19. Mollie
CHAPTER 19
Mollie
BACKSLIDING
Cash is weirdly quiet on the drive home.
And I am weirdly turned on wearing his green Hatton’s Tractor Supply & More T-shirt and a pair of red basketball shorts.
They’re old clothes. Soft and nubby from countless days in the sun, countless cycles through the washing machine. But wearing them still gives me a sense of intimacy with Cash that’s at odds with our budding friendship.
Can I even call it that? We’re coworkers, technically. But after everything we just shared—after he scooped me up, carried me to his house, and ran me a bath, complete with an absurd amount of Epsom salt in it—I’m not sure where we stand.
More than coworkers, less than friends?
More than friends, less than…what?
Is he weirded out by the intense conversation we had through his bathroom door? Even now, my stomach flips at the thought that he stayed . Not only that, but he sat outside the door and made sure I was okay.
I cried, and I think he cried, too, and I’m so overwhelmed that he opened up to me that my heart won’t quit pinging around my chest like a pinball.
Glancing at him, I take in his handsome profile. He ditched his cowboy hat and is wearing the backward baseball cap again. His scruff is darker and thicker than it was this morning.
A wave of desire hits me, hard, landing in the backs of my knees with this hot, tingly rush that makes me want to giggle and scream all at once. I hold the handle on the ATV’s frame in a death grip.
My heart takes a nosedive when the New House comes into view. I’m not ready for whatever this is to end.
Guess there’s no use fighting these feelings anymore. They’re clearly here to stay. I just can’t act on them.
I unbuckle my seat belt when Cash parks at the back door. “Thanks for the therapy session. And the tub.”
“Feel any better?”
“I do, yeah.”
Our eyes meet. The air between us vibrates.
Kiss me, you stupid bastard .
I want him to kiss me more than I’ve wanted something in a long, long time.
Scratch that. I wanted him to join me in the tub even more. I kept thinking about how hot it would be, literally and figuratively, if Cash slipped in behind me. Cradled me between those big thighs and then reached between mine.
“Well…” His Adam’s apple bobs.
I lick my lips, laughing nervously. “I’ll get these clothes back to you.”
“Keep ’em.” His eyes flick over me, one side of his mouth tipping up. “They look good on you.”
“Fishing for compliments now?” I grin. “Waiting for me to say they look better on you?”
He splays the hand he’s got on top of the wheel. “Well, yeah. ”
You’re hot as fuck, and you know it. I don’t need to tell you that.
“Keep dreaming, cowboy.”
He laughs. “Get some rest. And keep taking that Advil.”
“Yes sir .”
His eyes flash. “I like it when you call me sir.”
Must.
Get.
Inside.
Immediately . Or I’ll combust. Or do something really stupid and lean in and kiss him myself.
“Don’t get used to it.” I sniff, and then I make a mad dash for the house.
The next morning, I wake up sore, but not as sore as I thought I’d be. I worried I’d be pretty close to dead when my alarm went off at three thirty, even though Cash told me to take the day off. I don’t bound out of bed, but I’m able to walk to the bathroom without wanting to die.
My pulse leaps. Good. That means I get to do my cowgirl thing again today. Which means I get to see Cash. And all the other cowboys. Because I like cowboys in general, not one cowboy specifically.
At least that’s what I tell myself as I brush my teeth and braid my hair.
But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t downright giddy as I open my bedroom door at five till four. Will Cash want another omelet?
Will he do that obscenely sexy thing where he opens another bottle of hot sauce for me?
I draw up short when I see several shopping bags on the floor in the hall outside my door. Leaning down to open one, I see that they’re filled with bags of Epsom salt.
Eucalyptus scented .
There’s no note, but I don’t need one.
Barely able to breathe, I grab a bag and scurry to the kitchen. Cash is at the coffeepot, pouring coffee into a pair of mugs. He tops each one off with milk and sugar and then lifts them, turning.
He grins when he sees me.
“What’s this?” I hold up the Epsom salts.
Cash casually sips his coffee, like he didn’t just perform a gesture that’s not exactly grand, but not exactly small, either. Because I’m not sure I’ve ever received such a thoughtful gift. Sure, I’ve gotten elaborate gifts. Ridiculous ones. But gifts that are thoughtful and sweet, given out of kindness, not obligation?
Never.
“You need to be in that tub every night, Mollie.”
“Your tub?”
His grin twitches. “If you want.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Thank you is a good start.”
I only set down the bag when Cash holds out a mug of coffee to me. “Thank you. I really mean that.” Crossing the kitchen, I take the mug. “And thank you for this too.”
Am I imagining it, or did Cash intentionally brush his fingers against mine? Electricity zips up my arm, awareness blooming inside my skin.
“The salt makes a difference, doesn’t it?” Cash’s eyes are locked on mine. “You seem to be moving around pretty well this morning.”
He noticed how I’m moving?
Why does that make me blush? And smile? And want to tackle him?
Where the hell is Patsy? Oh, right. She has weekends off.
“You were right,” I manage. “It helps.”
“Bet it kills you to say those words. ”
I hold up my fingers, pinching them together. “Only a little.”
He watches me sip my coffee. I watch him sip his. Fire streaks through me at the satisfied rumble that sounds inside his chest.
“Do you work every weekend?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I actually have them off, but I work anyway.”
“Of course you do.”
His lips twitch as his eyes lock on mine over the rim of his coffee mug. “Don’t know what I love more. My morning coffee or my afternoon beer.”
“Depends on who you’re having it with, I think.”
His hair is still wet from the shower. The smell of his soap is intoxicating.
I am this close to jumping the man’s bones.
Especially when he says, “Then I think I like my coffee more.”
Don’t flirt back.
Do. Not. Flirt.
“Or your evening Shiner Bocks at The Rattler,” I say.
That rumble of laughter. That smile. That happy, playful gleam in his blue eyes. “I like that too.”
Oh, Lord, am I falling for this guy?
That would be a disaster—a risk I can’t take. Especially now that I’m getting involved in the ranch’s day-to-day operations.
Especially now that I’m starting to like the place.
I’ve learned Lucky Ranch is what it is because of Cash. I lose him, there’s a very good chance I lose my family’s legacy. I want to do Dad proud.
Which means I absolutely cannot do Cash.
Even if he is kind. Thoughtful. And so hot it hurts sometimes.
Maybe I just need to get laid. Surely, this is just sexual frustration rearing its ugly head? I bet some good sex with someone other than Cash will cure me of any inconvenient attraction I may feel for my foreman.
But who the hell do I sleep with in Hartsville? I can’t pick up any of the other cowboys or ranch hands. I don’t have the time—or the energy—to hang at The Rattler by myself and meet people there. Could I possibly shoot back to Dallas next weekend? Then again, Goody and I haven’t discussed my ability to come and go from the ranch like that.
The answer comes the next morning, on Monday.
Or, really, later that night. Guess Palmer was having Sunday Funday and stayed out late, because he sent a text at eleven forty-five p.m.
Palmer Mason
U up?
My pulse thuds. I could ignore him. I probably should.
But I need to do something to keep my feelings for Cash in check. Otherwise, I think I’ll go crazy—or worse, give in to those feelings.
I move my thumbs over the screen before I can think better of it.
How far are you willing to drive for a hookup?
He replies a few hours later.
You’re on that ranch, aren’t you? The one you inherited.
Three hours from Dallas
I think I can swing that.
This weekend?
I’m in.
It works out perfectly. Well, kind of. I don’t want to make Cash jealous or anything. But chances are, Palmer and I won’t even leave my bedroom. Cash doesn’t have to know he’s here. No one has to know, really. I can always say I’m tied up with boot business.
I’m being stupid. I know I am. But I don’t know what else to do.
I didn’t come to Hartsville for a roll in the literal and proverbial hay with the man who runs my dad’s ranch.
I definitely didn’t come here to fall in love.
I came to get my money and keep Bellamy Brooks in business. Learning how to cowgirl from cute cowboys is just an added bonus.
Nothing more, nothing less.
“I have a bone to pick with you.”
Mom scoffs. “Oh? Do tell.”
I tuck my wet hair behind my ears. I just got out of the shower after spending the entire day outside on the ranch. It was a good day.
A really good day. Mostly because I kept catching Cash looking at me, which made me feel hot and bothered and wonderful.
More than that, he looked out for me. When I started to sag in the saddle, he reminded me to drink some water. When Wyatt asked if I wanted to help muck stalls, Cash swiftly intervened and took me inside with him to the ranch office. We answered emails pertaining to the upcoming winter calving, and he explained in detail how the whole thing worked.
Even now my heart flutters at how patient he was with me. The way he took his time made me feel like he actually enjoyed us being together.
I sure as hell did.
But now I have to have a super-awkward conversation with my mother, which I’ve been putting off for as long as I can.
“Dad’s funeral,” I say carefully. “You told me you invited all his friends and family.”
A telling pause.
“You’re judging me for not inviting some random ranch hands to your father’s funeral, aren’t you?”
“These people aren’t random, Mom.” My heart is a furnace inside my chest. “They’re his family. Maybe they’re not related by blood, but he loved them, and it was wrong not to give them a chance to say goodbye.”
“Sweetheart, I don’t know those people from Adam. I wouldn’t even know where to begin with the invitations. The church was small, and your father wouldn’t have wanted a big to-do anyway.”
I bite my tongue to keep myself from saying something I’ll regret. “You could’ve begun by talking to the people Dad worked with every day for decades. I imagine Goody reached out to you—she would’ve told you who he was close with.”
Mom clears her throat. “What’s done is done. I’m sorry you’re upset?—”
“I am upset. I’m also embarrassed. This makes us look mean and coldhearted. Everyone here is grieving. They’re good people, Mom. They deserve better.”
Another pause.
“I’m sorry.”
My heart clenches at the sadness in Mom’s voice. I cover my face with my hand.
“We need to do better, Mom. I’m trying. You need to try too. ”
Mom’s swallow is audible through the phone. “I’ll do my best. So things are okay there?”
“Things are good. Mostly because the people are wonderful.”
“Oh.” Mom’s never one to be caught speechless, so I know I must be getting through to her. “I’m relieved to hear they’re treating you well. I miss you, sweetheart. So damn much.”
My turn to swallow hard. Unless Mom is traveling or super busy, she and I talk on a regular basis multiple times a week.
“I miss you too. But I’m starting to think…” My eyes burn. I squeeze them shut. “I like it here. A lot. I know you didn’t, and I understand why. But I can’t let that keep me from giving Lucky Ranch a chance.”
“Oh. Well, okay. Just as long as you come back to Dallas.”
I’d roll my eyes if they didn’t hurt so much. “I should go. Supper will be ready in a few minutes.”
“Be careful with the food. I don’t want your stomach becoming more of an issue.”
“My stomach has actually felt so much better since I’ve been here.”
“Really?”
I laugh, the sound hollow. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m happy for you. Wonder what it is that agrees with you.”
Fresh air? Less stress? Hot cowboys?
All of the above?
“I’m not sure what it is, but I want more of it.”
Awkward silence.
“Remember, you said you’d do your best,” I say at last.
“I will. And remember, you’re coming home. Good night, sweetheart.”
“Bye, Mom.”
I cowgirl most of the week.
The weather is cooling off ever so slightly now that we’re approaching October. One morning is even close to crisp. I can’t get enough of it. The sun, the action, the way the cowboys rib each other while tossing lassos and caring for injured cows.
Maria and I finally bond. I’m more confident in the saddle with each passing day.
We’re so in tune, I even eat like a horse, devouring Patsy’s excellent cooking. One night, she makes these melt-in-your-mouth ribs, slathered in sweet, tangy barbecue sauce that’s so good, I practically finish a rack of ribs myself. I can’t get enough of the cheesy grits she makes one morning or the homemade chicken salad she pairs with croissants she bakes from scratch for lunch.
My stomach hasn’t hurt in…wow, a week now. Makes me think my problem isn’t food or any kind of allergy. It’s something else entirely. Can fresh air cure stomach pain? Was there something in the water in Dallas that was killing me?
Or do I just like life on a ranch more than life in the city?
I try not to dwell too much on that last question, because the implications are…alarming, to say the least. I’m not staying on Lucky Ranch. Not for the long haul, anyway.
But I do love how wrung out my body feels at the end of each day. I dutifully take my Epsom salt baths and then fall into bed.
I’ve never slept so well in my life.
I’ve also been struggling to juggle my responsibilities. I’ll squeeze in some Bellamy Brooks stuff after supper in the evenings, but needless to say, I don’t last long before I’m nodding off.
By the time Friday rolls around, I’ve missed so many calls and have so many emails and invoices to catch up on, I decide to take the whole day off from doing my cowgirl thing to do my cowboy-boot-designer thing instead. Palmer is arriving this afternoon, too, and I want to take a long shower so I can shave everything and wash my hair.
Cash blinks when I inform him at breakfast that I won’t be joining him and the other cowboys today. “Oh.”
My heart somersaults. “If y’all need me?—”
“Do your thing. We got it handled.”
“You sure?”
He sips his coffee. “I’m sure.”
“You’re gonna miss me, aren’t you?”
“Maria will. She likes you.”
I smile, even as my heart does another flip. Why do I get the feeling Cash is disappointed? Does he actually want me out there with him?
Is he actually going to miss me?
“Enough with the guilt trip,” I say.
His eyes glitter. “Passive-aggressive ain’t my style, Mollie. But you’re the one who’s gotta share the news with your horse. She cries, that’s on you.”
“She’s Dad’s horse.” I shove Cash’s shoulder. “And horses don’t actually cry, do they?”
He shrugs. “You’re about to find out, aren’t you?”
I don’t want to laugh, but I do.
I don’t want to think about Cash and Maria and the other cowboys as I clear out my inbox later that morning in the soaring, silent office at the front of the New House, but I do.
Wheeler picks right up when I call her. “Hey, hey.”
“Good morning,” I singsong. “How’s it going?”
“Don’t you sound chipper! Please tell me it’s because you got railed by a cowboy with a rock-hard?—”
“Only railing I’ve dealt with this week was the kind that makes a fence.”
Wheeler chuckles. “Look at you, doing authentic ranch shit! I’m proud of you. But I’d be prouder if you did the other kind of railing too.”
Trust me, I’ve thought about it. A lot .
“So, my stipend’s about to hit our account.”
“You’re not very smooth at changing the subject. Wait, wait. You didn’t get railed, but you’re getting close. Oh my God!” She’s squealing now. “Yay for you! There’s a reason they say cowboys do it better, and faster, and harder, and all the things.”
“Actually, I invited Palmer to the ranch.”
Dead silence.
Then, “You’re telling me you’re surrounded by hot cowboys, but you’re going to have sex with Gordon Gekko instead?”
“Oh, stop. Just because Palmer’s not your cup of tea?—”
“He’s fine, Mollie. But that’s all he is. Fine. And not in the sexy sense of the word either.”
Wheeler’s hung out with Palmer and me a few times, usually at the tail end of a night out when Palmer or I send each other the proverbial U up? text. If he’s close by, he’ll usually meet me at whatever bar I’m at, and then we’ll head to my place or to his.
“He gets the job done,” I say diplomatically.
“That’s a job someone else can do better. How’s Cash?”
Clicking on an email, I roll my eyes. “He’s fine. So once we have the money, let’s firm up our completion dates with?—”
“You’re cute.”
“What? C’mon, Wheeler, focus. I have a lot to catch up on.”
“I know you have a crush on him.”
I scan the email. “Crush or not, it’s never happening. We work together.”
“Perfect. You can get busy in the barn and no one will blink an eye.”
“Real-life barns aren’t nearly as picturesque as Yellowstone makes them look.”
“Who cares? It’d be so hot. He could use, like, the reins from a horse to tie you up, and then he could bend you over a saddle?—”
“ Wheeler. ”
“Sorry, sorry,” she says, laughing. “I’m just having too much fun living out my cowboy fantasies through you. The money is coming, Mollie. Thank you for that. I’m not saying it isn’t a huge deal, because it is. But we’re going to be fine. No, we’re going to be better than that. Bellamy Brooks is going to crush it. Which means you’re free to…have fun with reins and saddles.”
I roll my eyes again, even as my heart skips a beat. “I still have to finalize the stitching design on the Brittney boot. And I love the pebbled leather we chose for the Keira boot, but I’m not sure if I love love it. Then there’s all those invoices that are past due…”
“They’ll get paid on Thursday, when the money hits. We got this. I got this.”
“You shouldn’t have to deal with all this on your own. That’s not fair.”
“Who knows? Maybe I’ll have my own cowboy romance keeping me busy one day, and you can cover for me then. In the meantime, take me up on my offer to do the bulk of the work you’re talking about and go enjoy your time on your dad’s ranch. Sounds like the place is surprising you in all the best ways.”
My heart’s skipped several beats at this point. Lucky Ranch is surprising me. I am being kept busy and by a kind of romance too. Maybe I don’t only have a crush on Cash. Maybe I’m crushing on Hartsville, too, and Patsy and Happy and Ella and Maria.
I’m already head over heels in love with mornings on the ranch. And the sunsets, the stars—those are spectacular too.
“What I’m saying is, please run off with a cowboy,” Wheeler continues.
“Ha. ”
Truth is, though, I’m more than a little tempted to do just that.
Which is why I feel a swoop of relief when, a couple of hours later, I hear the sound of tires on gravel. Glancing out the window, I see a big, shiny GMC pickup pull up to the house.
Funny, but even though Palmer’s car is a truck, it still looks out of place on the ranch. The shiny wheels maybe? Platinum grill?
Like I care. I asked Palmer to come for the weekend for one reason and one reason only.
Distraction. Nothing like some solid sex to clear cute cowboys from my head. Palmer is a good reminder that my stay on Lucky Ranch is temporary. My life is still in Dallas.
It will always be in Dallas. And Cash will always be in Hartsville.
Not like I’m looking for anything long-term anyway. But if I were?—
I’d want to end up with someone like him .
Slamming my laptop shut, I dash to the bathroom. I yank off my glasses and put in my contacts, and then I’m at the front door to greet Palmer.
He looks better than ever as he smirks at me, pulling me in for a hug. “And you thought I wouldn’t come.”
“You always come.”
“Good one.” He squeezes me. “You’re welcome.”
I scoff. “You always say that.”
“I always mean it. What do you smell like?” He sniffs at my skin. “That’s new.”
“Eucalyptus. I take Epsom salt baths every night. Helps with the soreness.”
He grins. “You’re turning into a bona fide cowgirl, aren’t you? C’mon, then, Annie Oakley. Show me around your ranch. This place is sick. ”
“You—wait, you actually want to see the ranch?” I furrow my brow. “I thought we’d, you know, just hang here.”
Palmer arches a brow. “We have plenty of time to hang . C’mon. I drove all the way out here, Mollie. I wanna do some country shit. See some horses, ride some four-wheelers. Go out and have beers at a dive bar.”
My stomach pitches when I think about the possibility of us running into Cash. Or any of the Rivers boys, really, because they’ll definitely tell their older brother about my visitor.
Why does the idea of Cash meeting Palmer—the idea of Cash knowing I invited the guy I hook up with to the ranch—make me feel queasy? Again, my intention in bringing Palmer here isn’t to make Cash jealous or anything. It’s to keep my feelings for that cowboy in check. I figure if I release some pent-up sexual energy, I’ll stop thinking about Cash’s Wrangler butt all the time.
I’ll stop wanting him so much.
I also don’t want to be a total dick to Palmer. He did just drive two hundred miles to see me. And so what if we run into Cash? His opinion of my friends—my hookups—doesn’t matter.
At least that’s what I tell myself when I paste on a smile and say, “Okay. Sure.”