Page 36 of Dirty Cowboy

She paces the room, running her fingers over the furniture, taking it all in.

“Incredible. I can’t believe the decor. There’s more to you than meets the eye, cowboy.”

I have my sister to thank for that.

“The feeling’s mutual, Ems.”

Country tones and rustic artifacts fill every nook, turning the house into the perfect retreat from the outside world. Fluffy blankets drape over the couches, pillows piled in the corner beneath an overstuffed bookshelf. A sheepskin rug sprawls in front of the fireplace like an open invitation. Annabelle shows up from San Francisco with a new accent piece every time she visits, like she’s trying to domesticate me through home decor. Not that I mind.

She points to the grandfather clock. “I love the antiques. It’s all so… warm. Very homey for a cowboy.”

“They’re from my grandparents and great-grandparents. There’s an ancient sewing machine upstairs if you wanna have a go at it.”

She laughs. “Please, I can barely cook.”

“Good thing I can. Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”

I gesture toward the stairs and follow as she starts up, but she pauses on the third step, turning so we’re suddenly face to face, close enough that her breath ghosts over my lips.

“You mean, I’m not sleeping in the same room as my fiancé?” Her voice drops to something that messes with my head. “What would Grandpa think of that?”

My mind betrays me, flashing an image of her tangled in my sheets, my palm print faint on her ass.

“I believe Grandpa would approve,” I say, voice rough. “He’s old-fashioned.”

She lifts a finger. “Grandpa’s more liberal than he lets on. And he won’t be fooled by a fake relationship. If you want this to work, he needs to think we’re in the same bed.”

And suddenly, I’m in a whole lot more trouble than I bargained for.

She’s not wrong. But if she climbs into my bed, I won’t be able to hold back. And I really,reallydon’t want to.

“Put your stuff in my room,” I tell her. “But you’re sleeping in the guest room. Feel free to use my shower—it’s more comfortable.”

“You mean, for more than one person?” Her eyes spark with something dangerous.

“Be careful what you wish for, darling.”

She grins. “I’ll change and meet you downstairs.”

“Sounds good.”

While she changes, I swap into a fresh shirt and worn jeans. By the time I toss my clothes into the laundry, she’s already at the door, looking way too damn good in tight jeans and a flannel. Her hair’s pulled back with one of Annabelle’s scrunchies, exposing the curve of her neck. I stare like a fucking letch.

She pauses. “Hold on. Let me grab my phone. Dad’s supposed to call when he wakes up.”

She disappears into the room and reemerges a moment later. “I’m gonna draft a quick letter to the board. I’ll need you to sign it.”

“Yeah, sure.” The words taste like regret. A fake engagement affidavit won’t stand if the board finds out.

I grab a sweatshirt, hand Emma Annabelle’s rubber boots, and slip a flashlight into my pocket before we head toward the stables. The sun sinks behind the trees, turning the sky into a swirl of pink and gold.

Emma takes a deep breath, stretching her arms like she’s trying to soak it all in. “God, I feel like I’ve been breathing fumes my entire life.”

“You live in New York. That’s not an exaggeration.”

We take the ten-minute walk to the barn as dusk settles in, the fading light casting long shadows across the fields. The barn door groans when I push it open, revealing rows of stalls bathed in twilight’s golden glow. The scent of hay and leather fills the air, mingling with the soft nickers of the horses.

Emma locks onto the third stall and makes a beeline for it.

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