Chapter 9
Scrooge Plays Nice
Cole
What the hell does she think she’s doing wearing something like that?
Knowing damn well I’m going to be watching her all day.
Maybe that’s the point. Maybe she dressed like this on purpose, payback for how I treated her.
For running. For leaving her out there like a coward. She’s got every right to be pissed.
She’s leaving in six months. That’s the part I can’t get out of my head. She’s not staying here forever. She’s not going to want someone like me. A man who smells like hay and leather, who lives by sunup and sundown, who hasn’t figured out how to want someone without losing them.
She’s a city girl at heart. No matter how good she looks in boots. No matter how natural she seems around the horses. She might say she likes it here, but she doesn’t—not really.
And she made it clear. She’s just looking for fun. That thought should calm me down. It doesn’t.
“Hey, Cole!” someone shouts. “You’ve got three people signed up for roping lessons already. They’re waiting.”
“Sounds good,” I mutter, forcing my attention away from Layla before I do something stupid.
I head toward the roping gate, where Dad’s already teaching someone the basics. He glances up when he sees me, eyes sharp like they always are when he knows more than he’s saying.
“You’ve gotta get your head in the game today, Cole,” he says quietly. “Whatever’s on your mind, let it go.”
I shoot him a look like he just pissed in my cereal.
“Don’t give me that look,” he says under his breath. “You and I both know you’ve been acting strange since Layla got here. Now cut it out.”
“Yeah, well,” I snap, “maybe you shouldn’t have a stranger renting out part of our home.”
Dad steps closer, lowering his voice so no one else can hear. “What I do with my land and my property is none of your business until I’m dead and gone. Your brother, your sister, and I, we like Layla. So either get over your little crush or fix it with her.”
Then he walks off like he didn’t just rip me open. Knowing I built that guest house. And knows exactly who I built it for.
I grit my teeth and head toward the group waiting at the gate, past the dust and noise and laughter, pretending my chest doesn’t feel tight.
“Hey, y’all,” I call out, slipping into work mode like it’s armor. “I’m Cole. Today I’ll be teachin’ you the basics of roping.”
I pat Magic’s neck. “This here’s Magic, best horse we’ve got. So one at a time.”
They listen. They always do. But my eyes keep drifting. To her.
Layla’s down the way at her station, laughing with a kid, crouched low to help him climb onto a pony.
Her shorts ride up her thighs when she bends.
The sun hits her skin just right. She looks happy.
Confident. Like she belongs. I hate it. I hate how quickly she’s catching on—like she’s been here forever instead of five minutes.
I hate how easily she fits in, how people look at her like she belongs.
She doesn’t. This isn’t her place. She should go back to her yuppy town, back to her yuppy life, where people like her land on their feet and never have to fight for space.
And the worst part? The thing I don’t want to admit, even to myself, is how hard I’m working to convince myself that I actually do hate it.
The class is going well. People are laughing, sweating, having a damn good time. It’s hot as hell out here, the sun beating straight down, and I’ve got a crook in my neck from constantly looking to my left, down the hill at Layla.
I can’t stop. My body reacts every time I catch sight of her, like it knows something my brain keeps trying to forget. Like I’m only thinking with my dick and not my heart or my brain.
She looks unreal doing what she’s doing. Natural. Like she belongs here, like the ranch bent itself around her the second she showed up. Watching her with the kids does something to me I don’t want to name. She crouches down, talks soft, smiles easy, shows them there’s nothing to be scared of.
It’s one thing to be drop-dead gorgeous. It’s another thing to be drop-dead gorgeous and kind. That’s the kind of woman men ruin themselves over. But I won’t be one of them.
The fact that she’s not here for good scares the shit out of me.
That’s why I keep my distance. Because if this keeps escalating and it already feels like it is—I don’t know how I stop myself.
Six months. That’s all she is. A temporary thing.
A woman who’ll leave and take every damn feeling with her.
Her being here feels like some sick test. Like God decided to dangle something perfect right in front of me just to see how long I could keep my hands to myself.
Here you go, Cole.
Look. Want. Don’t touch.
Everyone’s doing great on the roping dummies. And yeah, that’s because I’m a great teacher. Dad is too.
“Y’all are doing fantastic with the groundwork,” I shout. “Let’s keep practicing. If time allows, we’ll get a few of you on horseback.”
I pause, scanning the group.
“You can book lessons with me or my younger brother Luke.”
Dad nods at me, proud as hell.
Then my eyes drift back to Layla.
There’s a backup forming down there—kids waiting, parents hovering.
“Dad,” I nod toward her.
“Go grab more ropes, bring ’em back, then go help her,” he says.
I start to move, but he stops me.
“Son,” he says quietly, “she’s doing a great job. Make sure she knows that.”
“Yup,” I mutter.
I jog down toward the stables where Layla’s standing, right in front of the rope bin. I reach past her without thinking.
My arm brushes her thigh. Bare skin. Her breath catches so sharp it goes straight through me.
So does mine. I look up. Our eyes meet. The air goes thick.
Heavy. Hot. My body reacts instantly—hard and needy.
I step back before I embarrass us both. Not here.
Not now. Not in front of everyone. I shut the hatch too fast, heart hammering like it’s trying to punch out of my chest, and damn near sprint back up the hill.
I drop the ropes at Dad’s feet and turn right back around, forcing myself to breathe like a man who isn’t losing control.
I head back to Layla.
“Let’s make two lines,” I call out. “Second turn to the left. Folks who haven’t gone yet get priority.”
She taps my shoulder.
“Am I not doing okay?” she asks, eyes searching mine.
Those brown eyes could ruin my life. I almost tell her she’s doing more than good. That she’s driving me insane. That I haven’t stopped thinking of her since the creek. Almost.
I shrug, keeping my voice light while my body stays tight and angry. “You’re doing fine. Dad just asked me to help. You’re popular—everybody wants a turn with city girl.”
“Screw you,” she laughs.
That laugh hits low in my gut.
“You would,” I chuckle.
“Okay everyone, tickets out and ready!” she calls out.
And fuck, she fits here. Too well. Like the ranch already knows she’s dangerous.
She’s sweating now, cheeks flushed, hair sticking to her neck. I track the way her chest rises, the way her body moves when she laughs. She keeps joking about wanting a pool, and all I can think about is the creek. The water. Her skin. The way she looked at me right before I ran.
She shoots me a look, tongue sticking out—hot, tired, playful.
I nod back, jaw tight.
A little boy starts crying, scared of the pony.
Layla scoops him up without hesitation, settles him on her hip, murmuring something soft until his dad steps in.
I can’t hear them over the noise, but I can see it.
The dad’s flirting. Of course he is. She flirts back—easy, confident.
Twirling her hair, hand on her hip like she doesn’t even have to try.
She isn’t doing anything wrong. That’s what pisses me off.
She isn’t checking to see if I’m watching. She doesn’t need to.
Then he hands her his phone. What. The. Fuck. She types something into it. She doesn’t hesitate and that guts me. My jaw locks. My fists curl. Heat crawls under my skin, ugly and possessive and completely unjustified.
She turns back to the next customer, smiling like she didn’t just knock the breath out of me.
And I’m standing there pissed off, hard, jealous, and dangerously aware of the fact that she isn’t mine.
So why does it feel like I’m already losing her?
And why does the idea of another man touching her make my chest burn like it damn well should be me?
It’s starting to get dark now, the sky bleeding into deep purples and burnt orange, and people are packing up, trucks rumbling to life, kids dragging tired feet behind their parents. The air smells like barbecue and smoke and summer heat, and my stomach growls loud enough that I feel it in my ribs.
I’m starving.
I walk up to Layla, close enough that the heat rolling off her body reaches me.
“You did good today,” I say low, just for her.
She smiles up at me, that soft, open smile that makes my chest tighten. “Thanks, Scrooge. I appreciate that. I was worried I was going to let you down.”
I try to put a smile on my face, but the image of that guy talking to her earlier won’t leave me alone. Him standing too close. Her laughing. Her ease with it.
“Are you okay?” she asks, eyes scanning me from head to toe like she’s taking inventory.
Man… this girl notices everything.
I nod once. “I’m tired,” I say, even though it’s only half the truth.
She smiles, but I can tell she doesn’t buy it. Her eyes linger, searching, like she’s about to push. About to ask the question I don’t want to answer.
She opens her mouth—but then—
“Hey, girl!” Maggie calls, wrapping her arms around Layla’s shoulders from behind. “You did great! You ready to eat?”
“Oh my god, yes,” Layla laughs, already turning away. “I’m starving and hot and thirsty.”
She walks off with Maggie, her laugh trailing behind her, and damn—watching her walk away does something dark and hungry to me. The sway of her hips. The way she moves like she knows she’s being looked at, even if she pretends she doesn’t.
My thoughts go places they shouldn’t. She turns around. Catches me. Gives me that look. Slow. Knowing. Like she can read exactly where my mind just went.
I tilt my head and smirk back, heat pooling low in my gut. This thing between Layla ain’t over. It’s just begun.