Falling Hard for the Billionaire Cowboy

1. HAYLEY

Chapter one

HAYLEY

All I can do is pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration as I stare at my broken-down car. Although it’s been five years since I bought it, albeit secondhand, I’ve always made sure to service it. And now, not only am I an hour away from Redstone, the empty road stretches in both directions. It doesn’t seem to offer any solutions either.

"It's okay," I say aloud, my voice echoing to no one. "I can fix it. No big deal."

I’ve always prided myself on my ability to handle minor car repairs. It was a skill my father had insisted I learn before I left Redstone for college, and it has saved me more than once. Popping the trunk, I’m confident I’ll have the car running again soon.

As I rummage through the trunk, my heart sinks. The rusted toolbox I had inherited from my grandpa is nowhere to be found. I blink, trying to process where exactly I had seen it last. That toolbox was always in my car, well, except for now. It just so happens that today, of all days, it has to be missing.

"I can fix it!" I repeat louder this time, as if sheer willpower can manifest the missing tools.

I march to the driver's side, reaching for my phone. I’ll call for help, simple as that. But as I stare at the screen, I can't help but chuckle.

"Yep. Earth 2, Hayley 0."

There is no signal, not even a single bar.

At that moment, I can feel my hope sinking deeper and deeper. I can also feel my right eye begin to twitch from the mounting frustration.

If I say another "I can fix it," I just know something worse will happen next.

"So, what exactly am I supposed to do?" I groan. The reality of my other situation begins to sink in. I haven’t eaten breakfast since I planned on stopping at a truck stop. By the time lunch rolled by, I’d been too tired... well also, too lazy to stop the car.

But that isn’t all. I realize I also don’t have as much as a bottle of water with me.

"Yep, pretty smart, Hayley," I mumble glaring down the empty road. "Now look at what happened." The nearest town is too far to walk, especially in this heat and without water. I had no choice but to wait and hope for a passing car. But judging by the state of this road – that can be hours.

I lean against my broken-down vehicle, sliding down I’m sitting on the sunbaked ground.

Is it hot? Yes?

But once again, I’m too lazy to stand up.

The heat radiates through my jeans, and I can feel sweat beading on my forehead. My stomach growls, a painful reminder of why you shouldn’t skip food.

I can’t help but smirk since I can almost hear my mother’s voice.

“I might as well be going crazy,” I chuckle, getting back into the car. As I sit there, I become painfully aware of the seconds ticking by.

How could I have been so careless? The toolbox, phone charger, water, snacks - all the things I usually never leave home without. It is as if the universe has conspired to strand me here, in the middle of nowhere.

I squint at the end of the road, willing a car to appear. But the road remains the same, shimmering in the heat. So, I close my eyes, trying to quell the panic rising in my chest. I am resourceful, I remind myself. I'll find a way out of this.

Then I hear it – the faint rumble of an engine in the distance. My heart is racing so much, it feels like it’ll jump out of my chest. And without hesitation, I’m already out on the road, ready to flag down whoever is coming my way. As the seconds tick by, the rumble grows louder, and I strain my eyes to see what kind of car is coming.

Finally, it comes into view – an old Chevy pickup with an open bed, and no tinted windows. I let out a sigh of relief. "Doesn't look like a serial killer truck," I mumble under my breath, trying to calm my nerves.

It also doesn't look like a kidnapper's van. So, I’m safe? Right?

The old truck is coming, and I figure it’s my best shot at hitchhiking a ride. And from the speed at which it’s approaching, the owner of the Chevy seems to be in a hurry.

I’m also in a hurry, even better.

As it draws closer, I can see the driver's face through the windshield. I raise my hand high, waving frantically. "Hey!" I shout, my voice cracking from thirst. "I need a ride! Please stop!"

The car drives past me, and for a brief moment, I make eye contact with the driver. At that instant, I'm stunned. The man behind the wheel is strikingly handsome, with the most piercing gray eyes I have ever seen. Time seems to slow down as our gazes lock, and a jolt of electricity runs through me.

Then, snap, the moment passes. I snap back to reality and realize with growing horror that the car isn't slowing down at all. It's already several feet past me and showing no signs of stopping.

"Uh?" I mumble, stunned for the second time in as many seconds, but this time for a completely different reason. I stare after the disappearing vehicle, my mouth hanging open in disbelief. I can see the driver's mouth moving in the rearview mirror, but I can't make out what he is saying. The loud rumble of the engine and the increasing distance makes it impossible to hear his words.

As the car disappears into the distance, I can't help but feel shocked and betrayed. "Hey, mister…" I begin, then pause, lowering my hand in defeat. I replay the moment in my mind, remembering how we had made eye contact. There is no way he hadn't seen me. And then I recall how he had looked back, almost as if he was mocking me. For some reason, I can imagine him smirking at the end of whatever he had said.

"That jerk!" I grunt, frustration boiling over. I wipe my hand down my face, grumbling under my breath. If I ever see him again, I'll be sure to smash something over his head – preferably something hard and heavy.

I stay by the side of the road for a few more minutes, but as I had feared, no other cars come by. This stretch of highway is as deserted as it gets. "Fine. I'll just do it by myself. I don't need anybody," I grumble, my anger growing with each passing minute. I stomp back to my car and pop the hood again, determined to fix the problem.

I move around various parts of the engine, but without the proper tools, I know that only a miracle will get it started again. As I struggle to remove the bolt on the fuel pressure regulator, a sizzling sound fills the air, and then – puff! A puff of exhaust smoke flies up into my face.

"Ack!"

Coughing and spitting out the bitter taste from my mouth, I stumble backward, my eyes watering from the fumes. My face is now covered with a fine layer of soot – if I can call it that. I can feel the frustration and anger welling up, threatening to spill over in the form of tears.

Do I even have to say it? Earth 4, Hayley 0, if you count the jerk.

Without another word, I climb back into the car, wiping my face with my hand but not bothering to do much else. I am defeated, exhausted, and utterly fed up with this whole situation.

Thirty minutes later, the heat inside the car has become unbearable. My throat also tastes bitter, and I’m feeling lightheaded from dehydration. Before I know it, I have drifted off to sleep.

I don't know how long I’m out, but I’m jolted awake by a sharp knock on the window. I shoot up, disoriented and groggy, trying to regain my bearings as I see a figure standing outside the car. The sun has moved across the sky, and it’s now late afternoon.

"Hi," I mumble, wiping drool from the corner of my mouth as I stare at the newcomer. He’s an older man, at least in his late sixties or maybe more. Wearing a cowboy hat and chewing on a blade of straw, he looks like he has stepped right out of a Western movie.

The man tips his hat and speaks in a thick Texan drawl. "Well, I'll be. I almost didn't recognize you there, miss. You're Martha's girl, ain't ya?"

My eyes widen in surprise. "Yes, yes I am," I rush out, filled with hope that I have finally found someone who can help me.

The man chuckles. "Thought so. Name's John. Your mama's told me all about you. What in tarnation happened to your face, though? You look like you've been wrestling with a chimney sweep."

I touch my cheek, remembering that I hadn’t cleaned my face earlier. "Oh, um, just a little car trouble," I say, feeling embarrassed.

John nods sympathetically. "Well, if you don't mind hopping in the back of my truck, I can give you a lift into town. It ain't much, but it'll get you there."

I look in the direction he’s pointing and see an old, beat-up buggy with only a driver's seat and an open bed in the back. At this point, I am willing to ride on the back of a donkey if it means getting out of this heat.

"Thank you so much, John, I'm really grateful." I grab my heavy case from the back seat and, with a grunt, heave it into the bed of the truck. It isn't the most comfortable-looking ride, and I may fall off once or twice, but at least I'll be closer to town.

As we set off down the long road, the wind whipping through my hair, John keeps up a steady stream of conversation. "Your mama told me you'd gone off to the big city," he calls over his shoulder. "How'd that treat you?"

"It was... an experience," I shout back, trying to make myself heard over the rush of wind. "But I missed home more than I thought I would."

John nods as if he had experienced city life himself. "Ain't nothing like small-town living. You city folks always come back. Speaking of which, did you hear about old Mrs. Thompson's cat? Got stuck up in the church bell tower last month. Whole town came out to watch the fire department try to get it down..."

For the next thirty minutes, John regales me with tales of all the gossip and goings-on I'd missed during my time away. And yet, he happens to miss the two most important tidbits of gossip I need to know. Despite the discomfort seated in the truck bed, I find myself smiling and even laughing at some of his stories.

By the time we roll into town, the setting sun is painting the sky in that deep shade of orange and pink.

Is it beautiful? Yes.

But all I can afford is a glance to check how much time I’ve wasted on the road.

I am so hungry and tired, and my hair looks like I've stuck my finger in an electrical socket, but I’m finally back. I’m back in Redstone after eight years: the shops, the street… the ambiance. Every single thing looks the same as before, perhaps even better.

John pulls up to the town square and cuts the engine. "Well, this is where I leave you, miss. Gotta get home to the missus before she thinks I've run off with some young filly," he says with a wink. “Actually, she has a doc appointment that I need to get her to. Sorry, I can’t take you all the way.”

I climb out of the truck bed on shaky legs. "Thank you so much, Mr. John. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come along."

He tips his hat again. "Think nothing of it. You tell your mama I said hello next time you see her, you hear?"

As he drives off, I take stock of my situation. My house is still on the outskirts of town, so I have a bit more traveling to do. But with people milling about and businesses still open, I know I'll be able to find another ride. First, I need something to drink, or I just may pass out.

"I hope I don't see that jerk from the road again," I mutter to myself, thinking of the gray-eyed man who had left me stranded earlier.