Epilogue #2
Unfortunately, my brain does not listen to reason.
The guy’s faded jeans grip his physique in the yummiest of ways, and to top it off, he’s wearing a backward ball cap—my personal kryptonite—with blond wisps of hair peeking out from underneath.
A short beard dusts his square jaw, and I am going to melt into a puddle right now.
Hot Guy’s eyes slowly rake over my body.
Sure, my dark hair falls in waves past my shoulders, and okay, my skin has been called flawless, and fine, my curves have been known to make men forget their own names.
Do I mind the attention? Not usually. Teenage me didn’t know there were members of the opposite sex who appreciate a voluptuous woman, and she’s still inside me somewhere celebrating.
As if clearing out rocks, Hot Guy shakes his head, then taps a worn cowboy boot on the bottom fence rail. “I’m waiting, Princess.”
Does feisty Capri leave or put him in his place? Find out what happens next in ==? Influencing the Rancher!
Want to read Declan's cousin Violet Wilder's story? Read Snowed In with the Cowboy Billionaire, or keep reading for a Chapter 1 preview!
Chapter 1
Violet
My thumbs tap to Taryn Murphy’s latest country hit as I drive through the Montana countryside, my nerves crackling under my skin in a war that has nothing to do with the snow that’s begun to fall.
The heater blasts warm air against my chilled fingers, fighting back the bite of winter cold seeping through the windows.
I’m nervous, though I shouldn’t be.
I’ve been to Wildridge Falls many times in my life.
It’s the namesake of my great-great grandparents, who fell in love and raised their family right on the Montana homestead where the town now stands.
I even heard stories about growing up in Wilderidge from my Grandpa Wilder.
But I wasn’t brought up there. My grandpa met my grandma and followed her to Bozeman, because “that’s what men in love do. ” So that’s where I grew up.
These days, the Wilders and Ridgemonts are spread all over the country. But every year, the local families host a giant reunion, which is where I met my cousin, Willow. She’s the one who convinced me to pack up my life in Bozeman and buy half of her floral shop, Wildridge Stems & Blooms.
We’re a lot alike, so it wasn’t a hard decision. She’s an artist with a business minor, while I have a business degree with a graphic design minor. We even look alike—the same heart-shaped face, same blue eyes, same curly hair. The big difference is that my hair is dark blonde while hers is auburn.
The numbers were right, and for the first time in forever, I got excited about owning something of my own. My parents, although sad to see me go, supported the move. Wilderidge Falls is only a 90-minute drive away, and I’ll be living near family.
The snowfall is steady now, though it’s forecasted to taper off later this evening. It will be nice to walk along the river on my first night here. A memory flashes of me and my ex, walking the frozen path to Mammoth Hot Springs in Yellowstone, hand-in-hand, in awe of the landscape.
A sense of wistful longing fills me. I miss being part of a couple.
For the last three years, I was half of ‘Violet and Jonathan.’ I had someone to cuddle with on winter nights, someone to take to family dinners.
But in the last year, he rarely wanted to do any of that.
He preferred spending time scrolling through his phone or doing anything that didn’t include me.
After spending Thanksgiving without him for the second time, I’d had enough.
Even though we both lived in the same town, he said that sitting around a table making small talk ‘felt like torture, so why force it?’ My dad is a huge introvert who deplores superficial chit-chat, so I understand.
But showing up for your loved ones is important. So, I broke it off.
Now that it’s the new year, I’m trying my best to put all that behind me. Even so, there are times I still get sad about what could have been.
Several songs later, the snow has lightened to flurries as I round the bend. The outskirts of Wilderidge Falls appear in the valley below, the fading afternoon light turning white-capped rooftops into a patchwork of golden orange.
The map to my cousin Willow’s condo shows I’ll arrive at my new home in about fifteen minutes. Nervous energy flows through me. I shipped my things ahead of me, paying movers to unpack, so all I have to do is get there and relax.
The complex is made up of multiple two-story buildings that house four units apiece. Willow lives on the top floor in a two-bedroom unit. It’s an open floor plan with plenty of space for the two of us, plus a generous covered deck that overlooks the Silverheart River. It’s the reason she bought it.
My phone rings, and I use the button on the steering wheel to answer Willow’s call.
“I’ll make it quick, Vi. Can you pop into Birdie’s and pick up extra firewood? I’m almost out. It’s on your way.”
“Got it.”
“You’re the best. Oh, and I thought of someone perfect for you! He’s amazing.”
I sigh. “I’m not ready for that, Willow.”
“Just meet him. No pressure. See you soon!”
She ends the call, and I roll my eyes. My cousin and I will be talking about this.
Birdie’s Mercantile is a general store with groceries, a small section of tools, and homemade baked goods that’s been around for ages and is beloved by locals.
Although it’s run by Birdie’s grandson now, Willow said that still Birdie pops in from time to time.
I pull my SUV up next to a truck, then hop out, my boots crunching as I head inside.
Warmth envelops me as the door closes behind me with a cheerful jingle. My cheeks tingle as they thaw, and I unzip my jacket halfway, already too warm.
The scent of hot apple cider calms my senses, the apples and cinnamon making my mouth water.
I make a mental note to grab a cup on my way out.
In search of firewood, my boots squeak against the old wooden floors, and somewhere nearby, a classic Kenny Chesney song plays softly from overhead speakers.
I pass the fresh bread racks, grabbing a loaf along with a bottle of wine before heading to the back corner near the hardware section.
Just as I round the aisle, the hottest man I’ve ever seen approaches from the other side in all his flannel and denim yumminess.
He’s tall and carries the scent of wood smoke and winter air, as if he’s been working outside all day.
Underneath the cowboy hat, dark brown hair falls across his forehead, and he’s got the kind of jaw that belongs on a cologne ad.
Seriously. That and the dark scuff of beard make me want to reach out and trace my fingers along it.
I’m so entranced that I don’t notice that we both reach for a bundle of wood until it’s too late.
Somehow, we bonk foreheads, pain blooming across my skin, and end up in a tangled pile on the hardwood floor of Birdie’s.
Well, it’s not actually a tangle. It’s more of me lying on top of him with one of his legs wrapped around mine.
His arms instinctively wrap around me, absorbing the impact like it’s nothing, steady as a horse beneath a saddle.
He holds me there, protective, like he’s making sure I’m not hurt.
For a long, beautiful moment, all I can think about is how good he feels underneath me.
Solid. Masculine. And his scent, a mix of wood smoke and pine, makes me want to lay my head on his chest and take a deep whiff.
“Hi. I’m so sorry.” His cerulean blue eyes gaze into mine as his hand slides up my back.
Up. My. Back.
Slow and deliberate, steadying me. Even through my jacket and sweater, his touch burns a trail up my spine, leaving a tingling wake that makes my breath catch. I watch his throat work as he swallows hard.
“Are you alright?”
I was until your cowboy hands decided to caress my spine, which I shouldn’t even feel through my coat, but somehow I do.
“Yes. I, uh, I’m sorry.” I try to push myself up, but when my mittens touch the hardwood.
They slip, and I smack back down. This time I land harder, my chest flush against his, my breasts smushed against his pecs.
I freeze, hyperaware that my entire body is pressed against his and that one of his hands has landed on my hip to steady me.
“I should... move. I’m going to move now. ”
I don’t move. I turn three shades of red, though, a terrible affliction of mine.
A slow smile spreads across his face, his hat on the ground next to us. “No rush.”
THANK YOU!