Page 61 of Cabins Cows Critics
“A journalist,” I correct.
“Is there a difference?” he asks, and I try to close the gap between us again. Thankfully, this time, he doesn’t pull away, and I wrap my hands around his large, warm arms.
“A big difference,” I say, looking up into his sad eyes. “Nothing goes into my piece that isn’t about the place I am reviewing.”
“I am a part of this place.”
“You are, but other than being the sweet, caring cowboy who runs the cuddle cove, who you are outside of that isn’t a part of what my article covers.”
I reach up and brush a strand of his messy blond hair behind his ear. He leans into my touch, eyes closing for a moment as he brings one hand up to cover mine.
“I need to believe that,” he sighs.
“You can. You can trust me,” I say, and he opens his eyes, the glassy blue glistening under the moonlight.
“I know I must sound like a big hypocrite given what I hid from you, from everyone here,” he says, still holding my hand but bringing it down and lacing his fingers with mine as we start to walk again.
“The others didn’t know?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“Sally-May figured it out first, not sure when, though. The others only just learned I am the heir they are looking for tonight.”
“And you don’t want to be the heir?”
He shrugs.
“I didn’t. I left that world, those people behind years ago. I never intended to ever see them again, and well, I guess I got my wish there.”
“And now?”
“Now, I keep thinking about what I could do with access to all that money. Is that bad?”
“Depends on what you intend to do. I am assuming you don’t mean paying for a bunch of hookers on a night out in Vegas.”
He laughs, and it cuts through the air like a siren song, filling my chest with warmth.
“I meant all the things I could do here, on the ranch.”
“Then no, it’s not bad.”
“I’m afraid,” he says, tilting his head back to look up at the moon.
“About what?”
“Getting lost in it all, I guess. Like the money will somehow return me to the fuckboy asshole I was before my life blew up. I left that version of me behind when I ran.”
“No, you didn’t,” I say, and he stops and turns toward me.
“I did, though.”
I shake my head.
“He’s still there. We can never really get away from who we used to be; we grow and change, but we can’t erase who we used to be. We can’t run from them. Who you were then is why you are the man you are today.”
He seems to ponder that for a moment, and I push up on my toes and kiss him softly and quickly.
“You can be the heir and the cuddle cowboy.”
