Page 72 of Fixing to Be Mine

“Boots,” Colt says with a grin, crouching to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “How ya been, buddy?”

The pup leans into the affection, his little nub of a tail wagging, happy as can be.

I kneel beside them and rub under his chin as he tries to lick me. “You’re so cute.”

“Agreed,” Colt says.

When I glance at him, he’s not talking about Boots; he’s focused on me.

“I’d adopt him, but I promised myself no more animals until the house was finished,” Colt explains. “The horses are enough to handle for now.”

Boots licks my face.

“Guess we’d better get to work before this guy gets adopted?”

“Guess we’d better,” he tells me, then hugs Boots. “If it’s meant to be, you’ll still be here when I’m ready.”

Jenny and Ember watch us, and after we sign a few pieces of paper for tax purposes, we’re sent on our way with hugs from both. I’m happy with my decision to donate twenty thousand dollars. Hell, I might give them the rest of the cash I have in my trunk.

“Coffee?” Colt asks as we pull out onto Main Street.

He cranks the air conditioner since it’s much hotter outside than earlier, and I lean into the vent. Wisps of my hair blow in the breeze.

“That would be amazing, but I prefer it cold, not hot,” I say. “I need something sweet to balance out the emotional whiplash of today.”

From waking up in Colt’s arms, to destroying that Camaro with every bit of strength I had, to doing a good deed, it’s a lot to process.

He smirks. “Your wish is my command.”

We pull into the small drive-through coffee stand on the edge of town—a converted feed shack with faded wood siding and a hand-painted menu hanging under the eaves. There’s a planter near the window with a cactus and a tip jar that reads:Be nice or leave.

“This place is kinda new, but it’s great. It’s called The Coffee Shack, and it opened a few weeks ago.”

We pull up to the handwritten drink menu, screwed to the side of the building. I lean closer, my body nearly on his, so I can read it.

“Hmm. I think I’d like a large blended white mocha with whipped cream and chocolate drizzle.”

“Fancy drink for a fancy lady,” Colt says, and his eyes trail down to my lips.

A car pulls up behind us, so he moves forward.

The window of the shack slides open, and he repeats my order. “And an iced caramel coffee for me.”

Not long after, his card is swiped, and our coffee masterpieces are being handed over.

My eyes widen at the size. “Everything really is bigger in Texas.”

Laughter falls from him as we drive away. “I want to taste it.”

I raise an eyebrow, sipping through the straw. “Dunno if you can handle this sweetness.”

“Mmm, I can handle more than you think, darlin’,” he says with a low laugh.

He parks a block away in a spot that overlooks the town square.

“Tell me about Valentine and your last name. How is your family connected?”

“Ah. It’s a fun story. My great-great-great-great-great”—he takes a deep breath—“grandfather laid the groundwork and founded the town. Settled here because of the railroad, started the three-thousand-acre cattle trading ranch my parents currently live on, and the rest is history. The bank building was the first structure constructed in Valentine, followed by the general store and post office. Lots of history here.”

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