17. Mollie
CHAPTER 17
Mollie
LONG LIVE COWGIRLS
Sunrise.
It breaks over the hills in shades of peach, neon pink, and bright, shimmery yellow. In front of me, an enormous herd of cattle is spread out over a pasture that stretches as far as the eye can see.
Taking it all in from the saddle, I feel a similar rise in my chest. A warmth that spreads through my bones and fills me with a sense of calm so deep, I close my eyes to savor it.
My stomach feels settled. Calm. No pain to speak of.
I breathe steadily, evenly, aware of the way the fresh morning air hits the bottom of my lungs. The sun’s heat pours over my skin.
Maria nickers beneath me as she quietly munches on the grass. Cowboys laugh somewhere nearby.
I know this feeling . The sun, the calm.
The sense of amazement.
I remember feeling it, riding with Mom and Dad when I was little. Dad rode a brown filly, but Mom had this gorgeous gray Andalusian she named Storm.
We were up early back then because, well, ranch life. Sometimes, I’d stay back at the house with Mom. Other times, when Mom felt like riding, she’d take me out to watch Dad work cattle with the other cowboys.
More than anything, I remember feeling this incandescent sense of happiness. I loved being with both my parents. Made me feel special.
I also loved being outside, on the ranch, on a horse. Made me feel like I was part of something bigger. The action was exciting. And the attention I got from my parents was…everything.
“Pretty, ain’t it?”
I open my eyes to see Cash on his horse beside me. He’s wearing gloves, his forearms already glistening with sweat.
He’s also wearing chaps today.
Honest-to-goodness chaps . They’re brown leather and held together by a clasp that’s placed distractingly front and center over his crotch.
Words can’t adequately describe how delicious he looks in those things. And the easy, confident way he handles his horse? The hopeful way he asked at breakfast if I was staying on the ranch?
I roll my hips, hoping to alleviate the insistent pressure between my legs. The motion just makes it worse. The seam of my jeans glides roughly over my center, making me want…more.
It makes me want Cash there instead. But that’s not happening, so thank God for vibrators, I guess?
Cash and I rode mostly in silence in his pickup truck to this pasture a little while ago, towing a trailer full of horses behind us. He said we’re about five miles from the barn. Now we’re on horseback—I’m riding Maria, and Cash is on his big black horse, Kix—and his brothers and the other ranch hands are arriving in several Lucky Ranch Dodge Rams behind us. We’re about to start the day’s work.
I smile. “Last time I saw the sunrise, I was walking home from a bar. I was too hungover to appreciate it then. This is…something else.”
“You dirty stayout,” he teases.
“Hell yeah, I was a dirty stayout. Where do you think I learned to dance?”
“I was hoping at cotillion or your dance recitals or some shit.”
I laugh, even as my pulse blares. Cash remembered that I took dance. “I learned there too.”
“You gonna be okay?” Cash nods at Maria. “Holler if you need help.”
I shift in the saddle. “It’s like riding a bike, right? Just need to practice, and it’ll all come back to me.”
“If you say so.”
I reach over to give him a shove. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Mollie Luck, if there’s one thing you don’t need, it’s someone telling you what you can’t do. You know what you’re capable of.” Looking at me, he screws one eye shut against the brightening sun. “So get out there and do the damn thing.”
Smiling, I sit up straighter. “That was a surprisingly great little speech, Cash.”
“Thank you kindly.” He touches his fingers to the front of his hat, looking so much like Brad Pitt from Legends of the Fall that I can only stare, heart lodging itself somewhere in my throat. I half expect Anthony Hopkins to show up and chastise me about ogling his best-looking son.
Are there really no bears out here?
This whole thing would be a lot easier if Cash wasn’t so fucking gorgeous.
“Thanks for letting me tag along,” I manage.
He smirks, sliding a pair of gold-rimmed aviators onto his face. “You’re welcome. Now watch how it’s done.”
And Lord, do I watch. Guiding Maria toward the fringes of the herd, I watch Cash round up the cowboys and head toward the action. It may be the weekend, but all the Rivers brothers, save Sawyer, are here—Ella doesn’t have preschool, so he’s on Dad duty—along with ten or so other ranch hands.
Their dedication is impressive.
They’re all on horseback. The way they work is like a dance: Cash always in the lead on his big black horse, everyone working around him in coordinated steps to move the herd toward another pasture.
Dust fills the air, along with the earthy smells of grass, sweat, and manure. The lowing of cows echoes through a nearby canyon.
It’s not long before the heat arrives, but that doesn’t slow the guys down. I watch, body lighting up, as Cash urges his horse into an all-out gallop to chase down a rogue longhorn. He leans forward in the saddle, one hand on the reins, the other on the rope tied to his saddle.
The graceful, athletic way he and the horse move together is hypnotic. Long strides, sweat flying, singularity of purpose. There’s no hesitation. No concern for how they might look or whether they might stumble.
They just do the damn thing .
They do it very, very well, Cash managing to move the longhorn back toward the herd after a little showdown near the crest of a small hill.
I feel the beat of his horse’s hooves in my chest as Cash thunders my way. He has a big old smile on his face.
“Yeeeee haw ,” he yells.
His joy—his confidence—spreads through the pasture like wildfire, the cowboys returning his shout with yells of their own.
My pulse thrums. This is…fun.
Really fucking fun.
Laughing, I draw a quick breath and let out a yell of my own. “Hot dayum . ”
Wyatt, who’s nearby, whistles. “Dang, girl, you got a set of lungs on you, don’t ya?”
Cash draws his horse to a stop a few feet away. He and the horse are both heaving, a cloud of dust billowing around them. “Were you catcalling me?”
“I was congratulating you.”
Wyatt lifts a brow. “Sounded like a catcall to me.”
Cash grins. “You like what you see, then, City Girl.”
“You still haven’t stopped with that?” Wyatt asks.
“He’s about to.” I click my tongue and give Maria a tap with my heels. She starts walking, head bobbing in time to her steps. I feel Cash’s eyes on me, Wyatt’s too, but I try not to think about that as I ride.
And ride.
And keep riding.
Wyatt told me to squeeze the horse with my legs to stay on, so that’s what I do. I roll my hips, flexing my thighs so I move more easily with the horse.
Half an hour in, I feel a twinge in the small of my back. Nothing too bad, but I know I’m going to be sore tonight.
An hour in, I’m sweating bullets, and so is Maria, but I feel more confident in the saddle. I even attempt a couple of turns that take me closer to the herd.
What would Dad think if he saw me? What would he have said if he were here?
“Lookin’ good,” Wyatt says. “You feel all right?”
“This is a workout, but I’m okay.”
Cash trots over, his shirt plastered to his chest and stomach. “Take a break if you need one. Drink lots of water. More’n you think you need.”
“Who made you boss?” I say with a smirk.
“Your daddy did. You best listen.”
I wag my eyebrows. “Yes sir .”
Wyatt eyes us. “Is this some kinda weird foreplay y’all got going on? ”
“Nah.” I sip water from the thermos Cash dropped into my saddlebag earlier. Bless him, he put ice in it. “Just your brother pretending to be in charge.”
Cash’s forearm flexes as he guides his horse closer. “That a challenge?”
“Just a fact,” I clip.
Wyatt throws back his head and laughs. “She’s got more Garrett in her than I gave her credit for.”
I expect Cash to scowl. Say something underhanded and mean at the very least.
Instead, he just looks at me from under the brim of his hat. “Surprisin’ us all, ain’t she?”
My back hurts from riding. My face hurts from smiling. Having Wyatt and Cash compare me to Dad makes my chest swell.
I really, really wish I’d made more of an effort to see Dad. To get to know him.
I’m really, really proud of the fact that I inherited some of his traits.
Loving this land just might be one of them.
Loving this life , more like it.
My phone vibrates in my saddlebag. By the time I manage to pull it out, there’s no service, so I don’t get to call Mom back.
Honestly, it’s a relief. I doubt she’d have nice things to say about the fact that I’m on a cattle drive with fifteen cowboys in the middle of nowhere.
Really, she wouldn’t have nice things to say about the fact that I’m enjoying it.
But my heart does this funny little somersault when I wonder if she has news from her lawyers. Of course I want to go back to Dallas. I want access to my inheritance so I can make my dreams for Bellamy Brooks come true. That can’t happen soon enough.
The thought of going back to my quiet condo alone, though…I don’t love it. And I don’t know what to think about that.
I chalk that up to the newness of all this. Of course I want to stay on the ranch right now. It’s exciting and fun because it’s new. And there are hot cowboys here. The shine will wear off eventually. Let’s be real; that’ll happen sooner rather than later. I set my alarm for three thirty this morning. I can’t wake up that early forever.
I’m ravenous by the time we load up the trailers and head back to the house for lunch. I inhale one of Patsy’s pulled pork sandwiches from the fridge, which I piled high with homemade slaw and the tangiest, most delicious barbecue sauce on earth. I wash it down with lemonade and one of Sally’s brownies, which Cash begs me to try.
I end up having two. I’m amazed my stomach can handle all this food. It’s kind of a miracle. And I figure I’m burning the calories anyway. It’s nice not to deny myself for once.
It’s nice to use my body in such a physical way. Although my hamstrings sing when I get up from the kitchen table. No wonder these cowboys are bow-legged. A few hours in the saddle, and I’m already waddling around, back screaming, feet aching.
“You need some ibuprofen.” Cash joins me at the sink, taking my empty plate out of my hands. “And a rest.”
I shake my head, determined to make it through a whole day of cowboying. If I’m going to take the literal and proverbial reins here, I’m going to give it my all. “I’ll be fine. Where to next?”
He eyes me. “You sure? I don’t want you hurtin’ yourself.”
“I’m sure,” I say, heart doing that swelling thing again at his concern.
Who knows how much longer I’ll be here?
Who knows when I’ll get to be outside again? The heat is awful, sure. But looking at the negative balance in my business checking account is worse .
I like the fresh air. The sense of purpose I feel when I’m with the cowboys. One thing I’m learning about life on a ranch is that there are always people around, and I think it’s keeping me from getting in my head too much.
Makes me think about how often I’m working alone back home. Am I doing this all wrong? My career? My dreams? My life?
Or am I just suffering from a bad case of grief, mixed with Cash-flavored sexual frustration?
Whatever the case, half an hour later, I’m mucking stalls in the horse barn, alongside Cash and Duke. John B joins us after checking in on Happy.
The heat inside the barn is unreal.
Around two o’clock, I start to fade fast. My back is screaming. My hamstrings feel like rocks in the backs of my legs, and I’m so soaked in sweat, it’s left a gritty, salty residue on my skin. But I don’t want to be the weak link, so I push myself to keep going.
I can collapse into bed right after dinner. Six o’clock bedtime if I eat quickly. Six thirty at the latest.
Cash is busy—no fewer than seven people approach him with questions or problems—but I still catch him watching me from the corner of his eye. I’m nearly delirious with exhaustion, so I could be imagining it. But I think I see a glimmer of admiration in those baby blues.
I may have been born into enormous privilege. But I want to show him that I still work my ass off. Come hell or high water, I’m going to be the last man—woman—standing.
Dad was that guy, even after he made piles of money.
Now I’m going to be that girl.
But man, does this work hurt. Badly. I took the ibuprofen Cash suggested, but I think I’m beyond help at this point.
A whimper escapes my lips as I straighten after helping Cash give Happy her afternoon bottle, a sharp pain slicing through my lower back .
His expression darkens. “You’re hurting, aren’t you?”
“No.” I put my hand on my back, biting back a wince.
I’m glad John B and Duke aren’t here to witness this. They’re out in the corral, tending to some horses that need medical attention.
“Time to call it a day, Mollie.”
I shake my head. I’ll be damned if I disappoint Dad. What would he think of his daughter, the one who can’t make it through a single day on the ranch he loved with all his heart?
My throat closes in. “I’m good.”
“Are you crying?”
Shit, I am crying. The exhaustion, the pain, the wonderfulness of this day—it’s finally getting the better of me.
I won’t let it.
I can’t fall apart now.
I press the back of my wrist to my eyes and blink, hard. “I’m not crying. There’s no crying in cowboying.”
“Cute League of Their Own reference,” Cash says, even as his nostrils flare. “But cowboys do cry, Mollie.”
“Tom Hanks was so good in that movie.”
“Madonna was better.”
My heart dips. Of course he’d say that. Goddamn it, this man is relentless today.
Makes me cry harder. I’m overwhelmed.
I’m so sore, it hurts to breathe.
“I love Madonna.” I wipe my nose on my sleeve.
“Of course you do.” He ducks his head to look me in the eye. Lowers his voice when he says, “You crushed it today, Mollie. No shame in calling it quits. I’ll be doing the same in an hour. Less.”
My heart full-on plummets. “You really think I did okay?”
“I really do. Go home, Mollie.”
“But you need help.”
“You need to rest.”
“You sure? ”
“I’m sure. Let me drive you back to the house in the ATV.”
I shake my head. “Don’t be ridiculous. I can walk.”
“You’re a stubborn motherfucker, aren’t you?”
I can’t tell if his words are a dig or a compliment.
I shuffle toward the stall’s door. “So are you!”
“I’ll walk you home, then.”
“Stop.” I wave him away. “See you in the morning.”
But when I reach for the latch on the door, a muscle in the middle of my back cramps. I cry out, heat flooding my face as my knees buckle. How embarrassing to go down like a sack of potatoes like this.
There’s a shout behind me. “Mollie! Jesus fuck.”
Then I’m scooped into huge, hard arms, Cash literally sweeping me off my feet as he cradles me against him.
I look up at him and my pulse seizes. His eyes are dark. Hard and soft and hot, all at once.
Oh, God. Now I really can’t breathe.
“Cash—”
“Enough,” he snaps. “You’re coming with me. Put your arms around my neck. Don’t make me ask twice, or so help me God, I’ll get really angry.”
His steady, rock-hard tone brooks no argument. It also draws my nipples to tight, aching points.
Go figure. My body is broken, but Cash Rivers can still turn me on like nobody’s business.
Help , I say to the universe.
“Okay,” I say to Cash and loop my arms around his neck.
I’ve never been carried damsel-in-distress style before, and I have to say, I don’t hate it. Cash is barely out of breath as he brings me outside and sets me gingerly in the passenger seat of the nearest ATV.
I startle when he grabs my seat belt and buckles me in, his hand brushing the side of my breast.
“Sorry,” he grunts.
I’m not . “I can do that myself. ”
“Don’t move.”
“Okay, okay.”
I’m confused when Cash hangs a left when we should be making a right to go back to my house. “Where are we going?”
A muscle in his jaw tics. “My place.”
“If you’re planning to have your way with me?—”
“The supplies we need are there.”
“See? Kinky.”
He cuts me a look. “Mollie.”
“Cash.”
“Stop.”
“What supplies are you talking about?”
“You’ll see.”
My chest contracts when we pull up in front of a small log cabin ten minutes later. It looks old, the chinks between the weathered logs thick and uneven, but it appears to have been recently—lovingly—restored. It’s got a sloping tin roof and a wide front porch, stone chimneys standing proudly on either side of the structure. The windows have hand-blown panes that waver in the late afternoon sun. There’s not a smudge or speck of dirt in sight.
It’s romantic and pretty and so very him.
“Cash,” I breathe. “This is yours?”
He dips his head. “Was the original log cabin your great-granddaddy built when he claimed this land. It was abandoned after the farmhouse was built in the twenties. Total wreck when Garrett took over, but he wanted to restore it.”
“Let me guess.” My heart drums an uneven beat inside my chest. “You helped.”
“I did. When he offered it to me as the new foreman’s cabin—hell, that was one of the best days of my life.” Cash climbs out of the ATV. “Probably because I got to move out of the bunkhouse.”
I unbuckle myself, but Cash doesn’t even let me try to stand. Instead, he bends down and reaches for me, pulling me into his arms.
This time, I don’t protest. I just wrap my arms around his neck and allow myself to revel in the luxury of being carried around by a scruffy, foul-mouthed cowboy.
Maybe there really is a heaven, and this is it.
He carries me up the stairs and through the front door. I’m just able to glimpse how clean and neat the interior is before Cash is setting me down inside an absolutely gorgeous bathroom.
It’s rustic; the floor, ceiling, and walls are covered in wood, but the fixtures are all modern. There’s a glass-walled shower, a marble-topped vanity, and a huge, freestanding copper tub that gleams in the low light.
“My one request,” Cash says as he digs a couple of bags out of a cabinet underneath the sink. “The tub. Nothing helps sore muscles like a long, hot soak.”
Scoffing, I look away, my eyes burning. I don’t know why the fact that Cash loves a soak makes me want to cry. Maybe because Dad probably took a lot of pride in restoring this house exactly how Cash wanted it? In being there for this poor guy who lost his parents, dropped out of school, and raised his brothers on his own?
Maybe Dad wasn’t a bad person. Maybe I’m not either. Maybe we were both just hurt people, and we did the best we could with what we had.
Just because we weren’t good to each other doesn’t mean we haven’t been good to the people who are in our lives.
Cash turns on the tap that fills the bathtub. Glancing at the bags he set on the counter, I see that they’re Epsom salts.
Holy God. This cowboy is drawing me a bath. With Epsom salt. Because I’m sore and sad and he’s apparently a thoughtful, stand-up guy.
Would he climb in with me if I asked him ?
I clear my throat. “So the supplies you were talking about?—”
“The salt. And the privacy. Wasn’t sure if you had them at the New House.”
“I don’t think I do.”
After pouring several cups of salt into the water, he straightens, drawing to his full height. The cabin has low ceilings, and Cash looks huge in here. And broad. And sweaty.
“Soak for at least twenty minutes.” He points at the water. “An hour is better, though, so take your time.” He turns, opening a cabinet beside the shower to grab a pair of towels. “I’ll set these on the counter here. Anything else you need?”
I blink, speechless. The herbal, almost-minty scent of eucalyptus blooms inside the room, making my heart skip a beat.
That’s what I’m always smelling on Cash’s skin . He must bathe often in this stuff.
Taking his hat off his head, he spears a hand through his hair. “What?”
“Who the fuck are you?”
His lips twitch. “Your foreman. Now get in the tub.”
Then he walks past me and closes the door.