Page 16 of The Rancher's Runaway Bride
“There isn't a thing wrong with my eyes,” I sigh and curl up into his chest. “You're just not used to getting compliments.”
“Well, that’s probably true,” he says before his hands circle around my cool back and shelter me from the chilled air. “But you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.” His head dips and I feel him take a long inhale of my hair. “You smell like strawberries and honey,” he gruffs and I feel his softened erection twitch inside me.
“Strawberries and honey turn you on?” I giggle and wiggle on his lap.
“When they smell like you, they do.” He takes me in a long kiss then, pressing his lips with bruising force, his tongue tangling with mine and showing me, in every single way, that I am cherished.
Chapter Eight
Cal
The sun is just starting to dip below the mountain ridges, painting the yard in warm golden hues, when I spot Layla crouched near the flower beds in the greenhouse attached to the barn with Carson. She looks like she belongs here in a way that surprises me every damn day. Nothing like the country club socialite that showed up on my ranch a few weeks ago. Her hands are dirty, her hair falling out of her ponytail in soft tendrils, and she’s laughing at something Carson just said.
I lean against the barn door, arms crossed, and watch them. Carson’s little hand clutches a trowel, dirt flying everywhere as he “helps” her dig holes. Layla guides his hands with patience I didn’t know she had.
“Make sure you don’t bury the flowers, buddy,” she teases, brushing soil from her cheek with the back of her hand. “We want them to grow, not hide.”
Carson giggles, his grin stretching wide. “Like that time Duke buried your sandal?”
Layla groans dramatically. “Exactly. Let’s not repeat that disaster.”
I smirk, shaking my head. She’s good with him—better than I expected. It’s not just that she’s kind or patient; it’s the way she lets him take up space, like nothing in the world matters more than whatever he’s thinking or feeling in that moment.
Duke trots over to sniff at their progress, tail wagging. Layla scratches behind his ears, and the dog flops onto the ground beside her like he’s been doing this his whole life.
When they finish planting, Layla sits back on her heels, admiring their work. Carson tugs at her hand, and she stands, brushing dirt from her jeans. He points toward the barn, and they start wandering in my direction. Carson’s small hand is wrapped in hers, and it sends a warmth through my chest I can’t quite explain.
“You supervising or just daydreaming?” Layla calls out when they’re close enough, a playful lilt in her voice.
“Supervising,” I lie, pushing off the railing. “Somebody’s gotta make sure you’re not planting weeds.”
She snorts, rolling her eyes. “As if I’d make that mistake.”
“You’ve done worse,” I tease, stepping down from the porch. “Remember the eggs?”
“That was one time!” she protests, though her cheeks flush. “Besides, you’re the one who said I needed to learn by doing.”
“And you’re doing all right,” I admit, my tone softer now. Carson beams at the praise, and Layla’s lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile.
“Come on, cowboy,” she says, tilting her head toward the barn. “Carson wants to see you work your magic with that new mustang.”
I glance down at my boy, who’s watching me with wide, eager eyes. “You ready to see some real cowboy skills, kid?”
“Yeah!” he cheers, bouncing on his toes.
Layla laughs, and the sound wraps around me, pulling me toward her without even trying. I follow them to the barn, where one of the younger mustangs I’ve been training waits in the ring.
A few minutes later, the mustang circles the pen, its movements graceful but cautious. I whistle softly, signaling it to slow. Layla and Carson lean against the fence, watching every move with rapt attention.
“How do you get them to listen like that?” Layla asks, her voice laced with curiosity.
“It’s about trust,” I explain, keeping my focus on the horse. “They’ve gotta believe you’re not here to hurt them. Takes patience.”
She hums, and I can feel her eyes on me more than the horse. “Patience, huh? That doesn’t seem like your strong suit.”
I glance at her, raising a brow. “I’ve got patience where it counts.”
Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away. “Could’ve fooled me.”
