Chapter 22
Ranch Life
Layla
The morning coffee feels so good in my hands—warm ceramic mug smooth against my palms, steam curling up with that rich, nutty aroma that fills the guest house like a hug—as I sit at my table ready to write a little bit today.
The sun slants through the window, golden and bright, dust motes dancing in the beam, but the light feels mocking, too cheerful for the knot in my chest.
It’s been a week since Cole and I have really spoken except for pleasantries and waves—quick “mornin’” nods across the yard or polite smiles at dinner.
It feels odd and cold, like a chill that won’t shake even in this heat.
I still eat dinner with the family, the table is loud with Luke’s jokes and Maggie’s stories, but John and Nancy are gone today for a trip.
So I’m sure there won’t be any dinners for the next few days and I’ll have to fend for myself, which means I will need to go into town eventually. Or ask Maggie for a ride.
I’ll have to finally talk to Cole today because rent is due and this is the day I always pay him.
Which I give it to him and he gives it to John.
This doesn’t have to be awkward. It can be easy.
Friendly. Like it has been. But my pulse quickens just thinking about it.
His eyes on me, that rough voice saying my name.
God, why does even the thought of him still do this to me?
I see Cole outside walking a horse back to the barn—his silhouette tall and steady against the morning light, dust kicking up under his boots, so this is my perfect time to get this over with.
I throw on my shorts and a tank top—the fabric soft and light against my sun-kissed skin—pull on my boots, the leather warm and familiar around my calves.
Slide the check into my back pocket, crisp paper folding neat.
As I step outside I step on something, a soft thud under my boot. It’s a book and a note… I pick up the book—worn cover, title bold: RANCH LIFE. It’s a self-help book about living on a ranch. The note attached says “thought this might spark ideas for your book. -C”
C? Cole left me a book? That’s kind of sweet and thoughtful.
He never asks much about what I’m writing or anything about my books.
My heart does a stupid little flip, warmth spreading despite myself.
I smile at the book, grip it tight, the pages slightly dog-eared, like he thumbed through it first and I run back inside to set it on my laptop.
Along with the note from said C. The paper’s rough under my fingers, his handwriting quick and slanted, like he wrote it in a hurry but meant it.
As I walk down to the barn I see Cole talking to a few ranch hands, their voices low and rumbling, hats tipped back, laughter cutting through the air and I wave at him.
He nods his head and goes back to chatting.
I’m walking closer and I feel my heart starting to jump.
The closer I get. I hear his voice. His roughness—deep, gravelly, sending that familiar shiver down my spine even from here.
The barn smells like hay and leather and horse, sun baking the wood siding hot to the touch.
I stop before I get too close, being mindful of their conversation, and he looks over at me, eyes dark under his hat brim and ends the conversation with the ranch hands, walks toward me.
“You need something?” He asks, smiling, that small, crooked one that makes my stomach flutter no matter how hard I fight it.
“Thanks for the book. I will really uhhh check that out. It will probably be a big help.”
He crosses his arms, has a smirk across his face. “You’re welcome. I saw that at the bookstore the other day. I thought you might enjoy it.”
“You? At a bookstore?” I cross my arms, looking him up and down—dust on his jeans, shirt sleeves rolled up showing those strong forearms, toothpick in the corner of his mouth.
“I like literature from time to time.” He tries hard not to laugh but I can’t help it, I chuckle.
“Okay.” I smirk.
We stare, smiling at one another until it’s awkward and the feeling becomes charged, so electric I can feel it humming in the air between us, his cologne faint but there, mixed with sweat and ranch dust. So I clear my throat.
“Uh, I wanted to give you this. I didn’t want to be late.” I hand it over to him and our fingers touch, rough calluses against my skin, spark shooting up my arm. I close my eyes for a split second, trying to stop that butterfly feeling in my stomach.
He looks at the check, puts it in his front pocket while chewing his toothpick.
“Thank ya,” he mumbles.
“Thank you.” I turn to head back up to the house.
“I’m doing a class tomorrow. Maggie’s bringing her girlfriend Lanie.
Luke’s bringing Stephanie. I wanted to invite you.
There will be a few others. Just simple riding lessons.
I figured you might miss Shadow. If you want to join tomorrow.
I mean that is completely up to you. You don’t have to but you might…
it might help with…” He trails off, rambling a little, rubbing the back of his neck.
I interrupt his rambling. “That sounds really exciting and I do miss Shadow.”
“It’s at 11:00 tomorrow morning,” Cole says.
I smile and nod.
“Hey uh, I need to do a grocery run. Do you think Maggie is going into town tonight? I could get an Uber—”
“I’ll be done here at about 5:30. Can you be ready then?” He asks.
“Oh. You don’t have to—”
“I need some stuff too. Kind of in the mood for some Mexican food to be honest.”
“That sounds really good. Actually,” I laugh.
“5:30,” he says.
“5:30,” I say back, smiling and walking back up the hill to the guest house.
That wasn’t so bad. I didn’t exactly want Cole to take me to the store since he was so grumpy the first time, but whatever, it’s just Mexican and the grocery store.
It’s not a date. It’s not a date. It’s friendly.
The gravel crunches under my boots, sun warm on my back, but my mind’s racing.
Friendly. That’s all it can be. But why does the thought of sitting next to him in that truck, sharing chips and salsa, make my heart skip? And what I’m going to wear?