Page 33 of Dirty Cowboy

She lifts onto her toes and presses a whisper of a kiss against my lips. “Tit-for-tat, cowboy. You secure the money you need from Grandpa Albert, and I get my partnership, bypassing my brothers.”

I nod slowly, watching her, knowing there’s more in her eyes than she’s letting on. I just need time to figure out what it is.

“Sounds like the perfect plan.”

I reach toward her cheek, wiping away the soap suds. Her breath catches, and for a split second, we’re caught in that moment again, the moment right before the kiss, before the world outside the kitchen disappeared.

Then, Molly the cat claws her way up my pant leg.

Stupid fucking cat.

Emma steps back while I lift Molly into my arms, unsure whether I want to strangle the little creature or thank her. I scratch under her chin. “What do you want, huh? Barn mice not enough for you?”

Emma’s watching me, something unreadable in her expression.

“You don’t like cats?” I ask.

“I love cats, but… it’s been hard since Bam Bam and Pebbles passed.”

I nod, remembering the Rottweilers she had as a kid. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

The sound of a phone ringing cuts through the quiet.

“That’s my cell.”

She rushes to her briefcase in the foyer and picks up the phone on the fifth ring.

“Hey, Tristan. How’s Dad?”

I step outside, giving her privacy. In the backyard, I pluck warm grapes from the pergola, savoring the sweetness, but all I can think about is Emma. Emma with her sharp mind and smart mouth. Emma, whose lips taste like honey and roses. Emma, who’s about to turn my life upside down.

And worst of all?

I fucking want her to.

My mother smooths her hands over her apron, her expression calm, but I don’t miss the way she glances at my father before slicing into the apple pie again. A second helping. Maybe third. I’ve lost count. It’s easier to feed problems than to talk about them. And the biggest problem sitting at this table is me.

Rainy day, my ass. That rainy day has come and gone, and if I don’t get married within the next month, we’re going to lose the ranch. Not in some distant, theoretical future, but soon. As in, it-could-be-in-the-newspaper kind of soon.

“It’s good to save, Eric,” my mother says, sliding another plate in front of my father. “When the ranch is under your care, the money will come in handy.”

She brings me out of my head. Money would come in handy right now. I’m already behind on my last payment. The one that keeps Annabelle safe.

“Speaking of which,” I say, forcing my voice into a neutral tone. “Now that I’m engaged, are we going to talk about the ranch?”

Grandpa rubs his chin, considering me like I just asked for his life savings to start a cryptocurrency farm.

“How about tomorrow?” he says finally. “I’ll have the paperwork ready by then.”

I nod, relief unwinding the tension in my shoulders. “Sounds great.”

“Are you announcing your engagement at the festival?” he asks, just as casually as if he were talking about the weather.

I snort. “Grandpa, that’s an old tradition. I’m sure nobody cares about my engagement.”

He fixes me with a look that makes me shift in my seat like I’m a teenager again. “You’ll be taking over the largest ranch in the county. People care. The town cares. It’s part of the agreement and it’s tradition.”

I rub the back of my neck, recalling my grandmother’s advice about choosing my battles. I could fight this, but what’s the point? The festival’s in a few days, and at this point, I just need to keep Emma here long enough to make this believable.

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