21. Sam
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
sam
The bed feels cold without him. It’s an unwelcome realization—both that he’s gone, and that she cares.
A taste of my own damn medicine.
She frowns and scrubs the sleep from her eyes. Bright sun streaks through the windows. She knows his days start early, but it’s Saturday, and she’s in town. She’d thought maybe…
Maybe he’d rearrange his entire life for me?
She snorts.
No tomorrow. That’s her rule, not his. This weekend is a glorified booty call to stave off Nina’s machinations for a little while longer. Nothing more. Nothing less.
So why does her heart start to flutter as if she’s a fourteen-year-old on Valentine’s Day when she sees a note on the kitchen island held in place by a single blue iris? She lifts the bloom to her nose and inhales the sweet, earthy scent.
Iris spuria , she thinks, drawing on a childhood spent surrounded by the flowers at her mother’s store. Represents faith, devotion, and trust.
There’s no way Cooper knows that. There’s no way he’d think she does either. Just as he couldn’t possibly know it’s one of her favorite flowers—complex, underutilized, able to stand completely on its own, and not nearly as cliché as a rose. Still, she can’t help but wonder what, if anything, it means.
Sam flips open the note.
The vet is coming this morning to check the last of the herd. I couldn’t skip it, but I should be back by midday. Make yourself at home. There’s a milk frother by the coffee machine. Your fireballs are next to the fridge. And in case you were wondering, no, I don’t have a second truck. You’re stuck with me, Cuj. Unless of course you want to try your luck with the chopper…
She rolls her eyes and locates the coffeepot, surprised to see it’s already on. The milk frother rests beside it, shiny and seemingly brand new. And right next to that, there’s an unopened box of sugar. Now that her curiosity is piqued, Sam can’t help but scan the rest of the kitchen as she plucks a fresh carton of almond milk from his refrigerator. There’s the massive plastic tub of Atomic Fireballs, the two bags of dried mango beside them, the four canisters of nuts and an empty bowl sitting next to them, presumably for mixing—all things she asked for—but some other choice items catch her eye as well. The fresh vase of irises in the window. The two suspiciously clean dish towels hanging from the oven. The completely full bottle of hand soap by the sink. The dozen lemons sitting in a bowl. When she glances at the living room and notices the two mismatched pillows plus a cozy throw with the tag still on, a warm sensation spreads across her chest. She lifts her fingers to her lips as if covering them could erase her silly grin as she pictures Cooper stalking down the aisles of a Walmart, feverishly throwing half the store into his cart just to make sure she’s comfortable in his home.
It’s sweet—so sweet it’s almost painful as this feeling she refuses to acknowledge thrums beneath her skin, all heat and goodness and joy, as if her blood has turned to warm honey.
That’s enough of that.
Sam swipes the croissant from the kitchen island and marches toward the patio with her computer and coffee in tow. At the last second, she grabs the blanket. When she wraps it around her shoulders, she’s unable to wipe the smile from her lips, imagining it’s his arms instead.
Work.
Focus on work.
She slides open her laptop, in dire need of a sobering distraction, but it’s impossible to focus on her emails with this view. The lake water glitters with the late-morning sun, a diamond with infinite facets. Rolling hills stretch into the distance, not another building or object or soul in sight. A crisp breeze blows across the patio, sending sparkling ripples through the water and swirling her hair. Sam pulls her knees into her chest, drops her head back, and breathes in, practically groaning at the sweet grassy scent. She’s become frighteningly accustomed to the smell of a stranger’s BO on the subway every morning. She’s forgotten what fresh air smells like, how the cool touch of clean oxygen makes her lungs swell with pleasure.
I could get used to this.
Isolation has its upsides. And honestly, the coffee isn’t that bad. It’s actually pretty good, she thinks as she takes another sip—
Then practically spits it out as the door behind her slams open.
“I knew it!” an unfamiliar deep voice shouts. “I fucking knew it!”
She barely has time to put down her coffee cup before she’s yanked to her feet. Two rather large hands grip her upper arms. She looks up into a completely unfamiliar, though not totally unwelcome and rather handsome, face. Dark brown curls spill out around the edges of his cowboy hat. His tan, sunkissed-skin is caked in dirt, making his teeth shine even brighter. Mostly, she notices the joyous wrinkles around his eyes, which are kind and ooze with humor.
What the hell is in the water in Nebraska?
If women knew what kind of men lived here, the last thing it’d be called is a flyover state.
“You’re real,” he says.
“I’m real.”
“You’re here.”
“I’m here.”
“You’re coming with me.”
“Wait. Whaaa—aaahh!”
He grabs her by the waist and throws her over his shoulder. She knows enough self-defense thanks to her dad to get out of this if she needs to, but honestly, she’s a little curious to see where it goes.
“I’m getting shockingly used to being manhandled by cowboys,” she says as he starts hauling her across the patio, “but can I at least get a name to go with the pretty face?”
“I’m hurt you haven’t already guessed. I’m—”
“Wes!”
Three voices say it at the exact same time—one with humor, one with realization, and one with unadulterated fury. Sam snaps her head to the side just as Cooper barges through the door. If she hadn’t heard him talk about Wes so much on the phone, she’d be a bit freaked out by the murderous gleam in his eye. Alas, she has a sister, so she gets it.
Sometimes, you just want to kill them.
“Put her down,” Cooper thunders.
“No can do.”
“Put. Her. Down.”
“So you can lock her away in some other tower? I can’t believe you weren’t going to tell me she was here.”
“The network—”
“Fuck the network.”
“It’s supposed to be a secret visit. No one’s supposed to know.”
“Who am I going to tell?”
“How about the whole damn town? Or did you forget about blabbing to Kelly Michaels after the senior prank and almost landing my ass in jail?”
“Honest mistake.”
“Or telling everyone that Haddie was knocked up after we heard she and Caleb ran off to Vegas?”
“It was obvious!”
“Or that time you told my dad I took Caroline to the Peak? He showed up in the chopper!”
“Okay.” Wes winces. “That was bad.”
“I can keep going.”
“What’s the Peak?” Sam interrupts, unable to stop herself. And who the hell is Caroline?
They both look at her.
Then at each other.
Then at her again.
Then—
“Cooper! Wesley! Why’d you—” The new voice stops short.
Sam snaps her head up.
An older man fills the doorway, tall and broad. His jawline is surprisingly chiseled for his age, and there appears to be a permanent furrow etched into his brow. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who he is, especially when those hard green eyes, so like his son’s, yet so different, zero in on her.
Sam sighs.
Ass-up in worn leggings is definitely not how she planned to meet Cooper’s father, but there’s no hiding now. She waves once from her perch over Wes’s shoulder, completely forgetting about the ring she casually slipped back onto her finger before leaving for the airport the day before—to keep up appearances, obviously. Not because she’d missed it. Or because her finger felt oddly bare without it. Or because it meant anything.
Because it doesn’t.
Except it must, because the second Frank Kelley sets eyes on it, he goes stiff.
“What the hell is going on here, boys?” he bellows as his gaze darts between the three of them. “And who does she belong to?”
“Excuse me?” Indignation burns like a stick of dynamite up Sam’s chest. “My own damn self, thank you very much.”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist.”
“My panties are just fine. Ask your son.”
His eyes narrow as his gaze flicks toward Cooper. “So she’s yours then?”
“Dad.” Cooper pinches the bridge of his nose. “You can’t—”
“Then what’s she doing with him?”
“I’m stealing her away,” Wes says with a grin, seemingly amused by the entire exchange.
Well, that makes one of us.
“No, you’re not,” Cooper interjects. “Put her down, Wes.”
“I have questions.”
“What questions could you possibly have? You’re the number-one fan of the show. You won’t shut up about it.”
“The show?” his father says, something clicking behind his eyes.
“Here’s a question,” Wes says, oblivious to the shift. “Is your sister single? Because they keep teasing her in the promos, and I gotta say, I’m kind of into this boss-bitch vibe she’s giving off. Now, I know you’re identical twins, so don’t take this the wrong way, but she’s hot. And if she’s open to it, I wouldn’t mind being handcuffed to a few bedposts by her if you know what I mean…”
Sam snorts.
Cooper, on the other hand, sees red. “I’m going to kill you, Wes.”
“What’d I say?” Wes mutters as he takes a proactive step back.
But before Cooper can close the distance, his father grabs him by the arm. “She’s the girl from the show?”
“Not now, Dad.”
“I told you I didn’t want any of them on my ranch.”
“It’s my ranch too.”
“Not yet. Not until you’ve earned it.”
“Dad—”
“After everything your mother told you? After everything you put her through? You gave this girl a ring for some goddamn television show?”
“It’s not like that.”
“You didn’t propose?”
“Dad.”
“You’re not engaged?”
“Dad.”
“Are you trying to leave again?”
“What?”
“You leave again, boy, and I won’t let you come back.”
“Are you serious right now?”
They both fall silent, chests heaving as they stare at each other across the distance, one a mirror to the future and one a reflection of the past.
“Psst,” Sam whispers, nudging Wes. “Can you put me down now?”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“I didn’t ask if it was a good idea. I said put me down.”
“You don’t know them like I do,” Wes continues, keeping his eyes on the duo across the patio. “We may still need to make a quick getaway.”
She has half a mind to pinch him on the ass right here right now and see how he likes being manhandled. But instead, using her sweetest voice, she says, “I’m getting off your shoulder in the next five seconds. So either you can put me down, or I can do it my way, and my way involves breaking your nose. Five. Four. Th—”
Wes slides her off his shoulder faster than a man on fire and places his hand to her hip to help steady her. Those thick brows furrow as a realization sparks in his brown eyes. “You’re not Emily, are you?”
“No,” Sam says. “And to answer your earlier offer, I’m very much taken.”
Wes whistles softly as an elated smile breaks out across his lips. “Now I definitely have questions.”
Sam ignores him and turns toward the father and son still very much locked in a stubborn, bullheaded, clearly familiar argument.
“He’s not going anywhere, Mr. Kelley.”
“I didn’t ask you,” the man sneers, not bothering to even glance in her direction.
He’s Cooper’s father.
Be cool. Be calm.
WWED—what would Emily do?
Definitely not say what Sam is about to say, but who is she trying to kid?
“Then it’s a good thing I’m a grown-ass woman who doesn’t need your permission to speak, isn’t it?”
The man rears back in surprise.
Sam steps closer and cocks a brow. She’s just getting started.
“Whether you asked me or not, the answer is the same. Your son isn’t going anywhere. And if you pulled your head out of your ass long enough to take a good, hard look at him, you’d know that for yourself. You might call him a boy, but he isn’t. He’s a man. A man who could have left a long time ago if he wanted to, but he didn’t. Because he loves this place. He loves this work. He loves this legacy. And despite whatever grudge you’re still holding for choices he made when he was a teenager, he loves you. So no, he’s not going anywhere. He’s actually doing anything and everything he possibly can to make sure he stays right here.”
“Is that so?” Frank Kelley answers calmly…a bit too calmly.
Sam gets the distinct impression she’s running headfirst into a trap, but she’s already gained too much speed to stop now. “It is.”
“And you’re what?” The man gives her a once-over, his gaze snagging on her ring, her manicured nails, her matching two-piece athleisure set, and her four-hundred-dollar faux-fur slippers that were yes a lot bit indulgent but are so damn comfortable she couldn’t resist. There’s no way he surmised their price tag, but the look in his eyes is clear. They and she don’t belong. “Going to stay here with him?”
No.
Obviously not.
But she’s in too deep to admit defeat now. Her only choice is to keep digging. “Yes.”
He snorts—snorts! The audacity. “You’re going to give up the fame?”
“Easily.” It’s not hers anyway.
“You’re going to leave the big city?”
“I grew up in a small town.” Not two-hours-to-the-closest-Starbucks small, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“You’re going to quit your job?”
“I don’t have to.” The answer rolls off her tongue before she can stop it, as if it’s been simmering there all this time, just waiting to wriggle its way free. “My sister and I co-own a jewelry design business, and thanks to the show it’s finally taking off. Last I checked, this place has a phone and the internet. I have everything I need right here.”
Frank offers an intelligible grunt.
Ha! Take that , she thinks haughtily, the taste of victory already sweet—until she flicks her gaze to Cooper. All at once it turns bitter. A soft smile plays at the edges of his lips. The corners of his eyes crinkle. Heat simmers in his gaze. Suddenly everything she just said hits her like an eighteen-wheeler to the face. Shit!
But it’s too late to take it all back.
“Clear this up quick.” Cooper’s father motions between the younger men. “The vet leaves in two hours and I’m not paying her to come out here again. And you—” He looks at Sam. “You’re having dinner at the main house. Six o’clock. Don’t be—”
“No can do, Mr. Kelley,” Wes interrupts. “We’re taking her to the Barn tonight.”
Cooper’s head whips sharply to the side. His tone fills with warning as he says, “Wes.”
“Tomorrow, then,” Frank says, ignoring his son.
“Dad.”
Sam has the distinct impression she should be helping him out somehow, but she’s got nothing as Frank Kelley tips his hat and walks away.
Cooper glares at his friend. “We’re not going to the fucking Barn.”
“Yes.” Wes grins. “We are.”
“Hold up,” Sam interjects, looking between them. “If this is some weird initiation thing where I need to stick my hand up a cow’s asshole, you can count me out.”
“Not the barn,” Cooper says with a sigh as he rubs at the wrinkle in his brow. “ The Barn .”
“It’s a bar,” Wes adds.
“Ohhhhh.” A sudden spark of anticipation flares at the prospect of booze and music and Cooper’s arms wrapped around her as they slow dance in the center of a crowded dance floor. “I’m in.”