Chapter 10
ten
Sawyer
The rain hammers the barn’s tin roof, draining out every thought I have. I’ve been pacing a narrow stretch of floor for the past ten minutes, keeping as much distance from Trouble as the space will allow.
“You’re pacing like a caged bull,” he drawls from where he’s leaning against a post. “Just sit down.”
“Not a chance,” I shoot back without looking at him. “First break in this storm, I’m out of here.”
He tilts his hat back, his mouth curving into that cocky grin I hate. “We both know you like bein’ stuck with me. Probably prayin’ it lasts all night.”
I stop just long enough to glare at him. “You must think all women are obsessed with you, don’t you? Fall for the whole tough cowboy thing? Hate to break it to you, but you’re not my type.”
I turn on my heel—right into a bucket I didn’t see. My foot catches and I stumble. But before I can hit the dirt, Trouble’s hand closes around my arm. He steadies me, grinning like he just saved me from my death.
I suck in a sharp breath, praying he didn’t notice the way my pulse jumped at his touch, and jerk my arm out of his grip like I don’t need saving.
“Oh yeah? What’s your type then?” he asks, moving the bucket out of the way.
I dust myself off like nothing happened and finally drop onto the bale of hay again, staring at the rain coming down in sheets outside. “I used to think it was men like my ex. But I guess I’m still figuring that out.” Not sure why he cares. Not sure why I’m answering his question, either.
He sits down beside me, still towering over me as we sit. “Sounds like your type might be somethin’ different.”
“Yeah,” I say, glancing at him. “After Harrison, that goat who keeps waking me up every morning is starting to look like a possibility.”
Trouble chuckles, low and smooth. “Nah, you don’t want that. You’d be bald. Goats like to eat hair.”
I blink at him. “They do?”
“Mm-hm.” He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “So, what’s the plan if this thing lasts all night and you’re stuck with me?”
“If it lasts all night,” I say sweetly, “I’ll find a way to take you out and hide the body in the hay.”
He slides one hand along his jaw, thinking. “You’d never be able to pull that off. Not when you keep lookin’ at me like that.”
“And how am I looking at you?” I shoot back, narrowing my eyes.
“Like you’d miss me if I wasn’t around,” he says, low and annoyingly sure of himself.
I scoff, ready to bite back. “You really think that highly of yourself?”
His voice dips, slower now. “Don’t hear you denying it, sweetheart.”
I open my mouth to tell him exactly where he can shove that ego, but he reaches up before I get the words out—his fingers brushing my temple as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
I freeze.
The teasing grin I’m used to isn’t there. His eyes are softer now. Steady. Serious. And that—that’s what throws me.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, but it doesn’t come out nearly as harsh as I want.
“Waitin’ to see if you’ll stop me,” he murmurs.
Before I can think of a comeback, thunder cracks overhead, so loud it rattles the walls. I jump without realizing, damn near throwing myself into his lap. My hand fists in his shirt like it’s instinct.
His arm slides around my waist, smug as ever. “Careful, Sawyer. Keep grabbin’ me like that and I might not let you run when you come to your senses.”
“It was an accident,” I say a little too fast. “Storm just startled me, that’s all.”
“Oh yeah?” His grip doesn’t loosen. If anything, he draws me closer, pressing me against him, breath warm and rough at my ear. “Then tell me to fuck off, and I’ll go out into that storm. Leave you the whole barn to yourself.”
My heart trips. “What if I don’t wanna be alone?”
He pauses, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “So, you want me to stay?”
I should say no. Push him away. Anything but what I actually do.
“Didn’t say that,” I whisper, though it comes out softer than I mean it to.
“Didn’t have to.”
I can smell the leather on his jacket, the faint trace of rich sandalwood. My pulse beats out of rhythm as his thumb traces the edge of my jaw like he’s memorizing it.
I don’t move away. I can’t.
I can’t fight him—not the charm, not the confidence. His arms are strong, sure, but being in them feels dangerously addictive—like I’m on a rollercoaster I’ve been riding for who knows how long.
Instead, I close my eyes and tilt up—leaning in without thinking, without breathing—waiting for him to meet me halfway. For barely a second, it feels inevitable. Like we stopped fighting something that has just been waiting for us to give in.
Then it’s gone.
It’s quiet. I don’t even hear the rain anymore. There’s nothing.
When I open my eyes, he’s already pulled back, grin lazy and infuriating, toothpick back between his teeth. “Knew I was your type.”
My stomach twists, heat flooding my face. He knew exactly what he was doing—pulling me in, then leaving me there, hanging on the edge of a kiss that never came.
Before I can respond, he glances toward the window. “Rain stopped.”
I stand too fast, and don’t bother to check if my face is as red as it feels. “If there’s a God, he’ll send a lightning bolt straight through your thick skull.”
He laughs in the most infuriating way as I shoulder past him and straight into the mud pit outside. What in the world is wrong with me? What was I thinking?
For a split second, I forgot every reason I should keep my distance. I already know what it feels like to be gutted. Harrison proved that. But Trouble? He could do worse. He could destroy me.
I try to shake it off, but the ache of almost kissing him is still there. Worse than that, I was the idiot who leaned in. My cheeks continue to burn just thinking about it. I will never live that down.
A few hours later, I’m still angry, humiliated, but I slip my feet into a cute pair of boots and let them guide me.
Pushing through the doors of Saddle and Oak, the world shifts from twilight to neon.
Honey, queen of this kingdom, stands behind the bar, her hands busy with bottles and glasses.
She catches sight of me and waves me over with a smile.
"You look stunning," Honey sings out like she can’t help putting every word to melody. I slide onto a stool at the bar. Her eyes sparkle like the ice in the glass she's filling. "So glad you came tonight. It’s gonna be a night to remember."
"We'll see about that," I mutter. My gaze drifts across the room, where I see my brother talking to Daddy in a booth.
"Here you go." Honey pushes forward a tequila sunrise. "You're gonna need this."
"Thank you." I tilt my head, giving her a thankful look as I push away from the bar and head toward my family.
"Mind if I join?" I ask, glancing at Daddy, who looks annoyed to see me.
He nods while my brother shifts to make room. I slide into the booth, the sticky vinyl clinging to the bare skin of my thighs exposed by the denim shorts.
"Didn't think you'd come," Knox says, glancing from my drink to me.
"Well, if I'm stuck here, might as well do what the locals do."
"You aren't stuck here," Daddy grumbles. His eyes, dark and clouded, fix on me with frustration. "Go on back to that city life you love so much."
"Soon enough, Daddy," I say, being as defiant as I can. "Once we talk about the ranch."
A strand of blonde hair falls across my face, and I blow it away. Dad's lips press into a thin line, and I can almost hear the unspoken arguments gathering behind his stern expression. But they remain there, unvoiced, as the music swells and the crowd cheers.
"There's nothing to talk about," he snaps. "I told you that. You're wasting your time."
He doesn't wait for my response. His gaze slides past me, latching onto someone in the distance. "Carl is over there. If you'll excuse me—" He stands and leaves the booth.
Turning to Knox, I let out a dry chuckle. "Well, this is going great."
Knox leans forward, resting his elbows on the scarred wood table. "Just give him a little time," he reassures me, and I catch the earnest plea in his gaze.
I'm about to respond when the door swings open, carrying in all the Stetson men. Cowboy hats are tipped back just enough to be cocky. All of them inherited that devil-only-knows grin. Judging by the collective glancing and gawking happening around me, I’m not the only one who noticed.
Each of them orders a drink, and within seconds, women are there—drawn in like it’s instinct. They flock to the cowboys’ sides, sliding into the open spaces around them, tossing their hair and laughing a little too loudly at jokes that would never land without those jawlines.
"Seems like they're quite the hit around here."
Knox grins, his blue eyes lighting up with amusement. "Buckle bunnies," he says, the term rolling off his tongue like it’s nothing new.
"Is that a real thing?" I ask. My gaze flicks back to the scene at the bar, where the Stetson men are certainly the center of attention.
Knox nods, his smile widening. "Oh yeah. And don’t ask me how I know."
Charming heads our way, eyes glinting with mischief under the brim of his hat as he yells, "Are you two going to sit and watch all night, or come have some real fun and join the line dance?"
Knox slouches back. "No, thanks," he says, but I know the truth—he’s easily persuaded.
I don't hesitate. "Yes, we're going," I declare, standing up before my fingers curl around Knox's wrist, and I tug him with me.
"Come on," I coax him.
We fall right into step as the music blares over the speakers. It’s like I never left, the steps coming to me like second nature. And for a moment, just one fleeting moment, I let the town wrap around me like a well-worn leather jacket, familiar and strangely comforting in its embrace.
"See?" I tease, my voice barely rising above the music as I nudge Knox. "Not so bad, is it?"
A chuckle rumbles from his chest, and Knox’s eyes crinkle with genuine amusement. "Alright, you got me," he admits, and there's an ease in his movements now, a joy that's infectious. I missed Knox, and for a moment, I almost miss this town.
When the song winds down, Knox and I fall out of sync and make our way back to the bar.
Honey catches my eye. With a knowing nod, she reaches for the shaker.
Her hands make quick work as she mixes the colors of a sunset into my glass.
The tequila sunrise—one I never drink in the city, but for some reason, in this town, it’s exactly what I need.
I turn just as the man next to me does, his movements slow and unhurried.
His head moves first, and then his eyes—those deep, assessing pools of hazel—seem to see straight through me.
His gaze drags down the length of me slow and unapologetic, lingering on the fringe of my top, tracing the curve of my denim, pausing at the scuff on my boots like he’s cataloging every detail.
And just like that, I know it’s Trouble.
“Darlin’,” he drawls, voice low and lazy. “You’re wearin’ that country a little too well.”
His gaze flicks down my outfit again, and when it returns to mine, there’s a half-smile on his face—all confidence, no apology. It shouldn’t make my pulse jump. Especially not after that last stunt he pulled. And yet… here we are.
I lift my chin, trying to look unaffected, even as my heart taps a rhythm I can’t ignore. “That’s because I am country,” I say, matching his tone with a little heat of my own. “This town raised me just as much as it raised you.”
He lets out a low chuckle, eyes still on me like he’s seeing something new. “I was about to tease you for playin’ dress-up,” he says, voice dropping just enough to make it dangerous, “But damn... now I’m just tryin’ not to stare at Knox’s little sister.”
“Careful, cowboy. Keep callin’ me ‘Knox’s little sister’ and I might just have to knock you off that high horse.”
His smile broadens, not an ounce of mockery in it, only an infuriating understanding—as if he can see straight through my words. “Maybe you really are country and you just forgot where you came from.”
I lean in, close enough to feel the heat rolling off him.
And surprisingly, there’s no smell of dirt or sweat, no sign of the long day he’s probably had—just that quiet pull of sandalwood, warm and clean.
It doesn’t hit all at once. No, it drifts—subtle, restrained, like he knows exactly what that smell does.
Just like him, it holds just enough back to keep me curious.
And damnit if I don’t want to breathe him in until I forget why I ever thought getting this close again was a bad idea.
“I never forget where I come from, and underestimating me would be a mistake.” My eyes lock onto his, refusing to waver. "I can ride, rope, and wrangle with the best. City life hasn't dulled any of those skills one bit."
"Oh yeah?" His voice is a low drawl. "You wanna bet on that?"
"Bet on what?" I ask, though I already know it’s going to be something ridiculous.
He whispers into my ear, his voice a low drawl that curls around my spine. “Bet you can’t beat my time.”
It takes me a second, maybe less, to realize what he means. I glance at the mechanical bull—coiled and spinning, lit up under neon like a challenge with teeth.
He thinks I won’t do it.
But what he doesn’t know is—I’ve got more grit in these boots than he’ll ever give me credit for. And I hate losing more than how much I can’t stand him.
“And winner gets what?” I ask, arching a brow.
"Anything you want," he says with a smug grin. “A dare. Loser has to do whatever the winner dares them to do. Just one thing—no backing out." He steps in closer. "And when I win… don’t be surprised if I put you to work. Make you my ranch hand for the day.”
"Saddle up then, cowboy."