Chapter 7
The world ended in a metallic explosion.
Vivi shot upright, heart slamming into her ribs, hair sticking out in eight different directions. The sound was so violent she half-expected to see flames—or maybe an alien invasion. Instead, Boone stood in her doorway, pot in one hand, spoon in the other, banging like he was summoning the devil.
"What the hell are you doing?" she shrieked, clutching the blanket to her chest.
Boone grinned—actually grinned—like this was the highlight of his morning.
"Up and at 'em, sunshine. You're late."
“Late?" she repeated doggedly, prying open one eye and blinking at the clock on the nightstand.
"It’s five thirty-two, to be exact," he said, smacking the pot again for emphasis.
She flung a pillow at him. "Are you insane?"
He caught it midair with infuriating ease. "Probably. But you’re late. You’ve got about ten minutes before I come back in here with the garden hose.”
Vivi glared. If looks could kill, Boone would've been fertilizer by now. "You're an asshole."
He tipped his hat, unbothered. "And you're a heavy sleeper."
Then he was gone, boots thudding down the hall, leaving Vivi seething in a tangle of sheets and indignation.
She groaned, rubbing sleep from her eyes. This was her life now. Waking up to a cowboy alarm clock who thought stainless steel percussion was a reasonable method of communication.
Vivi marched across the pasture, chest high, boots stomping through the grass like she belonged there.
She was determined to prove she was ready to take on the day like a professional ranch hand and not some pampered girl who thought ranch life meant Instagramming sunsets and sipping lattes while wearing a sequined cowgirl hat.
Boone had about four thousand chores for her that she had no inkling how to do. A list, he'd oh-so-helpfully tacked to her door after he'd slammed it on his way out, written in what might as well have been ancient cowboy hieroglyphics.
Feed the yearlings.
Check the south fence.
Muck the stalls.
What even was a yearling? She'd Googled it and immediately regretted it. Since she wasn't good with small children she didn't have high hopes for baby cows.
She crouched down, smoothing the grass with a flourish, ready to show off her natural rancher instincts.
Maybe she'd even talk to the calves like some Disney princess with a gift for animal communication.
What she hadn't counted on was a tiny bundle of energy with hooves and ears—the youngest calf in the herd—deciding that her perfectly timed display of ranch prowess was the ideal cue to test her reflexes.
Vivi barely had time to say “Oh shit,” before the little troublemaker made a break for freedom, darting toward the creek like it was daring her to keep up. No bigger than a large dog, it somehow wriggled under a gap in the fence she was supposed to patch.
She crawled under the fence, the wire plucking a tuft of hair out of her head. Then her body rigid with restraint, she adjusted her stance, took a deep breath, and readied herself to rescue the little creature without falling flat on her face.
"Come on, little guy," she called softly, trying to coax the calf toward her with a gentle sway of her arms.
She crouched, thinking if she got low it might trust her. Instead, the calf gave a nervous moo and darted further down the fence line. The closer she got, the closer it edged toward the river—until its little front hooves made contact with the water.
Vivi chased after it, imagining herself as some heroic ranch heroine, when the ground beneath her boot betrayed her. She slipped on the slick mud near the shoreline, flailed like a giraffe on roller skates, and with a helpless yelp went ass-first into the freezing creek.
Cold slammed into her like a live wire, stealing her breath and making her teeth chatter. She flapped her arms, trying to grab something—anything—while the calf waded further into water's edge, completely unconcerned with her predicament.
Vivi tried to strategize. Maybe if she stayed calm she could talk the calf back toward shore. She shoved herself to standing, her hands sinking into the mud. She could feel it squish between her fingers and under her nails.
When she found sure footing, she cooed, "Easy, buddy, there’s no need to panic. Just come over here and we can be friends."
The calf ignored her entirely and, with a sudden bound, it waded deeper into the creek, ears flicking like it had decided on challenging her authority.
Vivi's heart sank. Not only was she wet and freezing, but she was also failing to control the livestock.
She tried inching forward, thinking she could corner it near a shallow spot, but every move seemed to make it scoot just out of reach.
The mud sucked at her boots and the water rose uncomfortably high on her legs, soaking her jeans and chilling her to the bone.
Moo. Moo.
"Come here, little fella." But the little fella walked further into the creek until the water was at its chest.
Vivi lunged again, trying to coax the calf back toward the shallows—her boots sinking even further into the soft mud, the suction so complete that when she pulled her foot up, her boot stayed put, leaving her standing in nothing but a wet sock.
“Shit,” she mumbled.
She squinted at the water and realized, too late, that it was rushing faster than she'd noticed, swirling around the calf's legs in a thin, urgent current.
She stepped forward and the current tugged at her, jerking her sideways. Her heart leapt into her throat as she began to fall backward. The water rocked her like a boat caught in a riptide, pulling at her balance and her breath all at once.
She felt herself going down when two strong hands wrapped around her waist in a grip that was equal parts rescue and restraint. She didn’t need to look up to know it was Boone. She knew what it felt like to be encased in his arms and damn if her nipples didn’t pop their floatation devices.
He hauled her toward him with effortless strength, holding her tight against his chest, his weight steady against the pull of the creek.
She could feel the tension in his arms, the way he braced against the water like he’d been standing guard his whole life—like nothing could threaten her while he was there.
“I’ve got you." His deep voice cut through the rush of the water.
"I've got myself," she snapped back.
"You sure about that?"
She opened her mouth right as he tightened his grip, ever so slightly. "You want to do this now? In the middle of a rushing creek? Or can we get to safety before you tell me to fuck off?"
While the rash side of Vivi wanted to kick him in the nuts, the sane side knew she was in over her head—literally. And that if she wanted to save herself and this baby calf, she needed help.
"It's not that I can't do this alone," she said sulkily. "I am choosing to let you help."
There was a long, insufferable exhale from behind her. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."
His hand spread flat against her waist, steadying her—and she was certain he could hear her breath catch even over the roar of the water. She could practically feel him cataloguing it, filing it away in his Reasons I Hate City Girls list.
His strong arm clenched even tighter around her and her stomach flipped, and her heart thumped.
She realized, with a shock that made her breath hitch, that she trusted him completely.
Not with her heart—but with her life. She trusted him enough to lean into the heat of his presence, and she felt something stir deep inside her that went far beyond relief—something raw and aching and utterly consuming.
"You okay?" he muttered. His voice was low, rough like tossed gravel.
Her face pressed into his chest, cold water dripping from her hair onto his soaked shirt. "I'm fine," she stammered, though she couldn't stop her knees from shaking.
"Boots." The nickname came out quiet. "Try not to die on me before lunch."
Vivi blinked up at him, grateful and mortified in equal measure.
He pulled her onto the bank and set her on her feet, but he didn’t let go. Not right away.
“You good?”
Vivi nodded.
Boone looked her over anyway, like he didn’t trust her answer. His jaw was tight, his hands still wrapped around her arms, and he looked pissed enough to take the whole damn pond personally.
Her pulse did a stupid little jump.
Well, that was inconvenient.
Then he put a crooked finger beneath her chin and tilted her head until she was looking up at him. She wasn't sure what she expected—but it wasn't the raw concern in his amber eyes, the kind that made her chest squeeze and her stomach knot.
There was something fierce in the way he held her gaze, like he was silently warning the world that she wasn’t to be harmed on his watch and, whoa baby, she felt that all the way down to her toes.
Even more concerning for her state of mind were the way his heavy, dark brows drew together, highlighting something wild with something she didn’t understand.
"Don't scare me like that," he said, the words dragged out of somewhere deep. "I swear, if anything happens to you out here—" His hand tightened slightly at her jaw—not roughly, just enough to anchor her to him. "I don't know what I'd do."
Vivi knew he wanted to say more. The air between them shifted—so slight it could have been imagined, but she felt it all the same.
“Understand?” His gaze lingered, and when he spoke his voice was rough in a way that sent a shiver up her spine she couldn't quite disguise. She told herself it was just proximity, the warmth of his big hand, her pulse playing tricks on her. But it wasn't.
And that was the problem. Because somewhere, thousands of miles away was Lewis—safe, dependable Lewis—who, even after their fight, had texted her goodnight last night like everything between them was perfectly fine.
Guilt slithered in, hot and heavy, settling in her chest like a stone.
What kind of person catches feelings for someone when she was still half in a relationship, and when she hadn't even had the courage to end it?
She'd come here to find herself, not lose her moral compass to a man with calloused hands and the kind of rare smile that made her knees forget their purpose.
Then he ruined it all by saying, "You know, I made a bet with some of the townspeople."
"About?"
"You."
And if that didn't put a burr under her saddle. The audacity of him talking behind her back to people she didn't even know.
"I gave one week before you go limping back to the Big Apple in those designer boots."
"And the townspeople?"
"They don't think you'll make it the day."
"How much money?" she asked.
"What?"
"How much money to participate?"
"Twenty bucks. Why?"
"Make it a thousand and I'm in." She lifted her chin. "And you can tell them—tell everyone—I'll make it the month. You know why? Because I'm strong, daring, and entirely capable on my own," she said, repeating exactly what Lady Rea had told her last night in the coffee shop.
After all, she'd already announced to the entire town that she'd never had an orgasm with someone else in the room, she figured strong, daring, and capable was the least she could claim.
She caught the slight flare of his nostrils, the way his fists flexed just a fraction—like she’d challenged him and he was quietly plotting to make sure she didn’t survived the day without disaster.
Boone looked at her for a moment longer. She knew what he saw—soaking wet, one boot missing, chin high, ready to fight the whole town. "If you say so, Boots."
Moo, moo, the little shit interrupted, wading casually out of the water and rejoining its herd as if absolutely nothing had happened.
Vivi crossed her arms, adrenaline still buzzing through her.
"Congratulations," she said. "You've both officially made this personal."