Page 27 of Saddle and Bound

"Careful," Val adds with a smirk. "You might turn a certain cowboy's head..."

I feel my cheeks flush. "I don't know what you're talking about," I mutter, but my heart races at the thought of Alex. He'd probably tease me. Or make one of his comments.

We head out to the orchard, the warm sun on our skin and the air fragrant with ripe fruit. Maria guides us among the trees, showing us which fruits are ready to be picked.

"Okay girls, let's make a bet," Aurora exclaims with a mischievous grin. "Whoever picks the least has to... um... wash Alex's jeep!"

"Oh my," I giggle, "that's practically an archaeological expedition!"

Val raises an eyebrow. "Why, have you inspected it up close, Rosie?"

I feel my cheeks blaze. "N-no, it's just that... you can see it's dirty, can't you?"

"Mhmm," Lexy murmurs with a smirk, "sure, sure..."

Maria intervenes, saving me from embarrassment. "Come on, girls, don't torment poor Rosie. Focus on the fruit!"

As we pick, Val starts humming a terribly off-key country song.

"Hey Val," I interrupt, laughing, "maybe you should leave the singing to Lexy. We wouldn't want the fruit to run away from the tree!"

"Ha-ha, very funny," Val replies, throwing an apple at me that I barely dodge. "At least I don't dance like I have two left feet!"

"Hey!" I protest. "I danced... decently the other night!"

"Oh yes," Aurora chimes in with a smirk, "especially when you were in the arms of a certain cowboy..."

"Aurora!" I exclaim, feeling my face go up in flames.

Maria laughs softly. "Leave her alone, Aurora. I remember how I was when I met Rosie's father..."

"Oh no," I groan, covering my face with my hands. "You're way off... there's nothing between us! And please, no embarrassing stories about Dad!"

They all burst out laughing, and I'm surprised to find myself joining in, feeling strangely light.

Chapter 16

Alex

I can't get Rosie out of my head. All day, I've been watching her move around the ranch in those damn overalls that look incredibly good on her. Her hair tucked under her cowgirl hat, with a few rebellious strands caressing her face... it's a breathtaking sight.

I see her laughing with the other girls while picking fruit, her face illuminated by the sun and a joy I've never seen in her before. She seems so at ease, so... right here. As if she belongs in this place.

I find myself searching for her wherever I go. When I'm in the stables, I catch myself looking towards the orchard. When I'm working on the fences, my eyes wander to the house, hoping to see her come out. It's a constant and dangerous distraction.

And the situation is definitely getting worse. I can't focus on work; I'm risking making stupid mistakes. This morning, I almost left the calf pen gate open, all because I saw her pass by with a basket of apples and couldn't take my eyes off her.

I think about the evening the guys want to organize, the opportunity to get closer to Rosie. But now I realize it's a terrible idea. I can't afford to get any closer. I can't risk falling even deeper into... whatever this is.

No, I have to go back to being the annoying cowboy. I need to keep my distance, protect myself. Protect her. Because I know that in the end, she'll leave, return to her life in Los Angeles, and I'll be left here with a broken heart.

But how can I annoy her? How can I push her away when all I want is to draw her to me?

I see her heading towards the stables, and I know this is my chance. I take a deep breath, trying to summon that part of me that knows how to provoke her, how to make her angry.

"Hey, princess!" I call out as she approaches. "I see you're trying to blend in. Too bad your five-hundred-dollar-a-liter perfume gives you away.”

What I don’t admit is how much I’m obsessed with her fragrance. How desperately I want to bury my face in her hair, trail my nose along her neck, and breathe her in, losing myself in her essence forever. I don’t tell anyone that her perfume fills every breath I take or that I’d peeked into her room when she’d left the door open—just to find out what she wears. I’d seen it on her dresser: small, delicate, elegant, and pink. I couldn’t have imagined anything else. Miss Dior feels like it was made for her.

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