Page 2 of The Rancher's Runaway Bride
“Compared to the man I almost married yesterday, yeah,” I toss back.
That shuts him up, and I savor the brief silence as I step into the guest room. It’s small but clean, with a neatly made bed anda window overlooking the pasture with grazing horses. I set my bag down, the tension in my shoulders easing ever so slightly.
Until Cal speaks again.
“Dinner’s at six. You eat, you clean up. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” I say with a mock salute.
His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. “Don’t make me regret this.”
And with that, he’s gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts—and the very real realization that I’ve just committed to living with a man who might hate me on sight.
An hour later, I find myself in the kitchen, awkwardly stirring a pot of soup while Cal watches from the doorway. His arms are crossed, his expression unreadable.
“You cook?” he asks, the skepticism in his tone unmistakable.
“Believe it or not, yes,” I reply, resisting the urge to snap the spoon in half over his head.
“Huh.”
That’s all he says.Huh.Like the idea of me being remotely capable is so far-fetched it requires no further commentary.
“Do you always make people feel so welcome?” I ask, something playful in my voice.
“Do you always barge into people’s lives uninvited?” he counters, his gaze steady.
“What did you expect?” I shoot back, crossing my arms.
“Coulda called first–didn’t expect anyone to answer that ad if I’m being honest. What kinda crazy person answers one of those things, anyway?”
I bite my tongue. If only he knew.
His eyes are twinkling with something like mischief as he watches me. I hate that the way he looks at me causes butterflies to batter inside my stomach. The tension between us crackles, neither of us willing to back down. It’s infuriating and… something else. Something I can’t quite name but can definitelyfeel, low and persistent like an ember waiting for the right moment to ignite.
Duke breaks the standoff, trotting into the kitchen and plopping down at my feet. I reach down to scratch behind his ears, and for the first time since I’ve been here, Cal’s expression softens.
“He likes you,” he says grudgingly.
“I’m a pretty likable person,” I reply with a sweet smile. “Despite what you seem to think.”
His lips twitch, almost like he’s fighting a grin, but he doesn’t let it surface. Instead, he grabs bowls from the cupboard and sets them on the table.
“Soup smells good,” he admits.
“Careful,” I tease. “You might accidentally pay me a compliment.”
“Don’t push your luck, kitten,” he shoots back, but there’s no heat in his words and I almost falter at his nickname–kitten. I wonder why he’s decided to call me that, but I don’t have the heart to question. Not today, not after everything else I’ve been through.
“Hey, Dad!” Just then a little kid blazes through the front door, tossing his backpack on the floor and wrapping his arms around Cal’s leg.
“Hey, Buddy! How was school today?” Cal ruffles the boys soft, blond hair.
“Good–I played flag football after–” the kid halts mid-sentence, wide eyes trained on me. “Who are you?”
“Oh–I’m Layla.” I cross the room, bending to the little boy’s level. The ad didn’t say anything about Cal having a son. Questions buzz to life inside of me.
“Nice to meet you, Layla.” The little boy sticks out his hand like a gentleman. I shake it, thinking that despite his dad’sgruff attitude, he’s definitely taught this kid some manners. “I’m Carson Lane Walker. I’m seven.”
