Chapter 6
By the time she came out, I’d already saddled up the little spotted pony.
“What’s this?”
“Well,” I said, patting Pinkie’s side, “it’s not on your list, but I figured before the big rodeo, you might wanna try something… smaller.”
“Was there seriously nothing smaller?”
“I’m offended. And so is Pinkie.”
I shot a look over my shoulder.
“Just saying, ponies are way more dangerous than horses. No offense, Shakespeare.” My own horse snorted, like he agreed.
Willa laughed.
“Yeah, I can totally imagine.”
“You’ll see. Pinkie doesn’t give a single damn about your rodeo dreams. Or anything else, really.”
She climbed up like she’d done it a hundred times, and I stepped closer, reached into my saddlebag, and pulled out my old hat. Slid it on her head.
Just to see if she looked like the way I’d imagined her last night.
She did.
Hell. She looked better.
“And do I get a whip or a lasso or something?”
I didn’t answer.
I just stared.
God, was there anything more perfect than this woman?
I stepped closer, caught her eyes. She had no idea what was coming.
“No whip?” she asked again, raising a brow.
I didn’t give a fuck about promises, rules or plans. Or being smart. I let it go.
I could’ve kissed her. Easily. Her lips were so close, it almost felt like fate.
Step by step, I leaned in. There was no big move.
Just her. And that stubborn mouth I’d been dying to kiss.
So I did.
Slow. Steady.
No rush. Just being in it. Right there with her.
Her hand slid to my waist, soft but certain. No pulling away. No hesitation. She kissed me back like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like maybe she’d been waiting for it too.
Jesus.
If we didn’t have to be somewhere, and if I hadn’t just told Hope I was a damn punctual legend, I would’ve pulled her off that saddle, laid her out on the couch, and made sure she couldn’t stand straight for a week.
“I don’t know what that meant in cowboy,” she whispered, eyes still glazed, “but I’m starting to really like this whole riding thing. If this is how cowboys talk.”
“Yeah, lucky for you, not every cowboy says hello like that. And honestly, I wouldn’t recommend it either.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said, biting her lip.
That damn lip was gonna be the death of me.
I gave Shakespeare a nudge with my heel and started off toward the ridge. For half a second, I forgot Willa didn’t exactly grow up in the saddle.
I heard a yelp, a thump, and the unmistakable sound of Pinkie deciding she was in charge now.
I turned in the saddle. She was bouncing around like a drunk squirrel on a trampoline, clinging to the saddle with both hands, hair flying, mouth open.
“You okay back there?”
“Define okay!”
“Still on the pony?”
“Technically!”
I pulled up and trotted back.
“Use your thighs more.”
“Thanks for the tip, John Wayne.”
She was hanging on like a damn champion. Okay—maybe more like a stubborn girl who refused to admit her leg hurt. Either way, she stayed on.
The trail curved down through the cottonwoods, golden leaves catching the sun like confetti. She was quiet, but I could feel her watching me.
She looked too damn perfect in that old hat of mine. Like she belonged here. Like she’d always belonged.
By the time Hope’s house came into view, Willa had figured out the rhythm—mostly. Her jeans were dusty, cheeks pink, and eyes lit up with something that looked suspiciously like pride.
“So… do I look like a real cowgirl now?”
I looked her over, slow and shameless.
“If I wasn’t already on a horse, I’d be on my knees.”
Willa tugged at the reins, her eyes narrowing.
“So you’re really not gonna give me a heads-up on what I’m about to face?”
I pretended to think.
“Hmm… I believe in the power of surprise.”
Before she could protest, I hopped off Shakespeare and walked straight up to the front door.
Hope opened the door with that signature scowl of hers.
“Oh, great. You and your little fiancée again.”
“Yep,” I said, grinning. “And why exactly does that bother you?”
She huffed. Gave me the gate key like she was handing over state secrets.
I turned back and shot Willa a wink.
“Stay right there, sweetheart. I’ll be back in a minute.”
She looked confused as hell. Honestly, fair.
A few minutes later, the back gate creaked open… and out came McKenzie.
Big. Loud. Mooing like she owned the damn ranch.
Willa’s eyes went wide.
“Is that…?”
“Yep,” I said, holding the lead rope. “That’s McKenzie.”
“She’s… a cow.”
“Brilliant deduction, Sherlock.”
“You made me ride a pony all the way here for a cow?”
“Not just any cow. She’s my emotional support animal.”
She gave me the most baffled look, like she’d just realized she might be marrying into a circus.
McKenzie let out another dramatic moo.
Before we took off, I gave her saddle one last check. Not because it looked off—just needed an excuse to be near her. Close enough to smell her shampoo. Close enough to maybe steal a kiss, if I got lucky.
Just as I leaned in, she tipped her head, real casual, and whispered, “You’re just trying to make your ex jealous, huh?”
Didn’t even cross my mind till she said it. But now?
Hell.
Before I could answer, she closed the space and kissed me.
Not a shy, polite little thing.
A real kiss. Bold as sin. The kind that short-circuits your brain and makes you forget your own name.
When she pulled back, she gave me that look—like nothing happened.
“This is how we do it where I’m from,” she said, straight-faced.
I touched my mouth. She’d left a little sting. Might’ve bitten me on purpose. And I still couldn’t look away. She had me. Completely.
Then she leaned in again, a little smirk playing on her lips.
“Think she saw that from the window?”
I shook my head. “No clue. Why?”
She swung her leg over the saddle like she was born on a ranch.
“Cause if not,” she said, grinning over her shoulder, “we can do it again.”
I just stared.
Half wrecked. Half confused.
“So the whole thing was for her?”
She shrugged. “Nah. I just don’t like when people pick on guys I like.”
That word.
Like.
I swear to God, if there’d been a courthouse within riding distance, I’d have taken her straight there. No questions asked.
We were already on the road back, McKenzie trotting ahead of us like she owned the damn county. I kept her steady, nudging her gently, making sure she didn’t wander off into some ditch or barbed wire.
Willa watched for a minute, then said, “So what’s her story?”
“Mc’s?”
She nodded.
I hesitated. “It’s kinda dumb,” I warned. “You’re gonna laugh.”
“I can handle dumb.”
I sighed. “She was born when I was still living with Hope. Her mama died giving birth, so we kept her. Raised her in the barn. Bottle-fed her and all. Then when we broke up…”
Willa cut in. “She broke off the engagement?”
I looked at her. Thought about how much detail I wanted to spill.
“Yeah,” I said finally. “And when it came time to split everything up… well, it wasn’t clear who McKenzie belonged to.
I was being stubborn and petty—didn’t wanna make things easier for Hope.
” I laughed under my breath. “So I suggested shared custody. And my lawyer? Actually got her to sign off on it.”
Willa stared at me. “Wow. Must’ve been a serious relationship.”
“You could say that.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Hope said I could keep McKenzie, but I was drunk enough one night to bet her the cow would wanna be with me every weekend anyway. And as you’ve probably figured out by now—I don’t lose bets, and I don’t back out of them either.”
Willa burst out laughing. “You’re insane, Cash.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She shook her head, still grinning. “Let me just translate this to human real quick: instead of letting her go, you chose to drive a cow back and forth across the fields every damn weekend just so you’d still have some sort of tie to your ex.
Which basically means… neither of you is ever gonna fully get rid of the other. ”
I didn’t laugh. Didn’t say a word.
Because she was right.
And I hadn’t seen it that clearly until just now.
Willa must’ve realized it too, because she went quiet.
Looked away.
I watched her for a beat, then said, “You know what’s dangerous about you?”
She turned back to me slowly.
“You’re too perfect,” I said, my voice low. “And it’s starting to feel like you’re hiding something real big underneath.”
She didn’t answer. Didn’t even smile.
And for once, that silence?
Didn’t sit right with me.
McKenzie took off like her tail was on fire.
One second she was trotting along nice and slow, the next she was barreling down Main Street like she had a grudge against modern infrastructure.
By the time I caught up with her—panting, swearing, regretting every life choice—she’d already painted the sidewalk like it was her personal fricking bathroom.
Perfect.
I was halfway through apologizing to a couple old ladies when I heard the worst voice a man could hear in this town.
“Well, well. If it isn’t McKenzie’s weekly crap parade.”
Rufus Cadervale.
The guy had a nose for drama and a stick so far up his ass, I was shocked it didn’t poke out his ears.
“You do realize this is technically illegal?” he barked, arms crossed. “You’re disturbing the public peace with… bowel movements.”
Before I could open my mouth, Willa stepped forward. Hands on hips. Chin up. Ready for war.
“And you are?”
He blinked. “Rufus Cadervale the sheriff.”
“Oh wow,” she said, voice sweet as molasses. “Must be exhausting. Policing cow poop. You want a medal or something?”
I tried not to laugh. Failed.
Rufus narrowed his eyes at me. “Didn’t know you were into the fiery ones, Cash. Thought you preferred them eighteen and clueless.”
Willa didn’t even blink.
“Well, if you’d like an invite to our wedding,” she said with a bright smile, “just send your contact info via email.”
Beat.
“Oh wait,” she added. “Right. Internet hasn’t reached your cave yet.”
I lost it.
So did Rufus. But in a different way.
He stomped off, muttering something about citations and morality.
I just shrugged.
“Don’t look at me,” I said. “Can’t leash a wildfire.”
And behind us, McKenzie let out a triumphant moo—right before dumping another pile near the mayor’s flowerbed.