Chapter 6
W hen I was eight, I decided to cut my own bangs, all because my mom told me I wasn’t allowed to get them. So, of course, my stubborn ass decided to prove that I did, in fact, need them, or else I might simply expire.
Instead of the cute, stylish, face-framing style of my dreams, I looked like I had sprouted stubby little lopsided devil horns, which stuck out from my forehead at right angles. To compound my humiliation, the second it became humid, they would curl into tiny comical nubs, and make the whole situation infinitely worse. I was stuck having to clip my disastrous experiment back for what felt like an eternity, until my hair finally grew back.
Even that fiery hell of shame pales in comparison to now knowing what I know, thanks to a one a.m. internet sleuthing session.
Not much can make a girl like me feel the sting of embarrassment at twenty-five years young, but knowing who my new boss is, seeing his professional rodeo career spelled out in online search terms, and discovering that he’s married to Mandy Spires of all people… well, I’m not sure how to describe the cluster fuck of thoughts occupying my brain.
The man who owns this ranch is practically the patron saint of bull riding in this part of the world. A god-like creation, born to carry a cowboy swagger while displaying a fearlessness that is simply heart-stopping.
Is it worse that I told him he didn’t know the way to a woman’s clit, or that I called him Cock Ring in a busy airport? Or maybe let’s just land on the fact he had to scoop my vibrator off the sidewalk.
It’s not that I’m embarrassed about who I am, or being a person who happily takes her own pleasure and desires into her own hands. I’m not ashamed of being an outspoken woman. No, I’m simply mortified that all those things somehow ended up coexisting in the same whirlpool of circumstances with the man I have to look in the eye while handing over an invoice for my services.
Beau Heartford is indeed worthy of being first-and-last-named in the same reverential breath. He’s good. As in really good. A superstar on the back of a bull throughout his pro career. I suppose past tense is appropriate in this instance since he’s been retired for a few years now.
My online sleuthing as to why my new boss has starry-eyed fans stopping him for autographs brought up a never-ending series of video clips of him being tossed around on top of a bull. Slow-motion footage featuring chaps and a cowboy hat to leave a gal with a fluttering pulse between her thighs, along with interviews and sponsors’ promos seemingly everywhere.
One thing is undeniable… the man was a dream come true as an athlete, between his natural talent and good looks.
And then there’s her.
The wife.
I didn’t recognize the name at first, but then I saw a few press photos of them together on a red carpet somewhere, and it all slotted quickly into place. She came third runner-up in some god-awful reality TV contest. I remember watching rerun episodes with Layla, lying on the couch together on lazy Sundays while we were still in high school.
Apparently she went on to make it big in the world of country and western music charts, but I can’t say I could name a single song of hers. Nowadays, the woman appears to be Nashville’s darling homecoming queen, with her perfect blond curls and seemingly endless product endorsements flooding her social media. Not a hair or nail ever seems to be out of place, and her aesthetic is certainly all about being the country music starlet with her rodeo hubby on her arm.
They definitely make the picture-perfect couple, but Beau’s response in the truck yesterday when I asked him about his wife doesn’t match what I’m seeing on my phone screen.
If there’s one thing I know, it’s clever marketing and storytelling… my curiosity is officially piqued about these two, even though the nosey little hussy inside me really should take a beat and find something else to fixate on.
As I bask in the early morning dappled sunlight, listening to birds chirping and rocking my favorite playlist of seventies queens through my headphones, I fix myself a coffee at the little kitchenette my cabin comes with. It’s seriously cute in here. Even though I can’t exactly cook for myself with this limited setup, I’ve got the essentials. A mini fridge and a coffee maker will ensure I’m more than comfortable for the duration of my ranch life summer.
I’ve just wandered out the back door for the first time, with a steaming mug in hand, when my phone starts ringing with an incoming video call. As I go to swipe the green button, my mouth drops open. Oh dear sweet cherubic cowboy heavens, there’s an entire private tub out here looking out toward the mountains, one of those simple freshwater trough designs. It’s got my name and a hot date with a glass of wine written all over it.
“Hi Sage—oh god, is everything alright?” On the other end of the call is a face I now recognize immediately as being the woman I saw that day in the high street attached to Beau’s arm. The woman who, at the time, I incorrectly presumed to be his wife, and now see her name flashing on my phone. Two and two get put together real quick. This is Tessa Diaz.
“I’ve fallen in love.” I sigh wistfully. “You caught me just as I saw the tub outside my cabin, and the swoon-worthy view . It’s enough to fall head over heels for.”
Tessa laughs. “You’ve sold me. I’ll book my vacation immediately.”
“This place is seriously a dream. I’m still not quite sure how to say thank you for giving me this opportunity. Can I offer you a non-vital organ, perhaps? Actually, you know what? I can probably make it work if you need something vital. Take your pick.”
She smiles broadly, but her eyes look tired.
“Did you settle ok for your first night? Were you comfortable enough?”
I nod and take a sip of my coffee, hoping she cannot see my own bags under my eyes. Proof of exactly how long I had lain awake past midnight trying, and failing, to stop thinking about Beau Heartford: insanely hot bull rider and married boss.
The fact that I am so persistently distracted by thoughts of him is probably a sign I need to schedule another appointment with my therapist. We both know my heart is a faulty, fickle, black cat of a creature, with a laundry list of commitment issues. The problem is, I don’t think this little obsession has anything to do with my heart and rather, has a whole lot to do with my misbehaving hormones. They’ve all started jumping up and down, high-kicking like a chorus line while waving cowboy hats in the air. Proclaiming just how perfect they’ve judged the man who owns this ranch to be.
Which is entirely ridiculous, on so many levels. If there was a tick-box checklist of all the ways someone could be off-limits, I’m pretty certain ‘married’ and ‘boss’ come in positions one and two, respectively.
“—Beau will be up at the main house. I’ve asked him to show you around properly tomorrow, but give you a day to yourself first so you can settle in.”
Wonderful, not only am I barely listening to the woman who hired me, but I’m replaying the sight of his corded forearms and veined hands flexing as he readjusted his cap.
Snap the fuck out of it, Sage.
“You know, I feel silly that we’ve actually met before, and I didn’t even know.” It feels prudent to broach the subject because I don’t know how much Beau has explained about our first encounter. After his best efforts not to speak to me yesterday, I’m unsure he would have mentioned it at all. “The last time I was in Crimson Ridge, Mr. Heartford helped me out, and I think you and I exchanged a very quick ‘ hello .’” I chew the inside of my cheek.
“Oh, please. It’s Beau and Tessa around here. Don’t go giving my brother any special treatment. He would much rather be treated like a regular ol’ cowboy.”
“Your brother?” My coffee is halfway to my lips, and my god, am I glad not to have a mouthful because that shit would have spluttered everywhere.
“Yep, my big brother, and please don’t tell him this, but I do actually love him dearly… even if his Virgo is showing ninety-nine percent of the time.”
“So, you’re his business manager?”
“Well, prior to having the ranch to his name, I was his manager through his rodeo career. It’s been a natural transition to this point now that he’s not busy trying to get himself trampled by bulls half the year.”
“Can I assume you have the patience of a goddess, if you’ve put up with working alongside an older sibling for that long?” I chuckle. “I don’t mean any offense, but lord knows my kid sisters would never. We would probably have strangled each other after one week.”
“Comes with the territory.” Tessa stifles a yawn. “My husband competes on the pro circuit… actually, that’s why I’m not able to be there to work with you as we had planned. Oscar had a bad accident yesterday, and I’ll be here with him while he’s in recovery for quite a while, then most likely will have to work from home to help him out.”
“Oh my god. I had no idea.” My stomach flips.
“Please, Sage, don’t give me that panicked face, girl.” Tessa shakes her head. “This is a routine we are all more than familiar with. It’s not anything you ever wish to happen, but he’s doing ok, and that’s the most important thing.”
“How are you so calm right now?”
“Blame Beau… he put me through far too many hospital trips, specialist appointments, and sleepless nights sitting by his bedside worrying about his ass. It’s like I’ve been mentally preparing for this moment for a long time.”
A shiver runs through me. The grim reality hangs unspoken of what Beau’s career must have been like beyond the glitz and glamor and highlights of eight-second rides ending in glory.
I’m also immediately wondering where his wife was in all this. Wouldn’t it have fallen to her to stay by his bedside, rather than his sister?
“Ok, so here’s the run-down for you, Sage. Feel free to text or call me anytime and as often as you need, but I know you’re going to be more than capable to start working your magic without my help. A second vehicle is there, which is yours to use for the duration of the summer, and you can pick up the keys from over at the main house.” Tessa looks down at something, presumably her notebook, as she licks a finger and then flicks through a couple of pages.
“That’s very generous, thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. The fuel card is in the glove compartment, and use the truck to get around as much as you like. In terms of Wi-Fi access, we only have coverage over at the house, not out in the cabins, as you’ve probably already discovered, so set yourself and your laptop up wherever you like. There’s plenty of room. Use the place as if it’s your own. Cooking, meals, whatever you like. The kitchen is fully stocked, and everything is provided for you. It’s only Beau who will be mooching around, and he’s like a wolf who only turns up now and then when he sorts himself out with a hot meal, but prefers to spend most of his day out on the ranch somewhere.”
Those damn butterflies have no business starting to circle around in my stomach at the mention of his name and hints of his day-to-day routine.
I clear my throat. “Are you sure I won’t be in his way? I don’t want to impose.”
“Not at all. Make yourself entirely at home. The place is yours to use any time of the day or night. It will give you a good feel for the ranch itself and what guests will want to know as part of the promotional material, you know, all the ranch comforts side of things.”
Tessa is a sweetheart, and gives me a few more pieces of information I might find helpful before she hangs up and leaves me staring at the patchwork of green rolling beyond the picture window of my cabin.
I’m certainly going to make the most of exploring today and getting myself settled in order to be prepared for tomorrow. Eyeing my planner on the bedside table, I realize I’ll also need to confirm a time to meet with the new owners of the local cowboy bar, The Loaded Hog, who I’m working with on their full rebrand. Not to mention, tracking down my bestie perched on top of Devil’s Peak, tucked away in ranching bliss with her cowboy Colton Wilder.
While Layla might have the world’s most picturesque location to call home these days, and dozens of horses to surround herself with while living out her brightest horse-girl dreams, the place is isolated as fuck. No cellphone coverage. Patchy Wi-Fi. Enough snowfall to leave you trapped for long stretches throughout the year.
I’m very comfortable being able to stay in a part of Crimson Ridge in an area where my phone still works, and the internet has a backbone. It’ll need enough grit to withstand the rigorous workout I’m going to put it through once I get stuck into activities like website building, photo editing, and designing graphics.
Layla and I might be damn near joined at the hip, but I’d rather take a horse tranquilizer to the face than live on top of a mountain forever more.
After double-checking that my devices are all happily charging, I dig out my running shoes from my luggage and toss my hair up in a ponytail. There’s an endless lush landscape outside my front door just waiting to be explored. Feeling a warm breeze on my skin while inhaling cleansing lungfuls of Crimson Ridge air seems like the perfect recipe for nourishing the soul and starting my days while I’m here.
Jogging on a treadmill can kiss my peachy ass. I’ve never been more relieved at the prospect of clocking up some miles out in the wilds of Montana instead of being crammed in at the gym next to some sweaty dude who keeps staring at my rack.
Except, there’s one slight inconvenience as I leave the cabin.
Straight away, I’m confronted by the sight of Beau Heartford, and the motherfucker is shirtless. He’s in those jeans he wears far too well, with his t-shirt tucked into the back of his waistband and cap flipped backward. Is he for real? This feels like a setup. Like I’m a helpless trout being drawn in by a shiny lure floating in the current.
As he goes about hefting giant bags of something from the back of his truck to the barn, all I can see, as I crouch down to triple-check my laces, is an athlete's frame gleaming with perspiration.
Goddamn, the guy is cut .
The hormones I had barely managed to rein back in all begin whimpering unanimously when presented with a generous helping of sweaty, hard-working cowboy.
Going for a very, very long run sounds like an outstanding idea. One that needs to take me as far as possible in the opposite direction from all of that currently on display.
“Morning, Captain Beau-gainvillea .” I yell over my shoulder as my feet hit the gravel path, and I start racing away from the far-too-handsome source of tingling and heat flooding my body. There’s absolutely no way I’m pausing to see if he acknowledges my presence, because I desperately need to outpace whatever slutty little miscreant has decided to set up camp inside my body.
With pounding steps, I decide my best course of action is to treat my off-limits married-cowboy-boss the same way I would a pretty pair of heels. The kind my bank account simply cannot justify the cost of.
Nice to look at.
But ultimately, not for me.