Page 7 of The Rancher's Runaway Bride
“Don’t you have a horse to wrangle or something?” I snap, waving the spatula at him.
“This is much more entertaining.” He steps into the kitchen, sniffing the air. “Smells... unique.”
I glare at him. “It’s called effort. You should try it sometime.”
He chuckles, reaching around me to grab a mug from the cabinet. His proximity sends a shiver down my spine, and I hate the way my body reacts to him—like it’s forgotten he’s an infuriating, grumpy know-it-all.
“Effort’s great, but edible’s better,” he teases, pouring himself coffee.
I grit my teeth, flipping another pancake. It lands slightly crooked in the pan but doesn’t immediately burn, so I count it as a win.
“Why are you even in here?” I ask, desperate to shift the attention off my kitchen failures.
“Just checking to see if the house is still standing.” His tone is light, but his gaze lingers, studying me. “You’re determined. I’ll give you that.”
Before I can respond, the sound of a truck engine cuts through the air. Cal glances out the window. “That’ll be the guys.”
“The guys?”
“You’ll see.”
The "guys" turn out to be Cal’s closest friends—Ridge, Zane, Slate, Grady, Fox, and Liam. They spill into the house like a tidal wave of testosterone, their laughter and teasing filling the space. Duke weaves between their legs, tail wagging like he’s just hit the jackpot.
“You must be the famous mail-order bride,” Ridge says, flashing a charming grin as he holds out a hand. “I’m Ridge.”
I shake his hand, ignoring Cal’s grumble behind me. “Layla. Nice to meet you.”
“So, what do you think of Cal so far?” Ridge asks, winking. “Grumpiest cowboy in Devil’s Peak, right?”
“Grumpiest? That’s being generous,” I quip, earning a round of laughter from the group.
Cal glares at me, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes. Amusement? Maybe even pride? It’s hard to tell with him.
By early afternoon the men have settled in for a game of poker. I linger at the edge of the room, unsure if I should stay or retreat. Zane notices and pats the chair beside him. “Come on, Layla. Sit in. You can’t be worse than Slate over here.”
“Hey!” Slate protests, throwing a chip at Zane.
I laugh, taking the seat. “I’ve never played poker.”
“Perfect,” Zane says. “You’ll fit right in.”
The game starts, and I quickly realize that poker is less about the cards and more about the banter. The men are relentless,teasing each other over every bet, and I can’t help but get caught up in the energy.
“Raise,” I say, pushing a stack of chips forward.
“You sure about that, princess?” Cal’s voice cuts through the noise, low and challenging.
I glance at him, meeting his steady gaze. “Positive.”
He smirks. “You’re bluffing.”
“Am I?”
He leans forward, his presence commanding. “You’ve got tells, Layla.”
“Do I?” My heart pounds, the intensity between us crackling like a live wire.
“You blink too much when you’re nervous,” he says, his voice dropping. “And you’re chewing your lip.”
