Chapter 3
Betty
From the very first moment I walked into the Thirsty Pony holding my hand-written paper application, I wasn’t nervous.
When I faced my first astronomy exam in college, I felt only excitement.
Yet now, as I sit on the Miller house sofa, my hands knot in my lap, and anxious butterflies soar through my stomach.
My palms sweat, knowing that in a matter of moments, our first guest will arrive.
Though I’ve never been close to the Garrison brothers, letting them down in any way is not something I am willing to do.
Worrying my bottom lip, I shoot to my feet for the tenth time, pacing the short distance between where the cream and brown rug meets the original natural oak hardwood floors.
It’s been months of watching this place come together.
Months of organizing every detail and ensuring we were not only serving those who come to compete or vendor for the rodeo, but also the business.
That’s how Tate asked me to look at this.
Boulder Ranch may be a place for family, but it has to be more than that if it’s going to survive and then thrive.
I’ve only just slumped back onto the opposite couch when the sharp crack of a knock at the door launches me back to my feet. My body involuntarily jumps as if I hadn’t expected a guest to arrive.
Smoothing the simple business casual dress down my thighs, my heart rate instantly races, hoping I didn’t leave palm prints on the soft green fabric. The heels River insisted I wear click across the floor as I make my way to the door, swinging it wide.
My classic Betty grin stretches across my face as the stranger comes into view.
“Welcome to Boulder Ranch.” Flashing all of my teeth, the young cowboy on the other side immediately smiles back.
His crooked grin is the type that could make a woman blush, but not this one.
Not when a piece of me was hoping it would be Nash coming to sweep me off my feet, knowing that was never going to happen.
“Howdy, ma’am,” he drawls, removing his hat while briefly dipping his chin in greeting. His grin matches mine, wide and forthcoming. Only his appears genuine, while mine is the practiced expression I mastered before I even entered high school.
I’d thought it would be hard to turn on the charm after being away from the bar these past few months, but it came naturally. Perhaps I shouldn’t have doubted myself when this is who I’ve always been to everyone around me.
But the optimist in me hopes it’s the excitement of working with people drawing out my natural joy.
When it was time to find my first job, I knew it was a must. I may not have always felt like the fun girl everyone thought I was, but I endured because I’ve always loved being there for others and helping them through life.
Looking back, a people-pleaser like me might see it that way.
“Please come in.” Gesturing my arm to the side as I angle my body out of the doorway, he quickly steps over the threshold.
A ratty brown duffel bag hangs over his shoulder, likely some sort of good luck charm he refuses to travel without.
“Name?” I ask, moving ahead toward my laptop, which I left on the living room coffee table.
“Ward. Ward Ferrell,” his deep baritone hits me from behind. His presence at my back has my nerve endings crackling with awareness. Weird.
Spinning to face him, he’s closer, but not intrusively so. It’s a respectful distance with his hat still poised over his stomach. The last man, aside from my brother and father, I was this close to was Nash.
Dammit, I need him out of my head.
“Alright, Mr. Ferrell, I have you out in cabin 1A. There are no keys. The code is seven-five-three-seven for the front door. If you need anything, I’m usually here at the main house, or you can find my phone number in the reservation email.”
Soft hazel eyes meet mine, that crooked grin pulling a fraction higher. “Is that your personal number?” His tone is hopeful, as if he genuinely wants to know. Usually, I would be creeped out by now, but there’s something trustworthy about the man standing in front of me.
A flush creeps up my chest and neck, flooding my cheeks with color.
It’s not that I don’t get hit on. I do. All the time.
Some I’ll date, but most I compare to Nash and decide they’re not worth my time.
Which, looking back now, was stupid. I barely know the man now, yet my heart has always belonged to him.
With an awkward laugh, I place my laptop back on the table. “They are one and the same; however, let’s keep it to business.”
“‘Course.” He nods, his own face growing pink as if embarrassed. “But can I at least know your name?”
“Beatrice. Uh, Betty. Everyone just calls me Betty.” A heavy breath releases from me as I clutch the tablet in both palms in front of my thighs.
“See ya around, Beatrice.” Then he’s back out the door, following the newly graveled paths to the cabins that sit behind the Miller house.
From the side windows, I can watch him until he disappears inside the cabin at the end.
I allow myself to get lost in my mind, thinking about the handsome cowboy out back.
He’d seemed kind enough. Maybe I should have been bolder and told him to use it anytime.
Maybe it would make me forget that Nash has never and will never want anything to do with me.
But I can’t.
I’ve tried—countless times. Even Ryan, a man I was planning to marry, couldn’t erase Nash from my heart and mind.
Every boyfriend who dumped me, knowing they weren’t the man I was thinking of when they held me at night or we had sex, could tell you so. It was always him. Always fucking Nash with that winning grin burned on my soul.
So I let myself think of Ward. Of possibilities, as a wide grin stretches the corners of my mouth when the front door opens.
“Betty?”
An audible gasp leaves me, my eyes gaping at the man before me. Good grief, did my thoughts summon him or something? “Nash? What are you doing here?” I immediately stand, my mouth pressed into a straight line as I stare into those blue eyes I’ve been lost in my whole life.
“I’m staying here,” he answers dryly. No inflection. No emotion. Not even a proper hello.
My heart fractures a little more, and my hope withers and dies.
It’s not like I didn’t know he was a guest this weekend. I did. And I purposely sent him an extra email with his cabin information ahead of time to avoid moments like this. “You already have your cabin information.”
He steps closer, his woodsy scent wafting up my nose. It’s a fight not to inhale deeply. Not to fist his shirt and breathe him in like I’ve always wanted to. “Yeah, but I was hoping you could make a switch,” he mutters.
“Oh, why?”
He’s suddenly another step closer, and the multicolored hues of his eyes become clear.
Don’t stare, Betty. “I really wanted the first cabin at the end. Quieter. More privacy.” His tone hasn’t changed since the moment he walked through the door.
I can’t recall a time he has ever been so dry with me, but I’ve also never seen him so worn down.
“Privacy for what? The women you plan on bringing back with you?” My hand clamps over my mouth.
There’s no chance the universe will answer my wish and erase the last five seconds.
My body heats with the flames of embarrassment as Nash’s eyes gape wide, not just in shock but with mirth dancing there.
“No,” he chuckles. “The young rodeo guys like to party. I like to sleep.”
“Of course. I’m so sorry. I, well, yeah. Cabin 1B. The code is seven-five-three-seven,” I quickly blurt out, tumbling over my words. Anything to get me out of this situation as fast as possible.
Something flashes in his eyes as I relay the numbers. It’s the same stare we’ve shared in the last few encounters we’ve had. Our lips part, and our breathing shifts as if we’re both going to confess, then one of us breaks eye contact, and the moment is over.
Today it’s him.
“Thanks.” He tips his head to me before reaching for the front door. “If you need a ride to the Thirsty Pony tonight, you come find me.”
“I won’t. Beckett will be here.”
“Beckett?” Nash spins back to face me. “Damn, I haven’t seen him since…” A genuine smile stretches wide, the corners of his eyes crinkling, aging him just before he finishes his statement. The night I ruined everything.
Studying Nash’s face now, I’ve never thought about how time has changed us because it wasn’t just his looks I cared about. I’ve always seen Nash as the eighteen-year-old boy who checked on me in the middle of the night, but he’s forty now. Neither of us are those same children anymore.
“Well, you’ll see him at the bar tonight. Sorry, but I have work to do. You have my number if you need anything.”
His jaw flexes, eyes casting down to where my chest pumps heavily. “Yeah, Betty. I do.” Then he’s gone, too.
I scrub my hands over my face, not caring if I smudge the soft nude eyeshadow or my mascara. How am I going to survive an entire season with Nash here all the damn time?
If only I hadn’t confessed. Not that it would have changed a thing. I’d still be here, pining after a man who doesn’t want me.
Rolling my shoulders back, I make a choice.
No more.
I’ve wasted too many thoughts, breaths, and dreams on Nash Donovan. If he saw me as anything more, he would have said something at the very least.
What are those song lyrics? If he wanted to, he would.
He doesn’t.