chic furnishings with minimalist lines. Lush emerald-colored plants provide lavish pops of color, drawing some of the green from outside indoors, and the massive windows and sliders make the living room look like an extension of the forested grounds, stretching toward the horizon where splashy layers of periwinkle, lavender, hot pink, and gold announce sunset.

He asks again, “I take it you like the place?”

Despite my innate desire to never compliment this man in any way, I can’t help myself. “It’s breathtaking. I had no idea you had taste like this, Rowdy.”

“A lot’s changed about me since childhood, just like I imagine a lot’s changed about you. That’s why we need to get caught up, figure this shit out before reporters start peppering us with questions.”

As Rowdy talks in resigned tones, he uses his hands. The swollen, purple knuckles of one hand wrest my attention, causing me to gasp. “What did you do to yourself?”

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