Page 15 of Claiming Cowboy
“And talk?” she asks.
“Absolutely,” I promise.
Hesitation flickers across her face, but beneath it, curiosity sparks like a match catching fire. It’s quick, but I see it. She finally nods. “I just have to clean up.”
I step back, giving her space, even if every part of me wants to close the distance. She turns toward the counter, hair falling loose around her shoulders, and the sight knocks something loose inside me.
She said yes. Maybe not toeverything, but tosomething. And for now, that’s enough.
Chapter 9 - Paige
I ask myself again what the hell I’m doing. Sitting in Ryder’s truck, the countryside rolling by, town shrinking behind us with every mile. I thought about saying no. I probablyshouldhave. But something about the way he’s always there—the steady presence I’ve started to rely on—made me panic at the thought of him decidingtodaywas the day he’d give up.
Even though I don’twantto want Ryder, I do. And no one can untangle that mess but me. The idea of him walking away shouldn’t hurt, but it does. I’ve gotten too used to him. His smile. The quiet strength in his eyes. The woodsy, earthy scent that clings to him. Thinking about going back to something less—someone less—feels like standing in the shadow of a fire I’ve already felt burn through me.
“I promise we’re not as far from town as you think,” he says, breaking the silence. His voice is low, warm, too easy to fall into. “I’m driving slow.”
“Why?” I ask, because asking is safer than feeling.
“This is the second time we haven’t had something between us,” he answers.
I glance at the console and arch a brow. “The console’s between us.”
He looks at me then, really looks, like he’s peeling away the layers I keep wrapping around myself. “That’s not what I meant. Counters are easier.”
The words land heavier than I expect. I don’t need him to explain. I know exactly what he means. All the things I’ve avoided—questions I haven’t asked, answers I haven’t given—they’ve built a wall I keep hiding behind.
And now, there’s nothing between us but the air, the quiet hum of the truck, and the pulse pounding in my ears.
Then he stops. I don’t really understand why, but he gets out of the truck, opens the door for me, and holds it open, offering me his hand, then wrapping his arm around me when I stumble. I swear I see the whole gorgeous night sky reflected in his eyes even though it’s impossible since he’s staring at me.
I swallow tightly. “Sorry.”
“We didn’t talk much before we had sex,” he says boldly, directly. “We dove in and I don’t regret it for a second.”
“That’s ... good. The second part, I mean.”
“If it was too fast, I want to know. If we need to backtrack and start with dating, tell me so I can knock your socks off. If you don’t want more or I overwhelmed you, tell me to fuck off ... but only when I bring you back,” he answers, his whole body tightening at the end.
He shakes his head, then leads me towards an unfinished cabin. The roof is mostly finished with one section being repaired, the second floor is obviously not fully done, but the stairs are, there’s more than a skeleton of a home here, and with the dust on the floor, the logs piled to the side, the saws, hammers, nail guns, everything, it’s obvious that it’s a work in progress.
“Are we allowed here?” I ask, trying to regain control of my emotions.
“It’s mine,” he answers, leading me over to a covered couch, shielding my eyes, then pulling the tarp off. He lights a few lanterns and sits down with me. He meets my eyes unflinchingly. “The groundwork was laid, but I bought it the day after we met.”
“W-why? You’re not too old to tame bulls! You have a huge career and can train others and ... I thought you liked traveling,” I argue.
“I didn’t say the full story. The truth is that… I hate it. I hate the long stretches of road, the weight of fame, the empty nights in hotel rooms that never feel right. I miss deep friendships and quiet time. I want a real life ... and I cannot stop thinking that I would like that life to be with you.”
He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t flinch. If anything, he seems torelaxwhen he says it.
I rub my knees, suddenly hyperaware of myself. I chose a cute dress today—something flattering but safe. Now it feels like it’s offering me no armor at all.
“Ryder…” I whisper, unsure where to even start.
He waits. Patient. Solid. His hand rests in the space between us on the couch, palm up like an invitation.
“I don’t know what to do with you,” I admit quietly. “We haven’t really talked. Not like we should. I still feel like we don’t know each other well enough. I know who I am. And IthinkI know who you seem to be. But I don’t…”
