Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Reese
“ W ell, Chowder, what do you think? Pretty, right?” I sneak a glance at my orange tabby, who glares at me from his perch on the front seat like I’ve personally offended his nine lives.
We tried the cat carrier, but we hadn’t made it past the New Jersey border when I realized it wasn’t a feasible option. Chowder has quite the set of lungs, and he made that clear by yowling like a dying opera singer for forty-five straight minutes.
I knew I’d lose my mind if I didn’t set him free.
Once I unzipped the carrier, he strutted into the front seat, turned his back on me, and began grooming his ass. A silent protest, no doubt. But at least he’d stayed quiet. Until now.
As the sign welcoming me to Tangled Vines blurs past the windshield, Chowder decides to serenade me again.
God help me. He’s lucky I love him.
The town looks like a picture postcard of small-town Americana—brick sidewalks, flower boxes spilling over with color, and a main street dotted with antique shops, cafes, and a bookstore with a crooked wooden sign.
Talk about a change of scenery.
According to Piper, my new job sits on the outskirts of town, at the Rockin’ Rodeo Ranch. I’ll be working and living there, but beyond that, my sister has been suspiciously tight-lipped.
Typical Piper. She thrives on mystery and intrigue. For me, it just breeds anxiety.
Chowder’s complaints reach a fever pitch as I turn off the highway and onto a long, winding drive bordered by white fences.
Beyond them stretch rolling fields gone gold from summer heat, the Cascade mountains faint against the horizon, and scatterings of wildflowers still clinging to life along the roadside.
At the end of the drive, a sprawling white clapboard house rises into view, sunlight glinting off its wide wraparound porch. Gardens frame the steps—roses climbing trellises, tidy beds bursting with color, and stone paths winding through the greenery.
My jaw slackens.
When Piper said ranch , I expected rugged. Barns. Mud. Possibly a bull with a bad attitude.
This looks like a resort brochure come to life.
“You know you’ll have to go into the carrier now,” I warn my cat, earning yet another side-eye.
Ah, the love of felines.
Hopping out of the car, I stretch, taking in the serene, almost surreal beauty around me. Piper’s tastes have certainly matured, considering she spent her twenties living out of a tent while traipsing across the country.
At least she’s settled down, and in some of the most pristine land I’ve ever seen. I suck in a lungful of crisp air and let out a low, sated moan.
“I can do this. I’m a strong, independent woman, and I can do this.” Sadly, chanting affirmations does little to bolster my insecurities.
What the hell am I doing?
I’ve asked myself that question about a thousand times on this drive, only to be met with the rhythmic hum of tires on asphalt.
But today, staring at the mountains in the distance, I finally hear the answer.
Escaping.
From men in general—and one awful man in particular.
A man who hasn’t bothered to call over the last four days. Because he’s positive I’ll return.
He’s wrong.
That is the only thing I’m certain of now.
“Okay, Chowder, are you going to go quietly, or will it be a fight to the death?”
Within two seconds, I have my answer.
Chowder, honorary gladiator, digs his claws into the blanket lining the front seat, howling as I pry each paw free one claw at a time.
You’d think I was dragging him to the underworld.
“Fine. You win.” I drop my hold, and he slinks to the backseat with a hiss and a glare. “I’ll get the suitcases first. But then”—I wag a finger, earning a swat from one orange paw—“it’s your turn.”
Seems my luggage, after four days of travel, doesn’t like me any better than my cat.
In a feat that defies physics, the suitcase has wedged itself into a space clearly never meant for a suitcase. Now it’s no more willing to leave my car than Chowder.
“Come on. Give me a damn break,” I mutter, bracing a foot on the door for leverage and yanking on the handle.
You know Newton’s law? That for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
Yep, it’s true.
The suitcase breaks free with the velocity of a missile, slamming into my chest and bowling me onto my ass in a cloud of dust.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I laugh out the words and run my hands over my face, realizing one second too late that every inch of me is now covered in a fine coating of dust.
Dear God, Piper will run screaming when she sees me.
Let’s hope she’s the first person I see. I cringe to think what anyone else might say.
“Whoa. Are you okay, darlin’?” A low drawl curls over my shoulder, sending an unexpected skitter of tingles up the back of my neck.
I freeze. No man’s voice has ever made me react like that.
But a man with a voice like that—so warm and ridiculously distracting—is the last thing I need right now.
Especially since I swear Chowder is laughing behind his paw from his perch on the front seat.
Universe, give me a damn break.
I wave a hand in the man’s general direction, refusing to meet his gaze. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”
Now please, for the love of God, walk away.
Seems my blasé response isn’t good enough. He strolls over, cowboy boots stopping just inches from where I sit before he crouches down. Then, in a move that would get him slapped by any woman back east, he slides a finger beneath my chin, tilting my face until my eyes lock with his.
First thought? How dare he touch me?
Second thought, immediately on the heels of the first? Holy hell. Gorgeous doesn’t even cover it.
The man can’t be a day over thirty—tall, tan, and lean. He’s dressed casually in low-slung jeans and a cowboy hat tipped low over his brow, his chiseled, stubbled jaw and dimpled smile fully on display.
Meanwhile, I’m covered in dust and road grime. Perfect.
“You sure? ’Cause it kind of looks like your suitcase just took you down.”
“Sorry, what?” It’s the best answer I can manage considering the circumstances, and even that’s an effort.
He pushes the hat back on his head, which is a terrible idea for my already addled brain, because now I see his entire face. Unfair. That much beauty in one man should be illegal. A lock of dark brown hair falls forward into his bright blue eyes, only upping the ante of his sex appeal.
And that’s exactly the problem. Men this beautiful are dangerous. Vander was proof of that. Gorgeous smile, charming words, rotting core. This one is likely no different—and my heart can’t afford another charming asshole. Not now. Not ever.
“I asked if you were okay. You look a bit out of sorts.” His head tilts, with a hint of amusement tugging at his mouth. One forearm drapes over a bent knee, easy, unhurried—like he’s in no rush to move, like he’s oddly comfortable watching me squirm.
Snapping out of my lust-filled reverie, I shake my head, clearing away any lascivious images of this handsome stranger. “That’s an understatement. I’m a hot mess.”
He chokes back a laugh, his smile in full force. “Well, that was honest. First time here?”
“Is it obvious?”
“A bit, but don’t worry. Capri will show you around and introduce you to all the residents. You’ll feel right at home in no time. That’s our goal here at the Rockin’ Rodeo Ranch.”
Why does he sound like he’s selling me on the place? I’m here. It’s miles away from the tattered remnants of my former life. Trust me, I’m sold.
“Good to know.” I shoot Chowder a look as he cries at the car window. “Now you want out? Figures.”
“You brought your cat?” The man looks genuinely perplexed.
“You’d rather I leave him in New York? Piper said it was okay. Is Capri going to mind?” My chest squeezes at the thought of retracing every mile back across the country. Bratty or not, this furball and I are a package deal.
“Breathe, darlin’.” He extends a hand and hauls me to my feet before righting my suitcase like it weighs nothing. “Whatever keeps you calm, I guess. Everyone’s got their thing.”
“Thanks?” My tone lands somewhere between grateful and baffled. Odd thing to say.
His mouth quirks as he leans against my car. “You drove all the way from New York?”
“Flying wasn’t an option. Too much stuff, too much… baggage.” My eyes flick to the mountain of suitcases in my vehicle.
He nods toward them with a glint of amusement. “Looks like you packed for more than a weekend.”
“Three months’ worth.” I fold my arms, heat rising to my cheeks. “At least that’s the plan.”
His gaze lingers, unreadable beneath the brim of his hat. “And you know Piper?”
I plant my hands on my hips. “Why do I feel like I’m in the middle of the Inquisition?
” To be fair, I’m not remotely intimidating—especially since I’m at least a head shorter than him, but my manners evaporated somewhere near Indiana.
Right now, I want a shower, food, and a bed—not necessarily in that order. “Piper is my sister.”
Realization flashes across his face. He pulls the hat off his head, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re Reese?”
“That’s me. The terrifying, gasp-inducing, china-smashing runaway bride.” I glance down at myself and groan. “Although I think dust-covered, terrifying, runaway bride covers it.”
The words hang there, and I wince.
Wow. That sounds even more pathetic out loud.
“You don’t look that terrifying to me.”
“More like terrified.” I shrug, not sure whether to laugh or cry at the current state of my life. “I’m working here as the new nurse. For the time being, anyway.”
“Piper said you were coming, but you are…”
“What?” I snap, shoving a lock of hair behind my ear. “Ridiculous? Crazy? I already admitted I’m a hot mess.”
“Unexpected,” he murmurs, his lips curving as the word slips out soft as breath.
“What?” Warmth floods through me as his eyes rake over me again.
“You’re unexpected, Reese, in the best way possible.”
Great. Just what I need. Another ridiculously good-looking man swaying my ovaries with a line he’s probably practiced in the mirror.
My frustrated huff must give me away, because he tips his chin toward Chowder, still yowling at the window. “Need some help wrangling your cat?”
“Don’t bother. He’s not very good with strangers.” The words die in my throat as the cowboy hunk opens the car door and coaxes Chowder into the carrier within thirty seconds.
“How did you do that?”
“I’ve got the magic touch.” At my exasperated glare, he grins. “Always understood animals more than humans.”
“Despite appearances, he really loves me.”
“I can’t blame him. You seem pretty lovable—when you’re not trying to scare me with your size.” Another smile, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners, far too warm for a man I just met.
“Or lack thereof.” Might as well play along. At least he’s got humor to go with his absurd jawline.
“Personally, I think petite women are the prettiest.”
My eyes go wide. Did he seriously just say that?
His gaze flicks away, but not before I catch the faint flush creeping up his cheeks. “What’s your cat’s name?”
“Chowder.”
“A very New York name.”
“For a very New York cat.” I feel the stupid grin plastered across my face, which only makes it worse. He’s stunning, yet somehow approachable. Humble, even.
Absolutely not, Reese. Stop drooling over him. Gorgeous men are landmines. Remember Vander? Remember humiliation?
“I need a shower. Desperately.”
“I could turn the hose on you,” he teases, tugging his hat back into place and shading those impossibly blue eyes.
“Hard pass. Trust me, I look normal most of the time. Cute on a good day.”
Why am I selling myself to a stranger like I’m auditioning for high school prom queen?
“Just saying,” I mumble, eyes fixed firmly on the dirt at my feet.
Then, out of nowhere, his hand lifts. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, fingertips grazing the curve of it, and a shiver darts down my spine.
“Trust me,” he murmurs, “you’re beautiful—even now.”
The words lodge in my chest, unsettling and warm all at once. Even now.
In dust-coated sweats. With my hair sticking out in wild directions. Glasses sliding down my nose. Not a stitch of makeup to hide behind—unless you count the fine layer of road dust painting every inch of me.
And yet he keeps staring. Even with his hat tipped low, his gaze drifts back to me, lingering like he finds something worth admiring.
Plenty of men have gawked at me over the years, but never like this—never when I’m dressed like roadkill with prescription lenses.
I like this twist.
Hell, I like this man, even if he’s a total stranger.
He straightens, a slight grimace tugging at his face as his attention shifts beyond me. Turning, I watch a top-of-the-line Mercedes rolling up the drive. Out steps a middle-aged woman wrapped in silk and dripping jewelry.
What an odd getup for a ranch.
Chowder’s new best friend—aka the hunk of burning love—tips his hat in farewell. “I have to go, but let me know if you need any help settling in. I’m handy with heavy boxes and furniture.”
“That’s a very kind offer. Thank you.”
Do I focus my gaze on his ass as he walks away?
Damn right I do. And it’s not just the view—it’s the saunter. That easy roll of his hips makes me tingle.
Handsome and nice. A killer combination.
The woman greets him with open arms, pressing her body flush against his. For a second I assume she’s his girlfriend, but the stiffness in his shoulders tells another story.
Probably one of those women who want the cowpoke experience while draped in furs and jewels.
Either way, his smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he offers her his arm and disappears inside.
Back to reality, Reese.
My reality.