Red Hot Rancher (Part-time Cowboys #2)

Chapter 1

B rigit scowled at her laptop. The coffee shop was empty except for her and two elderly men lamenting the state of soybeans.

It was all she could do not to add her two cents, but picturing their reaction was enough to stop her.

She’d be surprised, even a little relieved, if they argued with her, but most likely she’d get a “that’s nice, honey” or some chuckles about why a young girl like herself would be interested in market prices.

Why buy that attitude here when she could go home and get it for free?

With an indignant sniff, she focused on the screen and the dismal list of job openings in the surrounding area.

Her fiancé Oliver wouldn’t move for a position less than CEO.

The trouble was that she didn’t have the experience.

Neither did he, which was why he’d decided to move back to their hometown of Moore, leaving her no choice but to go with.

Which was why she was sitting in a café in Normandy over an hour away from Moore. No witnesses to see her struggling to find work. The mighty Brigit Walker had slunk back to Moore because she couldn’t hack it in the big wide world.

Maybe she shouldn’t have been so cocky as a teen, informing everyone who would listen that she was going to Do Something with her life and Go Somewhere and be a Big Deal.

The final joke was on her. Her shiny new MBA didn’t mean much when she couldn’t get a job that’d cover both a mortgage and a car payment.

Good thing Oliver was taking such good care of her.

She checked her watch. He’d take his lunch hour soon and she could surprise him with an iced coffee—real cream, please—and discuss the locations of some of these positions.

A few were within commuting distance, but any driving in the middle of a Minnesota winter made commuting a major consideration, and Oliver was already driving an hour for his work.

It was early November and they had yet to see flurries, but her stomach was already churning at the thought of him driving on icy roads.

But he’d insisted on renting a house in Moore, and then on staying there when she commented on their lease being up for renewal soon.

It would have been a good time to get out.

Don’t worry, Brigit. I’m doing the driving and paying the rent. There are no places this nice in Normandy. Just stay in Moore and look for a job. Maybe something online?

She took a sip of her nonfat iced caramel macchiato.

The sweet, cool drink washed over her tongue, putting a damper on her bitterness.

Oliver managed to point out that he covered the bills in nearly every conversation.

Just like her mom managed to comment on her lack of interest in pursuing med school.

The twinkle of her three-quarter-carat diamond ring caught her eye.

She stretched out her hand. The light bouncing off the diamond made sparkles dance on her finger.

She glanced around to make sure no one had caught her preening over her own ring.

The soybean guys had just walked out. She craned her neck to peek beyond the partition she’d stuffed herself behind.

The barista was busy at a counter with her back to the booths.

Okay, the coast was clear. She stared at her ring again.

Each time she looked at it, the clarity of the jewel stole her breath.

Then anxiety squeezed her chest. What if she lost it?

What if she banged it too hard against the grain truck when she was climbing in and the stone fell out?

Oliver would be so pissed and not only because she’d lost an expensive stone that he’d bought, but also because she’d been “playing farm girl” again.

She clenched her fist.

That was half her motivation to find a high-paying job right there. Financial freedom. Mom had paid for her undergraduate and graduate school tuition. Oliver had paid the rest of her expenses while she took her classes, so she hadn’t needed to maintain a job on top of school.

The door squeaked open, but Brigit refrained from being a small-town gawker.

She kept her head down and scooted closer to the partition that separated her from the counter.

Just in case anyone recognized her. She hadn’t met many people since Oliver started working in Normandy, but residents of Moore did come to here occasionally.

She didn’t want to answer the dreaded “oh, what are you doing here” question that was loaded with the “don’t you have a job” insinuations or the “life without Mommy and Daddy’s help wasn’t as easy as you thought it would be” gloat.

Maybe all that was in her imagination, but she heard the unspoken words so much clearer.

A breathy voiced drifted over the partition. “Ooh, that looks so yummy.”

The woman must be commenting on the pumpkin spice latte placard by the cash register. Brigit was tempted to peek, but with the way she’d have to stretch, she’d look ridiculous if she got busted.

Besides, a woman with that rich, sexy voice probably didn’t have to worry about the calorie bomb lurking in the drink. Brigit’s hips liked lattes a little too much. Oliver had noticed her weight increase since they’d moved back home.

Yoga’s great for your ass. Aren’t you going anymore?

“You gonna get that?” a familiar voice asked. “You know I’m buying.”

Wait… That throaty rumble, the way it dripped with innuendo… She blinked and cocked her head. No, she must’ve heard wrong.

The barista greeted them and rattled off the daily specials. The breathy woman ordered her venti PSL and the man ordered an iced coffee. “With real cream, please.”

Brigit frowned. No, she wasn’t imagining it. She knew that voice.

What were the odds? Should she pop up and say “hey”—

Breathy woman giggled and murmured something under her breath. They couldn’t see her, and she couldn’t see them or hear the whispers they volleyed at each other, but their intimate tones were unmistakable. Brigit’s stomach twisted.

These two were more than friends.

“I probably shouldn’t have ordered that drink,” breathy woman murmured. “Not with all the Halloween candy still at work.”

“Don’t worry,” Oliver replied. “I’ll work it off you later.”

Breathy woman tittered again. “This time, let’s make it past my foyer.”

“I can’t help myself around you.”

A tiny smack of lips carried over the wall. Were they kissing? Stomach acid clawed up her throat and she hunched lower.

Faint laughs and suggestive murmurs continued until the barista said, “Here ya go. Thanks for stopping in.”

Footsteps faded and then the door opened and closed. Brigit let out a slow exhale and stared at the now-black screen in front of her. What should she do? Right now, her heart pounded but her feet were as heavy as salt blocks.

The barista came around the partition with a cloth in her hand. “Still doing okay?”

No. Brigit nodded.

The other girl let out a wistful sigh. “I just love seeing couples so into each other. And when the man dotes on his woman like that…” The lady fanned herself.

Brigit clenched her jaw and released it. She smacked the lid of the laptop down, her ring catching the light, only now its sparkle made her numb. “She’s not his woman.”

I am.

It was moving day. After an ugly confrontation with Oliver, Brigit was packed and ready to leave. Because she’d been kicked out.

Could the humiliation be any worse?

She stared at her oblivious brother. He’d been the first person she’d turned to, and like always, her twin was here to rescue her.

Justin stood in the doorway, but he wasn’t the problem.

The guy he’d brought to help her move was the issue.

She trained her gaze over Justin’s shoulder to where his red pickup was lined along the curb for easy loading.

Caleb Cruise was opening the horse trailer doors and digging out blankets for her furniture. The long-sleeved button-up shirt couldn’t hide the bunching of muscles on his lean frame. And the way it was tucked into his jeans gave her a grade A view of his ass as he set his toolbox on the lawn.

Caleb Cruise. The man she’d tried to avoid her entire adult life.

And he was here to help her move out of the home she’d shared with her cheating ex-fiancé.

She’d rather get her foot stomped on by a half-ton heifer.

Caleb looked up as he straightened. His face didn’t break into a smile.

He gave her a nod, like he always had the few times their paths had crossed in the last decade.

Thankfully, he didn’t wait for a response.

She wasn’t prepared to deal with Caleb or the unresolved feelings between them that she’d ignored since she’d left.

Forget the feelings. She wasn’t equipped to be seen by anyone outside her family.

This morning, she’d rolled out of bed after a night full of tears and tissues and dressed in the yoga pants that, according to Oliver, made her ass look big.

She’d topped the look with a messy topknot and an old pink T-shirt that had a hole under the armpit.

Moving was hard work, but Caleb looked like he’d be going to a photo shoot afterward.

He always did, no matter how he was dressed.

When he was on for his twenty-four-hour shift with the fire department, he was Caleb the firefighter.

Navy-blue uniform, his hair slicked back revealing his shaved sides. No ear gauges or nose ring.

But off duty, he was a mixture of ranch kid and alt rocker.

A combo that shouldn’t work, but with Caleb, it couldn’t have worked better.

Today he had a ball cap over his glossy hair, but his ear gauges were in.

The ear gear wasn’t large enough to make his earlobes saggy when the plugs were out, and they paired well with his nose ring.

In high school, he’d had an eyebrow piercing and a tongue ring, too, but with his work, he’d let those go.

Not that she’d noticed.

“I don’t have much stuff, Justin,” she said tightly. “You and I could have handled it.”