WINNIE Running wild
WINNIE
Running wild
Pawhuska, Oklahoma
"The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of."
- Blaise Pascal
***
There was no way he just decided to flirt with me like that out of nowhere. Where the hell did that even come from?
I’d tried to sleep on it. Tried to tell myself that Beau Sterling was just being his usual charming, attention-seeking Dallas self and it didn't mean anything. He was probably like this with every girl back in the city—flashing that grin, dropping lines like breadcrumbs, expecting adoration. I’d tried to tell myself that tomorrow morning things would go back to normal—respectful distance, professional boundaries, me pretending his arms weren't distracting and him pretending he hadn't just told me I was "breathtakingly hot" in the middle of the goddamn barn.
Except I got maybe three hours of sleep. Total.
Every time I closed my eyes, I heard his voice—that low, confident drawl when he’d said "the view is you" like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Saw the way he’d looked at me on the porch, all lazy confidence and deliberate heat. Felt the ghost of how close he’d stood in the barn, close enough that I could smell him—soap and sweat and something that was just him.
Beau Sterling was going to be the death of me. I was calling it now.
When my alarm went off at 4:30 AM, I was already awake, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do.
Go downstairs and face him like nothing happened?
Pretend I hadn't spent half the night replaying "watching you work makes me want to either worship you or throw you against a wall" on loop until my entire body felt like it was on fire?
Because I couldn't help but wonder what his arms would feel like, if he was strong enough to actually manhandle me. The thought made me shiver, heat pooling low in my belly despite the early morning chill.
I rolled out of bed and went straight to the shower, cranking the water as cold as it would go. The shock of it made me gasp, but I needed it—needed something to snap me out of whatever horny, sleep-deprived spiral I was currently in.
Cassie’s voice echoed in my head as the icy water ran down my back: Just fuck him. Life's too short. That boy wants you bad.
And the thing was, she was mostly right.
It had been over a year since I’d been with anyone, and even longer since I’d wanted someone the way I apparently wanted Beau.
Tyler had been a good distraction until he wasn't—safe, familiar, ultimately boring.
But now there was a literal model living in my house, looking at me like I was water in a desert, and I was supposed to what?
Ignore it? Pretend I didn't feel the same pull?
He seemed more than down for it too, which really didn't help my situation.
I hadn't expected him to actually grow into an attractive man, even if I wanted to lie to myself.
He was far from the twelve-year-old Beau who cried over mud.
Maybe his father didn't agree with that, but he was a man, for sure.
And he was looking at me like a man looks at a woman he intends to claim.
I let the freezing water assault my back while I rubbed my face hard, slapping my cheeks like that would somehow reset my brain. Get it together, Jameson. You're a professional. You run an entire ranch. You can handle one flirty city boy.
Even if that city boy had shoulders that could now carry fence posts like they weighed nothing and a jawline that could cut glass and eyes that—
Stop. STOP.
I turned off the shower and dried off aggressively, like I could towel away the thoughts. Then I stood in front of my closet for way too long, staring at my clothes like they held the answers to the universe.
Normally I just grabbed whatever was clean—old jeans, a tank top or flannel, boots.
Function over fashion, always. But this morning, my hand hovered over a pair of jeans that actually fit instead of hanging loose.
The dark blue ones that Cassie had bought me last year, saying they "made my ass look like art. " I’d worn them maybe twice.
I grabbed them before I could overthink it. Then—and this is where I knew I was in trouble—I picked a fitted black tank top instead of my usual oversized one. And I actually braided my hair neatly instead of just tying it back in a messy knot.
This wasn't dressing up. This was just... wearing clean clothes. That happened to fit. And maybe showed off that I had a figure under all the ranch grime. That was allowed. That was normal.
"You're so full of shit," I muttered to my reflection, but I left the clothes on anyway.
By the time I got downstairs at 5:15, Beau was already in the kitchen making coffee. Of course he was. Because this morning couldn't cut me any breaks.
It was surprising that I only had to wake him up maybe like seven times in the span of three weeks. He adapted faster and easier than we gave him credit for.
He looked up when I walked in, and I watched his gaze travel—quick but deliberate—from my face down to my boots and back up again. His eyes lingered just a second too long on the jeans, and when he met my eyes again, there was this knowing little smirk playing at his lips.
"Morning," he said, voice still rough from sleep. "Coffee?"
"Yeah." I tried to sound normal. Casual. Like I hadn't spent three hours thinking about him last night. "Thanks."
He poured me a cup, and when he handed it over, his fingers brushed mine. Just barely. Probably an accident.
Except the way he was looking at me said it absolutely wasn't an accident.
"Sleep well?" he asked innocently.
"Fine."
"Really? Because you look a little tired." He leaned against the counter, cradling his own mug, and that smirk got a fraction wider. "Anything keeping you up?"
Oh, he wanted to play this game. He didn't know I was quite the good player.
"Just the usual," I said coolly, taking a sip. "Ranch stuff. You know how it is."
"Mm. Ranch stuff." He took a sip of coffee, eyes never leaving mine. "Must've been some pretty intense ranch stuff to have you up at 4:30."
"How do you know when I got up?"
"I heard the shower." He tilted his head. "You always take what I assumed were cold showers at dawn, or was today special?"
My face heated. "That's—how did you—"
"Thin walls. Old house." He pushed off the counter, moving past me toward the door, and as he did, he leaned in just close enough to murmur near my ear, "For what it's worth? Those jeans are worth losing sleep over."
Then he was gone, heading out to start morning chores, leaving me standing in the kitchen with my face on fire and my coffee forgotten.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
This was going to be a very long day.
Morning chores were torture.
Beau didn't do anything obvious—he wasn't inappropriate or over the line. But he was... present. Aware. Every time we passed each other in the barn, I felt his eyes tracking me. When we worked side by side mucking stalls, he’d lean in under the pretense of asking a question, his breath warm against my ear.
"How's this look?"
"Need help with that gate?"
"You're real good at this, you know. Teaching me."
That last one, whispered while I was bent over checking Daisy's hoof, nearly made me drop the damn horse.
"I'm just doing my job," I managed, straightening up.
"You're doing it very well." He stood, and I could feel him standing too close behind me. Not touching, but close enough that my entire back tingled with awareness. "I appreciate it. All of it."
"Beau—"
"Winnie?"
I turned to find him looking at me with this expression that was half-teasing, half-serious, and entirely too much. "What are we doing here?"
"Working. Morning chores. Like we do every day."
"You know what I mean."
I did. God help me, I did.
"I don't know," I admitted quietly. "Yesterday you were all... that. And now you're—"
"Still that?" He smiled. "Yeah. I meant what I said. All of it. Question is—what are you gonna do about it?"
"I don't—I need to think."
"You said that yesterday."
"And I'm saying it again today, because you keep—" I gestured at him, at the space between us, at everything. "You keep doing this and I can't think when you're doing this!"
His smile turned absolutely wicked. "Good."
"That's not—you're impossible."
"I'm honest."
"You're distracting."
"Also honest." He stepped back, giving me space I didn't entirely want. "But I'll back off if you really want me to. Just say the word."
"I..."
I didn't say the word. Couldn't, apparently. Because some traitorous part of me liked the attention. Liked the way he looked at me like I was the most interesting thing in the world. Liked feeling wanted after a year of deliberately not wanting anyone.
We finished the chores in charged silence, and I was just thinking we might survive the morning when Pops came jogging—actually jogging, which was alarming—toward the barn.
"We got a runner!" he called. "Phoenix jumped the north fence. Headed toward Morrison's property."
"Shit." Phoenix was one of our younger mares, barely three years old and still skittish as hell. If she made it to Morrison's land, she could get tangled in their barbed wire or worse. "When?"
"Just now. Saw her from the porch. She's fast, Winnie."
"I'll get Bandit." I was already moving, adrenaline overriding everything else. Phoenix was my responsibility—I’d been the one training her, building her trust. If she got hurt because I’d been too busy mooning over Beau—
"I'm coming with you," Beau said, already following.
"You can't ride well enough for this."
"So we'll double up. I can hold on."
"Beau—"
"I'm not letting you go alone. What if she runs into the woods? What if you need help?" He was already grabbing Bandit's bridle. "I can at least be an extra set of hands."
He was right, damn him. And we didn't have time to argue.
"Fine. But you do exactly what I say. No heroics, no improvising. You hold on and don't fall off."
"Yes, ma'am."