Page 26 of Taming the Billionaire Cowboy
“Absolutely,” I confirm with a teasing grin. “He’s pretty much an expert in horse riding compared to you.”
“Now that, I believe.” He grins back at me, licking his popsicle thoughtfully.
The way he does it is far too distracting for my peace of mind. My stomach starts flipping all over the place, and it’s like electricity is popping between my legs.
“I, uh, I’ll get started with feeding the goats,” I say, quickly turning away.
“I’ll get the horses. Maybe Bradley would like to help.”
“I’m sure he would.”
I keep walking, not looking back at him, not wanting to risk growing these feelings, not wanting to risk losing control. With so little to hold onto in life — just Bradley, this job — I need to protect what I can at all costs.
Oliver isn’t the enemy, but he’s also not mine for the taking, and I’d do well to remember that.
CHAPTER 12
OLIVER
Bradley’s tongue pokes out from the corner of his mouth while he works, tying a set of complicated knots that even a grown ranch hand would need to stop and puzzle out. He sits cross-legged in front of the barn, small and focused and serious, and the rope is stiff, but his little fingers are quick. It’s barely past eight, but already warm, the morning sun promising a bright, punishing Texas day, and I stand there like an idiot, like someone who never met a kid before.
“How’s this one?” Bradley asks, holding up his finished work with a grin. He’s obviously proud, and he should be - the kid’s a natural.
“Way better than I can do,” I say, and he beams. “Maybe you can show me how you did that.”
He crawls over, pulling the rope with him. “It’s easy once you know it,” he says, then sits down right in front of me. I squat next to him and watch while he demonstrates the steps. “You just gotta practice lots.”
“Even if I practiced a lot, I’d still never be as good as you,” I tell him.
He unties the rope, then hands it back for me to try again. I do, fumbling with the knots as we both watch my awkward progress. He points to the places I should fix and laughs a little, and I feel both clumsy and impressed. When I’m finished, I hold it up like he did.
“How’s this one?” I ask, and he grins.
“Almost as good as mine,” he says, taking it back and jumping to his feet.
“Come on, Oliver! We have to check on the kitties!” He runs toward the barns, looking back to make sure I’m following.
The day feels full of promise, stretching ahead of us with so much to do, and I hustle after him. It’s still hard to believe this six-year-old knows as much as he does. But even harder to believe Carly has a kid.
Is she still with Bradley’s father? Or have they split up?
Do I even want to know?
Bradley stops at one of the barn doors and waits for me to catch up. “Mom said I can work like a real ranch hand today,” he tells me. And I have to admit, he’s probably more useful around here than I am.
“You’re gonna work better than a real ranch hand,” I say, opening the door and ruffling his hair as I pass him.
“I know,” he says. His voice is certain, like he expects to do exactly that.
The morning speeds by, and for the first time since arriving on the ranch, I’m actually enjoying the day. Bradley is a miracle worker, and Carly must be one too, because we seem to get everything done in record time.
“It must be lunchtime,” Bradley announces. “My tummy is going growl, growl.”
After washing our hands, we collapse against the sturdy cottonwood tree next to the driveway, dry earth under our feet, dusty grass clinging to our shirts. It’s the filthiest I’ve ever been, and I love it.
Carly unpacks a picnic lunch while Bradley talks about animals, breathless and excited, each word tumbling over the last.
“Oliver knows tons about them, Mom,” he says, twisting his whole body toward her while he talks, like it’s important to include her in every bit of it.
