Page 2 of The Rancher's Pregnancy Surprise

I barely manage to bite back my gasp. Seriously? He could've only known that by peeking at my phone over my shoulder, andI'm torn between giving him a piece of my mind and taking the higher road...like I've been taught to do my whole life.

I'm not used to any sort of confrontation, but since that's also the reason I found myself in my current mess, maybe it's time for me to change?

Reprimand or withstand?

I'm about to embark on a new chapter in my life, and doing everything like I usually do might not be the best way to survive. Maybe it's time I learn to—

Unbelievable!

I can no longer hold back my gasp as Mr. Improper comes right up to stand next to me, and—oh my gosh!

He's obviously lost all patience waiting for me to make up my mind, but that's absolutely not a valid reason to overtake me in line. I can practically feel myself burning up in righteous anger, but it's as if I'm invisible, with Mr. Improper busily pressing buttons on the screen.

There are only two of us in this station, for sheep's sake!

Would it kill him to wait for a few more minutes?

You gotta make a stand, Cay!

I gnaw on my lip while absently studying his blurred reflection on the ticket machine's glossy surface.

He's ridiculously tall, his frame ruggedly imposing, and is that a five o'clock shadow I'm barely seeing through the reflection?

My gaze flickers downwards, and it's my first time to see someone wearing a pair of honest-to-goodness cowboy boots, which he's paired with denims and a plaid shirt that's stretched taut over an impossibly broad—

Whoa, Cay!

Color suffuses my cheeks when I realize just how much time I've spent dissecting his looks. I wrench my gaze off him even as my pulse begins to race at his proximity.

What is wrong with me?

This man needs to be taught a lesson, but all my brain suddenly cares about is how he's making me feel. If I'm truly serious about turning a new leaf, then this is my chance to—

"Here you go."

—say thank you?

I stare dumbly at the ticket Mr. Might-Not-Be-Improper has placed in my hand. His fingers brush mine, and heat radiates up my arm from that simple touch. I catch a faint whiff of something expensive and masculine—sandalwood maybe, with hints of leather. It smells a lot like the cologne Claude uses but can't really afford—

Stop it, Cay!

I try slamming a door shut on all memories of my ex, but it's too late. He's all I can see, with his tousled dark locks, thrift-store sweaters, and oversized pants.

Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.

I want to forget him so bad, but my mind isn't done torturing me, and more unwelcome memories flood my mind. Claude staring at me with eyes that I used to think were full of adoration...up until we had the Big One that ended it all.

Nothing between us was ever real!

Are you really that dumb?

I was faking it, Cay!

Just fucking faking until I could fucking succeed where everyone else—

"You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"

Oh, sheep.

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