Page 35 of Ride Me Cowboy

“Cole?” her voice comes from behind me. “Wait up.”

I don’t stop. I’m so mad I could just about bust something—mad at myself, mostly, for ignoring my instincts and kissing her, instead of keeping a wide-ass berth.

“Let me explain,” she says, and she’s closer now, like she’s running again. The sky’s turned a striking mix of dusk colors, from purple to violet to navy blue smudging to orange. I don’t break my stride, but Beth’s clearly got the bit between her teeth because she breaks even with me and then runs past me, stopping right in my path and holding a hand up, pressing it into my chest.

“Let me explain,” she says, and the tears running down her cheeks pull at something in my core, so sympathy briefly tumbles through me, before I remember how despicable it is todo what she’s just done. Even then, though, the last thing I want is to see her cry.

“Please,” she says, as I clamp my jaw and cross my arms over my chest, dislodging her palm.

“Only if you don’t touch me,” I mutter, frustrated by the whole situation.

She flinches, reminding me of the way she was when she first arrived here. I haven’t consciously realized it, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen her act all timid like that.

“Okay,” she says, voice trembling a little. I resist the urge to reassure her in any way, even when I want to.

Christopher. My husband.

“Well,” I snap, waiting. “How are you going to explain the fact you’re married to some poor guy while you’re out here kissing me? No, no,” I waggle my finger in her face. “Begging me to kiss you. Not once, but twice,” I remind her.

She pales visibly and a hint of compunction washes over me.

“It’s not what you think.”

“Oh, really? ‘Cause I’m pretty damn sure you just told me you’re married. And you know what I’ve got less than zero interest in? Messing around with another man’s wife.”

“Would you just listen?”

“I’m listening. I’m standing here, waiting for you to say something I want to hear, but so far, nothing. So, what is it, Beth?”

She stares at me, those big eyes of hers shifting and blinking like she’s trying to telepathically communicate something. Anguish twists her pretty features and I’m torn between feeling glad, because she deserves to feel like shit right now, and wishing there was something I could do to make her feel better, because no matter what, I don’t want Beth to suffer.

“Do you know what woulda happened if you hadn’t stopped us just then, Beth? Do you have any clue what I wanted to happen?”

She blinks quickly, fresh tears forming a shimmering layer on her eyes. I look away. Women crying is my Achille’s heel, and Beth crying is like that on speed, but no way am I going to make the mistake of feeling pity—or anything like it—for this woman again.

Maybe she’ll turn out to be the exception to the rule. The one person on Coyote Creek Ranch Idon’tfeel like I need to take care of. Good riddance.

“Forget it,” I snap, when she still doesn’t say anything. I sidestep her easily and keep walking, but she follows after me.

“I should have said—,” her words trail off into a soft mumble, lost on the breeze and under the sound of our footsteps on the gravel. I want to ignore her, to show her I don’t care what she’s said, but the truth is, I am kind of invested in her explanation, even though I have way too much pride to show it.

“What did you say?” I ask, glancing back at her without slowing down.

“Can you just wait up a second,” she asks, seeming out of breath.

“If you wanna tell me, then tell me. I’m not waiting around for you.”

“I said he’s dead!” she shouts, and the words cut clear through me like a branding iron. It is the last thing I expected. I stop walking and turn around, staring at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“My husband died three months ago,” she says, twisting her hands in front of her, miserable, with guilt, like she’s aching. Hurting.

Hurting because she’s a widow. Newly widowed.

And in her grief, she turned to me, wanting something physical. And I gave it to her. But she couldn’t go through with it because she’s in mourning. Grieving the man she loved enough to marry, planned to spend her life with.

It explains everything.

Why she’s been so skittish, so quiet, so hard to read.

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