Page 88 of Dirty Cowboy

She sighs, and my heart clenches before she even speaks. “He’s not doing well, honey.”

She fills me in on dad’s treatment and my brother’s constant help. The weight of her words presses down on me, fresh guilt surging through my veins. I should be there. Every day I’m away feels like borrowed time, slipping through my fingers.

“I’ll call back later, when we have an update,” she promises.

“Okay,” I whisper, my throat tightening. “Love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

The second I hang up, my phone buzzes again—Greg.

"McMurrey figured out why the Waters’ farm is going under," he says without preamble.

I sit up straighter, pushing past the ache in my chest. “And?”

"Weekly withdrawals and e-transfers. A thousand a month goes to a ‘Bishop’ in San Francisco, and another thousand is withdrawn in cash every week, right from Lords Valley.”

“What?” My hand flies to my mouth as an image of stacks of cash falling from Eric’s bookshelf flashes in my mind.

The numbers paint a troubling picture, each withdrawal another crack in the ranch’s foundation. My stomach knots. Whatever’s happening, I’m going to figure it out.

"You want me to repeat it?" Greg asks.

“No, I got it. Do you have an address for this ‘Bishop’ in San Francisco?”

"I'll text you."

"Thanks. Anything on the Huntz property?"

"Still waiting on the deeds. I’ll let you know when I have them."

I hang up, my thoughts swirling into chaos. A thousand a week could break any ranch. And yet, Eric doesn’t seem like the type to mismanage money. Where the hell is it all going?

Movement outside draws my attention to the window, and my breath catches when I see Eric ride Dash across the open field. His bare chest gleams under the morning sun as muscles ripple beneath his golden skin, each flex and shift of his body a perfect display of strength and control.

"Wow."

I press my forehead against the cool glass, my breath fogging up the surface.

The memories of last night flood back. His hands on me, the way he kissed me like he needed me, and the way he said I was worth more, rocks my heart with palpitations. His rejection had stung, but as I watch him now, I finally understand. He didn’t stop because he didn’t want me. He stopped because he wanted me too much.

My phone buzzes again with Greg’s text and Bishop’s address.

I have two pressing mysteries now: the ranch’s missing money and Eric’s careful distance.

And my father, slipping away while I sit here pretending I have time.

I shake off the thoughts. Worrying won’t change anything—not about Dad, not about Eric, not about the ranch. But what Icando is make sure this place stays in Eric’s family. After learning the ranch could be auctioned, I started the paperwork, setting things in motion to protect the Waters’ land. If everything goes well, they’ll never have to worry about losing it.

"Get a grip, Emma," I mutter, forcing myself away from the window.

Because today isn’t about spreadsheets, or missing money, or heartbreak. Today is about my first real date with Eric.

I pull out a fall dress, rich in warm golds and deep burgundies, the perfect match for the autumn air. I curl my hair into soft ringlets, twisting a sunflower scarf into my ponytail.

He asks about you every day, Emma.

Mom’s words whisper through my head, and the curling iron trembles in my hand.

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