Chapter 18
Fable
“You cannot fucking laugh because this is your fault,” I grumbled as I opened the bathroom door.
Once I’d calmed down enough, I reminded myself that I was safe, and thankfully, the panic stayed at bay. I tugged the sleeves of my sweatshirt down over my hands so he couldn’t see the raw skin underneath.
“My fault?”
“Yes, because of that weird show of affection earlier, I was forced to wear a pair of your pants or freeze, and freezing seemed silly.”
“Come on, Cowgirl. Let’s see what you got.”
I huffed, stepping out into the room, gripping the waistband of the sweats like my life depended on it.
Beau was far taller than me—though shorter than Mike—and much stockier.
The pants were practically falling off me, even after I tied them as tightly as possible.
If I wasn’t careful, I’d give him a show I definitely wasn’t planning on.
“You didn’t have to take me up on the offer,” he started, planting his palms behind him on the bed and reclining back. “I mean, coming out here without anything—”
I shot him a sharp look, cutting him off. “Finish that sentence and then tell me if it’s within our friendship boundary.”
He threw up his hands in mock surrender, a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Alright. You’re right.”
Beau stood up from the bed and walked over to the dresser. As he opened one of the drawers, a glint of gold, silver, and bronze caught my eye. Curiosity got the better of me, and I wandered over to take a closer look.
When I saw it—an entire drawer packed full of belt buckles in every size, color, and shape—I couldn’t help myself. I burst out laughing, clutching my stomach.
“It’s like a jewelry drawer that women have,” I managed between fits of giggles.
Beau’s mouth dropped open, his expression one of mock disgust. “Don’t you dare start making fun of my belt buckles,” he said, pointing at me as if I’d personally offended him.
“I’m just saying.” I wiped my eyes. “This is . . . this is incredible. I didn’t know cowboys had accessory collections.”
“Accessories?” he repeated, as if the word burned his tongue. “These are trophies, baby. Every one of these is a win.”
“Oh, my bad,” I said, holding my hands up, still grinning. “Your trophy drawer. Much more dignified.”
“Careful,” he said, his voice dropping just enough to make my stomach flip, “or you’ll never know the feeling of a belt buckle pressing against the inside of your thigh.”
My laughter cut off instantly, the image flashing in my mind before I could stop it. The weight of his body, the scrape of denim against bare skin, and the cool, solid press of that belt buckle against the sensitive inside of my thigh as I grinded . . .
“Ah,” I shouted, shaking my head as if that would clear the thought. “Beau. Enough. Friendship,” I managed to stammer, barely getting the word out as I turned away from him.
He cocked an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re the one making it weird.”
“I am not,” I snapped.
I could still feel the heat spreading through me, and I needed to get out of there before I gave anything else away.
“Sure you’re not,” he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement as he leaned casually against the dresser like he hadn’t just wrecked my composure with one stupid line.
With a sigh, he straightened, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Alright, alright. You’re right. I’m crossing a line. How about I make us some lunch, and then I’ll drive you back so you don’t have to walk before we head to Roger’s tonight?”
I crossed my arms, trying to hide my triumphant smile. “Fine. But you better make something good.”
He shook his head as he headed for the door. “Deal and if those pants fall off, don’t blame me for enjoying the view.”
My eyes widened, and before I could think, I grabbed a pillow off the bed and chucked it at him with everything I had.
“Beau,” I yelled.
He ducked, laughing so hard he had to brace himself on the doorframe. “What? I’m just being honest. Consider it a compliment.”
I grabbed another pillow, but he held up his hands, his grin somehow getting bigger.
Heat crept up my neck. “You are impossible.”
He winked and gestured toward the stairs. “Get your cute little ass downstairs before I say something else that’ll make you throw the whole bed at me.”
I rolled my eyes as he made his way to the kitchen, his boots thudding down the stairs while his laughter echoed. I shook my head, still grinning, but I didn’t follow him—not yet.
My gaze drifted back to the wall, to Beau frozen in a hundred moments of chaos and control. In one picture, his hand gripped the rope tight, muscles straining, while the other hand shot high in the air.
Fearlessness.
That was the answer to all this, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just about riding bulls or living on a ranch—it was about facing whatever came next without hesitating, without holding back.
I needed to be more . . . fearless.
“So, the rope you hold is called a flank strap?” I asked, leaning on the island as the smell of whatever he was cooking filled the kitchen.
He shook his head, stirring the large pot on the stove.
“No, the flank strap is the one we use on the back of the bull. It ties under their belly, helps them buck more. Back in the day, they used to tie it to their, uh . . . testicles, but we got rid of that a long time ago. Now it’s more of an annoyance for the bull, just enough to make them buck harder to get it off. ”
“What’s the thing you hold onto then?”
“That’s the bull rope,” he said. “It’s tied around the bull, just behind the front legs. There’s a bell attached to the end of it—it acts as a weight so the rope falls off safely once the ride’s over.”
I nodded, piecing it all together.
“But Kline mentioned something about stock auctions. He said that sometimes he bucks a dummy on the bulls?” I asked, watching as Beau’s hand stilled on the wooden spoon before he turned to face me fully.
“Is that like . . . someone like you who gets on?”
“HA.” Beau laughed and shook his head. “You think you’re real funny, don’t you?”
I smiled.
“The—”
“I know what it is. I did research before I took the job.”
His lips pressed into a tight line, and he nodded, clearly amused but trying not to let it show. “Alright then,” he said, folding his arms. “Go on, tell me.”
“A dummy’s a weighted device you strap on the bull. It’s remote-controlled, and once the bull bucks enough, it releases.” I took a sip of the beer he’d handed me. “No riders needed.”
His eyebrow twitched, and for a second, I thought he might actually be impressed. But instead, he smiled, turning back to the stove. “Alright, Cowgirl. Maybe you’re not all talk after all.”
“So, what are you cooking?” I asked, leaning against the counter and tilting my head, trying to catch a whiff of whatever smelled good.
“I thought I’d show you what people eat down here. None of that city girl stuff.” He teased, stirring the pot with a little too much smugness.
I laughed, rolling my eyes. “City people don’t have a certain cuisine, you know.”
“You know?” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I love when you talk back to me. Turns me on.”
“Beau,” I shouted, heat rushing to my face, though I couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling out of me.
“I can’t help myself,” he said through his laughter, his shoulders shaking. “I swear it.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, but didn’t respond, too busy watching him move around the kitchen. There was something almost disarming about how domestic he looked, standing there in those tight jeans that hugged his ass.
The way his T-shirt pulled against his broad shoulders when he leaned over to grab something off the counter had my thoughts wandering somewhere dangerous. My thighs pressed together instinctively, and I forced myself to look away, pretending to focus on the beer in my hand.
“Chicken and dumplings,” he said, snapping me back to reality.
“What?”
“That’s what I’m making.” He glanced over at me. “Chicken and dumplings. Southern comfort food, Cowgirl. You’re about to eat like a Texan.”
Beau stirred the pot one last time before grabbing two bowls from the cabinet and filling them.
He slid one of the bowls in front of me on the counter, then grabbed a spoon and handed it over.
Without a word, he pulled up a seat next to me, settling into the stool with an easy confidence that made me hyperaware of how close he was.
“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing to the bowl. “Try it. I want to see if this city girl can handle some real food.”
I rolled my eyes but grabbed the spoon, dipping it into the creamy broth. The first bite was hot, rich, and filled with flavors that made me want to groan in appreciation—but I refused to give him the satisfaction of that.
Instead, I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and shrugged. “Not bad.” I tried to keep my voice neutral.
“Not bad?” He laughed, his knee brushing against mine as he leaned in slightly, his eyebrows raised. “That’s all you’ve got? ‘Not bad?’”
I took another bite, savoring it this time. The warmth spread through me, and I let out a small sigh of contentment before I could stop myself.
“Fine,” I admitted, setting my spoon down. “It’s good. Really good.”
He grinned, his eyes lighting up in a way that made me feel a little too warm for comfort. “Told you,” he said, bumping his shoulder lightly against mine. “Southern comfort food never misses.”
I laughed softly as I picked up my spoon again. It felt strangely easy, sitting here with him, sharing a meal like we’d done this a hundred times before.
It wasn’t just the food—though, admittedly, it was delicious—it was the company. Sitting across from someone like this, in easy silence, made me dare to feel like I could be lovable.
Harleigh was my best friend, sure, but she filled every quiet moment with chatter. Beau was different. He didn’t crowd the space. He just was—calm, steady, like the silence didn’t scare him. It made me wonder what it might be like for someone to truly share my space.