Chapter 2
ONE MONTH LATER
“D id you land safely? Did your bag arrive? If you meet a nice cowgirl or cowboy, please promise you’ll bring them home to meet me. Don’t make me fly out to Montana just to get a scrap of information about your love life.”
“Mom… Christ… take a breath.”
“Well?”
I readjust the wide duffel strap on my shoulder and make my way through the small crowd milling around the baggage claim area. It takes all the effort I can muster not to grin at the ratio of Stetsons on display.
It’s like I’ve stepped off the plane and entered into an alternate reality, one where everyone walks around wearing their best hats, boots, and belt buckles.
Though I’m certainly not complaining at the way all these pairs of jeans are hugging asses like it’s their only job.
God bless the mountains and the array of denim-clad, perfect, perky rear ends.
“Sage Ashwini Maloney, are you even listening to me?”
“Oooh. Did you just middle name me? Fine. No, we spiraled into a fiery heap on the runway. Sadly my bag has been charred amongst the wreckage, but on the upside, a cute cowgirl in faded cut-offs saved me. Would you believe we’re currently on the back of her horse clip-clopping off into the sunset together.”
“Good lord. What did I do wrong in a past life?”
“Remember, I’m the gift that keeps on giving.” As I continue to taunt my saint of a mother, I spot my luggage coming around the far bend. Making some smiling apologies, I squeeze past a group of lads who certainly look like they’re in this part of the country for a weekend of pretending to be cowboys.
One of them has forgotten to cut the price off his plaid shirt, the swing tag clearly hanging down the back of his collar.
“Excuse me.” I tuck my phone against my shoulder and gesture at the slowly approaching siren-red suitcase.
“Here, let me, pretty lady.” One of the dude-ranch tourists closest to the carousel reaches out to grab the handle and sweeps the case off the conveyor with the kind of flourish you’d expect from someone landing the catch of the day.
Do not wear your mood on your face .
I mouth a silent thank you, and quickly whisk myself away from their eau-du-frat-boy.
“Who was that?” Mom pries, as she loves to do, and I can hear my younger sisters giggling. Their pop music blasts and chopping sounds add to the background commotion as they help out with their usual after school chores and make dinner alongside Mom.
“He had a better manicure and more regularly moisturized hands than I do, is who that was. No, thank you.” Pausing once I get to a quiet spot on the edge of the baggage claim hall, I pull my phone away from my ear and check the time. “Look, I’m going to have to wrap this interrogation up. I’ll text you when I get to Crimson Ridge, yeah?”
“At least Layla is there to keep an eye on you.” She sighs at me.
“I’m pretty sure there’s only one place her eyes are occupied these days. Besides, I’m not gonna be doing anything but working my ass off this summer. Remember, I’ve got three different client projects all going on.”
“And we’re mighty proud of you. Maloney’s will take over the world.” My dad’s deep voice calls from somewhere in the distance.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Is your boss picking you up?” His voice comes closer, Irish accent always sounding thicker over the phone somehow. My mom’s laugh is slightly muffled when she scolds him in that sweet way she does when he insists on stealing a taste of something as it’s still cooking. My parents are sickeningly in love, and deserve every single moment of their happily ever after.
It’s probably no surprise my standards are so skyscraper high, soaring amongst the clouds—set to have my heart turning to ice from living at such an altitude. In my experience, nothing and no one has ever come close to the kind of relationship they have, and I simply refuse to settle for anything less than the person who lets me shine the brightest while being myself.
So, rather than dull my spark, or shrink to fit someone else’s expectations, I have plenty of fun and keep my heart safely locked away. A foolproof plan. The kind that I probably should talk about more in therapy, rather than sidestepping all the time.
“Highly unlikely. Mrs. Diaz, the ranch manager, is meeting me. When we spoke on the phone for my interview, she said the owner is retired, hates social media, and enjoys working his ranch, alone . I’m fairly certain I’m never going to see the guy. Pretty much guaranteed he isn’t going to be over the moon at the prospect of dealing with a twenty-something-year-old hired to run the ranch PR, either. He’s probably going to be allergic to cell phones and shooting me glares from his rocking chair on the porch at every opportunity.”
A buzz comes through as a text arrives, and I pull the phone away from my ear to take a quick glance.
UNKNOWN
Sage, it’s Tessa Diaz.
I’m so sorry to do this to you when you’ve only just arrived. Something has come up, and I can’t be there to meet you at the airport.
Look for your name on a board when you get to the meet and greet area.
My darling mother is chatting away in the background, having three different conversations between me and wrangling my sisters. “Fleur—no—that’s far too much salt... Sage, you’ll be fine, love... Pia, baby, wait, you need to make sure the oil is hot enough… make sure to mention?—”
“Mom, IloveyoubutIgottagobye .” Pulling the phone away from my ear, I talk loudly into the speaker and hit the end-call button.
With a long, blown-out breath, I regather myself amongst the bustle of luggage trolleys and electronic chimes, followed by droning arrival announcements over the loudspeaker.
This is the opportunity of my dreams—not only have I landed multiple clients for my freelance marketing business straight away, but this gig with the ranch I’ve secured includes bed and board as part of the deal. A full package to see me through the summer I’ll be working there.
Mrs. Diaz—Tessa—insisted that it would be the best solution to base myself at the ranch rather than attempting to find temporary accommodation in Crimson Ridge. Shit, do I owe my bestie, Layla, the biggest hug ever for her connections. As soon as they heard I’d come recommended by St?rmand Lane —a friend of her man, Colt, and local rodeo celebrity—what was supposed to be an interview instantly pivoted to become a straightforward conversation confirming my rates and when I could begin. Naturally, I jumped to sign and agreed to start at the earliest opportunity.
Tessa didn’t hesitate to confirm my contract on the spot, without even needing to talk face-to-face.
So, here I am, back on Montana soil, preparing to settle into life among the mountains for the next few months. At least, until fall flutters her first golden leaves to the ground that is. By then, I’ll be on my way to the next project calling my name.
Not only will I be able to experience first-hand what it’s like to be on the ranch, I’ll be staying there as if I’m a future guest. Getting a sense of how the place will feel once the business eventually welcomes booking into the cabins on-site. In addition to that, Tessa was so determined to have me on board that I’m going to be able to work with my other clients I’ve got lined up at the same time.
All of which suits me perfectly, because the last time I was in Crimson Ridge, I managed to leave town not only with a list of prospective business opportunities, but a lingering crush on a complete stranger. The kind of fuckery that never happens to me. Ever.
I’m not the girl who can’t stop thinking about a five-minute interaction on the sidewalk. More to the point, I certainly do not need to spend this summer distracted by thoughts of whether I’ll run into a certain gorgeous cowboy again on the sleepy main street.
In no universe do I need to be stuck thinking about the kind of man who gives you bedroom eyes one minute, only to discover he’s got a wife with a big fuck off wedding ring that could poke an eye out if she so much as wiggled a manicured finger, the next.
As much as I enjoy a whole lot of fun, I’m in no way interested in being a homewrecker. Single, uncomplicated, and down for no-strings-attached fooling around: that’s the only bio I’m interested in swiping right on. Other than building a stellar reputation as the hottest new boutique marketing agency of the year, the kind of sizzling hot summer I intend on having up here in these mountains is one where the adventures come complete with a pair of cowboy boots. The kind that aren’t already parked under someone else’s bed.
Life is too fleeting, too precious, not to enjoy every moment with both hands in the air and head tossed back, screaming your favorite lyrics at the top of your lungs.
A man or woman with baggage? Nope. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.
Quickly typing a reply to acknowledge Tessa, I re-shoulder my bag, grab the handle of my luggage, and make my way toward the doors leading into the public arrival area. From what I remember last time, there won’t exactly be a grandstand crowd waiting on the other side.
This is a part of the country where the skies are vast, and the environment is breathtaking. Nothing moves quickly out here. While it’s a whole different scenario to city living, I’m more fond of Crimson Ridge after a few visits to see my bestie than I’d dare admit to her.
Knowing Layla, if she catches wind of the soft spot I’ve developed for this sleepy place and the unending assortment of cute cows at every turn, she’ll have me lassoed to the back of a horse and force me to settle down permanently. She’ll do it all within a blink of those emerald eyes she wields so effortlessly, too.
As the frosted glass doors swish open ahead of me and warm summer air hits my cheeks, my eyes scan the cluster of tiny white boards with names scrawled on them.
Miss Maloney.
Mine peeks back at me over the top of the heads of the few others waiting on passengers, and I flick my eyes to follow the arm holding my name aloft.
An arm that extends, muscled, tanned, and deliciously veined beneath a white t-shirt.
Holy shit.
My mouth gapes, and the words tumble out with no hope of stopping them.
“Cock Ring? Is that you?”