Chapter 1
Betty
Coffee.
I need coffee.
A massive quadruple-shot coffee.
Give it to me, black as night. Maybe then I won’t feel like the walking dead.
Two months ago, when I agreed to take on the manager position here at Boulder Ranch for the new B&B and cabins, I thought nothing of it. River asked for help. I said yes. It’s what I do. How hard could it be to run a few bedrooms in the Miller house and some cabins?
Though the job seemed simple enough—checking the cowboys in and out and ensuring everything functioned in the houses—it was also a potential ticket to freedom. I’ve been working at the Thirsty Pony since I was eighteen. But lately I’ve been itching for more.
At the time, it was some easy cash while I was in college studying astronomy, and then I never left.
It’s easy to find comfort in what you know in a place like Cole County.
Plus, staying in this small town was always my fate.
The Hugheses don’t leave Cole County, but I could leave the bar.
I could find something I love versus the only future I thought I could have.
The weight of mindlessly serving drinks and smiling when I didn’t want to was slowly bringing me to my knees.
Over time, the only force that kept me walking through those doors night after night was loyalty. The same loyalty I’ve always believed I owed to the Hughes name. It didn’t matter that I yearned for something different, something more. Cole County and that bar kept me chained right where I was.
Who am I kidding? They still do.
“Oh, wait! No.” I charge forward as the movers carry couches toward the newly converted Miller house. “Those go in the cabins out back.”
The guy grunts at me, cocking his head to the side, signaling his men to follow.
As I turn to watch them haul pieces of the matching taupe L-shaped couches that will be in each of the six cottages, I’m questioning what I agreed to. Did I give myself yet another entity to pour my loyalty into?
Somehow, I expected to show up on day one, make sure things were in order, check reservations, and then go home at night.
But when the Garrisons handed me the keys, they meant the entire operation. From the day construction started until the day I quit, Miller Inn is mine.
Patting my pocket, the sharp edges of those keys poke my thigh. We’d digitized everything with keypads, linking them to a central tablet, but I’ve kept the original keys in my pocket every day like a personal good luck charm.
With only a week before the Boulder Ranch rodeo season begins, the pressure of my opening night looms over me.
There were several speed bumps along the way.
The horrid winter weather, combined with conditions too wet for construction and the wrong materials shipped, inevitably delayed our progress.
That’s why we’re seven days from opening, and I’m just getting furniture for the dang cottages.
Sadie Dillard, River’s childhood friend, was here yesterday setting up all the computer systems and tracking programs I’d need to manage the place. Thank goodness for her. I can navigate those sorts of things just fine, but the configuration is way over my head.
I’d stared at her overly round belly the entire time.
The thing protruding so far, I’d once again asked her if she was having multiple babies.
Instinctively, I’d rubbed the expanse of my soft stomach, the memories threatening to take over my mind.
But I didn’t let them. I couldn’t. There was too much to do, and Betty needed to be chipper and on her game.
“Just one,” she’d groaned, attempting to stand from my desk chair.
The crunch of gravel has me spinning back toward the drive in front of the house. Thoughts of babies fade with the familiarity of the truck idling mere feet from me.
That uncontrollable patter of my heart has me wanting to run, but also stay put at the same time.
It’s him. Nash.
The past eight months have been a duck-and-run-for-cover mission. The few times we’ve crossed paths since River’s party last summer nearly had me vomiting on my shoes in embarrassment as my nerves fired with untameable panic.
I may not remember that portion of the night when Nash danced with me, but he does.
River was the one to tell me about my brutal confession of my love for the man who stole my heart when I was ten years old.
For that night, I felt like the old Betty.
Like there were so many possibilities ahead of me, so I pounded shot after shot with the girls and pretended.
When River told me I’d made a fool of myself, I was mortified.
I’ve never told a soul how long I’ve been pining after Nash.
He was the initials inside the hearts I drew in my notebooks and the reason I put on pretty dresses for Sunday dinner.
No boyfriend has ever compared to the fantasies of Nash in my head.
He has consumed my every thought and owned my heart since the day we met, and no one knew but me.
“Hey, Betty.” His gruff voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
Slipping my hands in my back pockets, my gaze rakes over his wild, dark umber hair and the perfectly sculpted beard, cropped close to the bottom half of his face.
I blink several times, unsure how long I’ve been standing here like a deer in the headlights.
“Um, hi, Nash.” Yanking my hands free, they aggressively run down my bare thighs, the humidity higher than usual for April.
My clothing feels wet against my skin, or maybe I’m just sweating profusely, staring up at the most handsome face I’ve ever known.
It was warm enough that I had to pull the cut-off shorts out early. My fitted tee does little to hide the pump of my chest as he takes another step closer.
You need to breathe, Betty.
“The place looks nice.” He cocks his head toward the house, his hands slipping into the front pockets of his perfectly fitted jeans.
There’s no stopping my gaze from raking down his powerful thighs wrapped in denim.
I’m practically salivating imagining what it must have been like to have his body against mine on the dance floor.
Pressing my eyes shut, I inhale deeply, forcing my focus to the trees in the distance over his broad shoulder.
Forcing a wide grin, our eyes lock. “Uh, yeah. Hoping it’ll be ready for opening weekend.”
“It’s not now?” Nash’s brow knits as he seems to search the grounds for answers.
“Uh, no. The furniture just started arriving today. It’ll all be here by Thursday.” The mundane nature of the conversation allows me to breathe. My muscles uncoiling, no longer fearing he might bring up that night.
“Damn,” he waves his cream cowboy hat, running his fingers through his thick, dark hair.
Taking a discreet step back, I slip my hands into my back pockets once more. My fingers are too eager to run through his hair, too. “What’s going on?”
“Garrison said I could stay here for a few days. Looking at a couple of their calves for training.” There’s nothing but the cold clip of business in his tone. His jaw working as if trying to find another solution.
“Here?” I nearly choke. “Like in the house?”
“Yes. In the house.” The words are clipped, a hint of annoyance creeping in. He was never one to pretend to stay calm when his plans went awry.
“Uh, well, there are no beds yet. Um, just in my room. There are couches, though.” My voice quivers. If Tate or Gray said he could stay, then I’ll need to find a way to make it work. I don’t want them firing me before the place even opens.
“You live here?” he questions.
“Uh, no. No, I just—” a heavy sigh releases from me, Nash looking away as if annoyed we’re still standing out here in the sweltering wet heat. “I stay when I need to.”
“No worries. Couch is fine,” he grunts, turning back to his truck and pulling an overnight bag free.
“Right, uh. You can let yourself in.”
“Right. Okay. Bye, Betty.”
He moves around me, my eyes pressing shut again, trying to force breaths into my lungs.
He’d been so normal. So unaffected—I think. But dammit, I couldn’t even get out complete sentences half the time.
Embarrassment causes my chest to pump faster than it should. My heart can’t handle being under the same roof as Nash tonight. Likely not ever.
Swiping flyaways off my face, I suck in several soul-cleansing breaths. Focus. That’s what I need.
He’d been so normal. He’d been the same Nash I’ve always known. How could he know how I feel about him and be completely unaffected?
How could he say nothing about it?
Smiling wide as another delivery truck pulls up, I do my best to push Nash Donovan out of my mind. I have a job to do, and it has nothing to do with obsessing over a man who couldn’t care less about me.
My temples ache, and stale sweat sticks to my skin. Three hours of directing delivery people in this humidity nearly had me fainting in the yard. It seemed to be endless as they hauled in tables, chairs, couches, and decor: everything but the damn beds.
It was an uphill battle transferring between departments, with each taking a turn to provide no help, before a manager confirmed Thursday as the soonest possible date.
There were delays with the suppliers, blah, blah, blah.
The reason didn’t matter. Our first guests are checking in next Friday, and I need to have a place for them to sleep—end of story.
River has become my best friend, and the last thing I want to do is let her or her newly minted husband down. They vouched for me to Tate. In truth, I’m not sure he cared who his brother hired as long as it wasn’t one more thing for him to think about.
Grumbling sounds fill the air as I rub my stomach, shuffling toward the kitchen. Breakfast and coffee never happened this morning. Forget food, I need that boost of energy if I’m going to get any work done tonight.
Turning the corner into the massive kitchen area, the sweet aroma of food and dark roast coffee wafts up my nostrils.
My stomach growls again, the sound so loud that whoever is in the kitchen must have heard it.
The Garrisons insisted that as long as the ranch folks cleaned up after themselves, they had free rein to use the kitchen at their leisure.
For the second time today, I’m anchored in place. Nash moves through the kitchen as if he lives here, cooking steaks on the stove before pouring a large mug of coffee. The scent of the herbs assaults me, and I want nothing more than to shovel his food into my mouth.
“Thought you might need this,” he says without even looking up.
“No.” The word blurts out of my mouth despite it watering in anticipation of that tender meat and the bitter bite of caffeine. The gesture, though kind, is making my head spin, and I don’t know what to do about it. Not when he knows and hasn’t said a word. “I’m fine,” I lie.
The words had come out squeaky and uneven, but I don’t leave myself time to obsess over them. Spinning on my heel, I’m ready to bolt to the room that was claimed as mine when Nash’s voice makes me stop in my tracks.
“It’s fine, yah know. I’m not gonna treat you any differently because of what you told me.” Tenderness coats his words, that big-brother tone wrapping each one in a protective blanket.
Again, my eyes press shut, tears burning and threatening to break free.
If only he understood that’s the problem.
In a perfect world or a rom-com, I would have confessed my love, and he’d have swept me off my feet. We’d live happily ever after, and for once, I’d have everything I wanted.
Reality isn’t a neatly wrapped package with a pristine bow, though.
I say nothing as I blink away my tears and wander toward my bedroom.
One day, I’ll get Nash Donovan out of my system. I have to. Because no matter what I do, he’s never going to want me.