Page 37 of Ride Me Cowboy

I wasn’t the man my father had trained me to be.

I was so ashamed of myself.

But these stars weren’t.

These stars held me when my heart was breaking, and helped me know how to put it all back together again. These stars weaved their magic. I’ve never gotten over that feeling, you know, of how bad I let her—and everyone—down that day. But morning by morning, coming out here and riding alongside my dad, looking up at the sky, parts of me came back together again.

Pain is elemental. Like the stars, the night sky, the breeze and dawn, it is a living part of this universe, and Beth’s pain last night was as raw as anything I’ve ever felt, her grief as palpable as my own had been back then, as tangible as the knot of despair I’ve carried with me ever since my dad died. I’ve learned to walk alongside those hurts, to carry them as a part of me, recognizing that expecting them to disappear is as futile as wishing their deaths had never happened.

And that’s just what Beth was trying to do with me.

To work out how to live in this world as a widow, to move forward. Maybe she thought moving on would do that for her. That kissing me, making love to me, would alleviate the awful hollow in her chest, the one I know so well.

She was wrong, and she realized that. She apologized for it. Now all I gotta do is put one foot in front of the other around her until I can stop wanting her regardless. Because my resolve from last night is unwavering: I’m not going to prey on some woman who’s in a state of grief, no matter how much I want her to be mine.

Beth

“Mornin’.” I jump in my seat at the sound of Cole’s voice.

That voice!

It should be illegal to sound so guttural and raw before ten in the morning. Or to look like this, I think, as I turn slowly and watch him stride across to me, coffee cup in hand, wearing his full cowboy kit. Including a whip all curled up neatly on one hip and a sheathed knife on the other. His boots are dusty, his hat sits a little crooked and his jeans are slung low, held up with a brown belt that looks almost as old as this place.

I try to swallow but my mouth is suddenly dryer than the desert air.

“Thought you might want a coffee,” he says, placing it down in front of me then taking a step back, hands by his sides, a perfect study in relaxed friendliness. Only his eyes show a hint of something else—a wary speculation, like he’s waiting to see how I might react.

Does he think I’ll be angry? Push him away? Or hit on him all over again?

Well, that’s not going to happen. I learned my lesson last night. I might want Cole with the power of a thousand suns,but doing anything that brings back those feelings Christopher programmed inside of me is on my forbidden list. Even when I hate surrendering to him, after he’s cold in the ground.

“Always,” I say, belatedly, pushing a smile to my lips. It feels perfunctory and performative. “Thanks.”

He nods once, something like approval in the lines of his face. I try not to let that warm me too much. He turns and moves toward the door, then pauses. “You up for a run later, City Girl?”

I almost drop the coffee cup to the table, I’m so surprised. I stare at him, lost for words. “You’re serious?”

“If you wanna.”

I nod once. “I do. I—thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, Beth.” He tips his hat on that cryptic comment and leaves. The day stretches ahead of me, impatience making it seem that time is standing still. I finish my proper work around noon, but keep myself busy researching the cottage on the property. There’s quite a lot of information on the city municipal website, and for under a hundred bucks, I’m able to apply for the original plans. I put in the application and then start a Pinterest board of ideas, for how it could be restored to its original glory.

In the back of my mind, though, the whole day, is Cole. The way he’d sauntered in, all casually solicitous, delineating a way forward for us: as friends, just like he’d said.

I don’t know what I’d expected. He’s not a sulker and I know he wouldn’t act like one, but I guess I’d thought he might take a bit longer to lick his wounds or something.

I can’t help but like him all the more for the way he’s just moved past what happened. No, not just moved past it, because he’s not ignoring it. He’s being there for me, subtly, like he said he would.

Finally, the sky grows darker, and I push away from my desk, carefully closing down all the tabs to do with the cottage, before heading to my room to quickly get changed. When I step into the corridor, Mackenzie’s emerging from her room at the same time, humming something pretty and melodious. Her gaze jerks to mine, like we’ve both caught each other completely off guard.

“Hey,” I recover first, offering a smile.

She nods once. “You heading out for a run?”

I glance to the courtyard. “Yeah. It’s cooled off now.”

“With Cole?” she asks.

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