4. Travis
Chapter 4
Travis
T he morning heat is already pushing animals into the shade, snakes under cool rocks, and sending sweat in tiny rivulets down the center of my back. Standing on the porch of my large ranch-style house, the wooden railing gives slightly against my weight while a cup of black coffee warms my hands, while I look out at over the expansive land that has always given me a sense of peace. It’s a picturesque scene framed by gentle hills and sprawling pastures that roll out like a sea of green, dotted with the lazy movements of cattle and horses grazing freely in the distance.
I built this place for my wife, mistakenly assuming having a brand-new home meeting all her design requests, she’d acclimate to country living much quicker. Growing up in Texas herself, I figured it was a given.
I was wrong.
She had bigger dreams than I realized. Dreams my money could provide, but my time and obligations wouldn’t. We’d met in school. I studied Animal Science; she was in Communications. Unlike my siblings, I knew I’d one day inherit the ranch. Amelia had big journalism plans and Cupid’s Creek didn’t fit her idea of news central. Nor did a husband tied to his home.
Rachel is the opposite. She’s friendly, caring and not obsessed with money. Our kiss at the festival plays in my mind like a slow-motion reel, her lips soft yet insistent, igniting a passion I never experienced with my ex. Rachel comes from a big city, a world so different from this rugged land, and I wonder what she sees in me—or if she feels anything close to what I do.
I spot her car pulling into the driveway, kicking up a dust trail. A little compact thing that looks entirely out of place next to the massive machinery and pickup trucks lining my property. But it’s Rachel who captures my attention entirely.
She steps out and the mid-morning light shines on her short, flowery dress—soft yellows and blues swirling together like wildflowers in bloom. Bright white cowboy boots add an unexpected charm, strikingly contrasting with the earthy tones of the ranch.
There’s a tug in my chest, amusement with attraction, as she shyly smiles and waves, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
“Hey, there,” I call out.
I patiently wait as she approaches the porch, using the opportunity to let my eyes linger on her legs as the dress hugs her curves and shows off her waist. There’s something mesmerizing about her, her willingness to dive headfirst into this cowboy life—even if it means pretending to be my girlfriend for the day.
The sight of her, so out of place yet so determined, stirs something in me. A twinge of admiration, maybe. Or is it protectiveness? I push the feeling aside, reminding myself this is all for show. But damn if she doesn’t look good trying.
“Wow, this place is stunning,” she says when she’s close enough and climbs the stairs to join me, her gaze sweeping across the front of the log and stone structure with awe, taking in the long wrap around porch, the comfortable furniture, outdoor plants and large double front door.
I’m so entranced looking at her, I almost forget why she’s here.
“It’s absolutely beautiful. And those fields...”
For a moment, I see it all through her eyes—not just acres and assets, but a place where hard work pays off, the sky feels bigger, and I can breathe. “Thanks. It’s home.”
Having her here is nice, and I suddenly feel lighter than I have in weeks.
“Is your mother still in town?” I ask.
“No. She left this morning. She likes to flit in and out of my life when it suits her. I think the festival wore her out. And Cupid’s Creek is a tad small for her liking; I think she craved a few skyscrapers.”
My laughter is authentic, but I can’t say I’m disappointed because now I have Rachel all to myself.
“I guess it’s time for me to meet your mom.”
Sigh. Yes. There is that. “I’m going to warn you, she can be tough.” I shift awkwardly, conscious of how she makes me feel and worried how Mother will react. She did not like Amelia at all.
Karen Anderson had suspicions, but Laura Kincaid can sniff insincerity like a bloodhound. Looking at Rachel, with her bright smile and genuine enthusiasm, an unfamiliar flutter of hope settles in my chest.
What the hell?
That was a luxury I’d sworn off years ago. Yet here it is, creeping in like an uninvited guest. I steel myself against it, reminded of the cold, hard lessons life has taught me about trust and love.
Then I remember it doesn’t matter because this isn’t real. I clench my jaw, forcing my gaze away. This is dangerous territory. I can’t afford to let my guard down, not when I know how quickly admiration can turn to betrayal. Rachel is here to play a part, nothing more.
The screen door creaks open, and Mother steps out. This is a woman who runs a country club and lived the life of a rancher’s wife for over forty years while looking and dressing as though she just stepped out of a fashion magazine. One dedicated to the modern rancher’s life. At almost seventy, and a few inches over five feet, her hair is a soft helmet of silver-streaked dark waves that frame her face with an almost regal elegance. Her sharp blue eyes can cut through steel, and they have a way of laying bare every intention you try to hide. Dad never kept secrets from Mother. Neither could my brothers, my sister or myself. She has a stern look about her, but she’s a soft cookie at the core—at least with the people she loves.
I gesture at Rachel, standing near me on the porch. “Mother, this is Rachel Anderson. My girlfriend.” I inwardly pray my mother believes me.
Rachel extends her hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Kincaid.”
Mother’s hand barely grazes Rachel’s before retracting like the strike of a snake. She sizes up Rachel’s attire with a once-over glance that leaves no doubt about her scrutiny. The bright, flowery dress seems to wilt under Mom’s gaze, and those pristine white cowboy boots suddenly appear foolishly out of place.
“Rachel. Hmmm.” Mother’s tone is flat.
“Rachel came to tour the ranch today.” I hope to deflect whatever arrow my mother is nocking in her verbal bow. She has that look, which means she’s about to go for the jugular. I’ve seen it often, usually right before she tore into Amelia. But Rachel isn’t Amelia. And she’s not about to become my wife. She doesn’t deserve the attitude.
“Is that so?” Mother’s politeness is as thin as the veneer on old barn wood. She stares at Rachel. “And where do your people come from, dear?”
Rachel shifts her weight, and the porch boards creak. She clears her throat nervously. “My mother lives in New York.”
“And your father?”
Rachel never mentioned her father.
“He hasn’t been in our lives for a very long time.” I watch her square her shoulders, admiring her composure. Most women wilt under Mother’s scrutiny, but Rachel holds firm, and it stirs something in me—respect, maybe. Or something deeper, which I’m not ready to name.
“If you’re from New York, why are you here in Cupid’s Creek?”
“I needed a change.”
Mother’s lips twitch and I can’t tell if that’s good or bad.
“And what is it you do, dear?”
“I’m currently a waitress at the Bluebonnet Café.” Rachel’s chin lifts.
Pride swells in my chest at her quiet defiance. She isn’t ashamed of her work, and I’ll be damned if I let Mother make her feel that way.
“A waitress? How enterprising. I’m sure that keeps you quite busy.”
I step closer to Rachel’s side. “She’s damn good at her job, too. Customers love her.”
Mother’s gaze flicks between us. “And how did you two meet? I can’t recall Travis mentioning any... dalliances with the local service industry.”
My jaw clenches. Her words cut deep, not just at Rachel, but at me. As if I’m incapable of seeing beyond status or wealth. As if Amelia hadn’t taught me that lesson the hard way.
Rachel’s cheeks flush. “We?—”
“I stopped in for coffee at the diner,” I cut in. “Rachel caught my eye right away.” It’s true. She caught my attention from the start. I thought she was pretty… for a city girl.
“Did she now?” Mother’s tone drips with skepticism. “And what exactly caught your eye, Travis? Her expertise with a coffee pot? Her younger age? How old are you, my dear?”
Anger flares hot in my chest. She can insult me all she wants, but Rachel doesn’t deserve this. I open my mouth to retort, but Rachel beats me to it.
“Mrs. Kincaid, I think we’re getting off on the wrong foot?—”
“Tell me, Rachel, what are your aspirations beyond waiting tables? Surely a young woman like yourself has greater ambitions. Have you even finished school?”
I should intervene, shield Rachel from the barbs, but I hold back, curious to see how she handles it. Rachel has depths I’m only beginning to understand.
“I’m not as young as you seem to think, and I enjoy my work very much. It’s a nice break from the office job I used to have.” Rachel replies, her voice tight.
“How progressive. And what does your family think of your relationship with my son?”
“My mother’s thrilled,” Rachel lies smoothly.
“Is she?” Mother’s gaze sharpens. “I bet she is since you’re trying to seduce the most eligible bachelor in town. I’d love to meet her sometime. Perhaps we can exchange notes on our children’s... unrealistic romantic choices.”
I grit my teeth. “That’s enough.”
“Oh, come now, Travis. I’m simply getting to know your girlfriend.” Her smile is razor thin. “Rachel, dear, do you ride?”
Rachel blinks. “Ride?”
“Horses, dear. This is a ranch, after all. Though, I suppose that’s not a skill one typically acquires while refilling coffee cups. Or working in an office in New York City.”
The urge to defend Rachel catapults, but I grit my teeth and clench my hands. She doesn’t need me to fight her battles. Still, I edge closer, offering silent support.
“I haven’t had much opportunity, no.”
“What a shame.” Mother clucks. “I do hope Travis remembers to keep you off the more spirited mounts. We wouldn’t want any unfortunate accidents.”
“I can take care of myself,” Rachel snaps.
Mother’s eyebrows shoot up. “My, my. Quite the little spitfire, aren’t you? I suppose that’s what passes for charm in your lower-class circles.”
“Mother,” I growl. “That’s enough .”
She waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t be so sensitive, Travis. I’m sure Rachel’s thick skin is part of her appeal.”
Anger blazes in my chest, hot and sharp. She has always been opinionated, but she’s crossing a line now, and it’s a struggle to keep my composure.
Rachel’s nostrils flare. “With all due respect, Mrs. Kincaid?—”
“Oh, there’s no need for false politeness, dear.” Mother’s smile is cold as ice. “I’m sure you’re not accustomed to... shall we say, refined company.”
I’ve known her for such a short time, yet seeing her attacked like this by my own mother makes my blood boil. This isn’t about our arrangement anymore but basic human decency. I knew Mother would be difficult, but I didn’t expect this level of rudeness.
I step between them. “That’s it. We’re done here.”
Mother’s lips are thin. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m simply trying to understand what you see in this woman.”
A bitter laugh nearly escapes me. What do I see in Rachel? More than Mother could ever understand. Strength. Kindness. A genuine spirit untainted by the ugliness of high society’s games. And I’ll be damned if I lay that out for her judgment.
“What I see,” I snarl, “is none of your damn business.”
“Language, Travis.” She’s not at all put off by my tone. “Though I suppose your new companion brings out your baser instincts.”
I love my mother, but right now the urge to get Rachel away from her toxicity is strong. To protect her, even if our relationship is just for show.
I grab Rachel’s arm. “We’re leaving. Now.”
“Running away? How unlike you. Then again, I suppose your judgment has been compromised lately.”
Her words strike a nerve, dredging up memories of Amelia and all the ways I’ve been fooled before. But this is different. Rachel isn’t using me. We have an agreement that benefits us both.
“The only thing compromised here,” I growl, “is my patience.”
Rachel’s smile wobbles and slips.
This whole charade is spiraling out of control, and I’m the one to blame.
“We have plenty to do today, Mother. We should get to it.” I wrap an arm protectively around Rachel’s waist, feeling her subtle shiver at the contact.
Maybe it’s the chill from my mother’s icy demeanor or something else entirely. Still, I can’t shake the desire to shield her from the immediate frost.
Mother turns on her heel with the precision of a drill sergeant, her figure retreating into the house with a finality that leaves a vacuum of silence.
“Sorry ’bout that. She can be hard to warm up to.”
“Maybe next time I’ll wear something a bit less citified.”
The truth is, I like those damn boots, how they emphasize her long legs and the effort she put in to fit into my world.
“Let me show you the rest of the ranch.” I guide her down the porch steps with a hand still lingering at her waist.
“Okay, cowboy,” she replies, a spark of defiance lighting her hazel eyes again now that the nastiness is over.
I steal glances at her while we walk across the path leading from my house to the equipment barn. The sunlight kisses her auburn hair, turning it into a fiery crown that seems too damn enchanting. I watch her face as she takes in the vast open fields, and I feel a surge of pride knowing I’m the one showing her this slice of heaven.
“Like what you see?” I ask, keeping my voice casual despite the swarm of emotions kicking up dust in my chest.
She nods, her gaze sweeping over the pastures. “It’s so much bigger than I imagined.”
“Everything’s bigger in Texas, honey,” thickening my drawl. I say it with a straight face, but I get an eye roll for my efforts.
Her new cowboy boots look like they cost more than the worn-out pair I’ve had for years. They may be pretty, but practicality beats fashion out here. I hope she doesn’t get blisters because we have a lot of ground to cover. Considering our whole relationship is a sham, it’s stupid to feel so protective, but I can’t help myself. The sight of her trying so damn hard stirs up the brittle that had formed in my heart.
“Come on, let’s introduce you to the heart of the ranch.” I lead her toward one of the barns, but a strange possessiveness tightens my grip when I notice a few ranch hands fixing fences giving her admiring glances.
“Is this where all the magic happens?” she teases, her eyes gleaming.
“Magic, sweat, and a whole lot of swearing.” I open the barn door for her.
“Sounds like my kind of place.”
“We actually keep a lot of our equipment and tack in here,” I explain, pointing out the different tools, each with its purpose. “It ain’t glamorous, but it gets the job done.”
“Kinda like you?”
“Careful now, don’t make me blush.”
She laughs, and the light, musical sound hits me straight in the gut.
“There are riding areas out back,” I continue, gesturing toward the outdoor pens at the opposite end of the building. “And we have another barn where we house the horses just behind this one. You ever been on a horse?”
“Does a carousel count?” Her laughter fades into the softest most tender smile that damn near knocks the wind out of me.
“Guess I’ll have to show you the ropes then.” I look forward to having her close and teaching her how to ride. The double meaning isn’t lost on me, judging by the quick dart of her eyes, it’s not on her either.
“Looking forward to it.”
We share a look, heated and lingering before she breaks eye contact. Her cheeks match the color of a red saddle hanging over an empty stall down the way. I clear my throat, suddenly aware of the sexual tension between us.
And hell, if I don’t want to feel more of it.
“Let’s keep moving. There’s more to see.” I lead her out of the barn.
“Okay.”
I lead her out the back and into the horse bard where a faint breeze carries the odor of hay and leather. The earthiness of fresh manure hits us next. I brace myself for her reaction, and memories of past dates wrinkling their noses in disgust, but Rachel doesn’t flinch.
“Smells like... success?” She grins.
“That’s one way to put it,” I respond. “It’s the smell of life on a ranch; you can’t get away from it.”
“Doesn’t bother me. It’s real.” She glances at me, eyes bright and shiny. “And something tells me you’re full of shit sometimes, too.”
“Ha!”
We round the corner to where ranch hands are working with some younger horses. Rachel’s gaze fixes on the animals with a level of delight that reminds me of a child at Christmas.
“I’ve always wanted to learn how to ride,” she says, her voice taking on a wistful tone. “Ever since I was a little girl.”
“Is that so?” Leaning against the fence, I watch her watching the horses. “Well, honey, I might know a thing or two about riding… and other stuff.”
“Really now? I hope you’re not all talk, cowboy.” Her cheeks are flushed, but her voice is steady.
“I’d never bullshit you.”
“Then teach me, Travis. Teach me how to ride.” Her eyes lock on mine.
I swallow hard. “Oh, I intend to.”
The tension is thick enough to rope and tie down. We stand there, catching each other’s eye and looking away, the air between us igniting with an energy that feels like it will implode at any moment.
“Damn boots.” She shifts her weight back and forth, grimacing.
“Those things giving you trouble?” I nod at her fancy footwear.
“Killing me is more like it. I don’t think they’re made for actual walking. Or any ranch activities, for that matter.”
“Should’ve warned you about that.” I try to hide my smile. “But you look so damn cute in them.”
“Next time, I’m sticking to sneakers.” She huffs.
“I could teach you in proper boots. Got plenty that are already broken in,” I offer with a wink.
“Sounds like a date. Or, um, not.”
“Only if you’re up for it.”
“Try and stop me.”
We share a laugh, easy and genuine, and something shifts between us. I’m beginning to think that whatever is happening between us, fake relationship be damned, is starting to feel very real.
“Rachel,” I say softly, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. “I know this is supposed to be pretend, but… I’m having a lot of fun.”
She stills. “What are you saying, Travis?”
I breathe deeply, then blow it out. “I’m saying that… I want us to be friends.”
She stares at me for a long moment before I wonder if I read her all wrong. “Me too.”
The relief is sweet. “Good.”