Chapter 24
Boone kicked a loose plank across the dusty floor, hard enough to make it slam against the wall, and muttered words that would’ve made a sailor blush.
The bunkhouse was a disaster, the kind of mess that looked like a tornado had married a hurricane and thrown a kegger.
And somehow, somehow, he was the only person there to clean it up.
"Where the hell is everyone?" he growled to the empty rafters, hammer in hand, sweat rolling down his temple. The only answer was the echo of his own frustration—and the memory of her.
She'd been a spark in his head all day, the kind that made him forget what he was supposed to be angry about. That chaos-wrangling, stubborn, sticky-note tornado of a woman. She had no idea what she did to him. Or maybe she did, and that was the problem.
He couldn't stop thinking about last night at the bar. The way her eyes had glinted with that fearless, devil-may-care spark, daring him to notice. And then her words—low and teasing, crawling under his skin: I'm setting a sex trap.
Lord help him.
His body hadn’t gotten the memo that she was off-limits.
It remembered everything—her curves, the brush of her fingers, the way her mouth hovered just close enough to ruin a man.
That slow sway of her hips and the heat in her eyes that was all trouble.
He was still wired tight from it—half craving, half ready to fight it.
He didn't like wanting something he couldn't fully have. He'd made peace with a lot of things in his life, that wasn't one of them.
Then there had been the sting of her walking away—so sudden. There was no goodbye, no glance over her shoulder, she just slid off her barstool and walked out the front door, leaving him standing there at the pool table, his pulse still thrumming his dick still hard.
He’d wanted to call after her, to shove reason aside and drag her back into the mess she’d left behind, but some stubborn part of him stayed silent knowing she was always going to be a wild card.
Yet, even in that frustration, the raw ache for her lingered, reminding him that he hadn’t wanted her to leave at all.
Then there was the other night, the questions she'd called a dating bio interview, but which had been something else entirely, and they both knew it.
He'd told her things—real things that he didn't usually give away.
Funny, vulnerable, embarrassing things he normally kept locked down tight.
He hadn't seen her yet this morning, and the anticipation was doing something to his focus that he resented deeply.
The way she'd looked at him like she'd wanted to have him for dinner and dessert and start all over again?
It hadn't just been carnal—it had been electric.
A charge that threaded through the quiet space between them, a pull that made every look, every brush of her hand, feel like it could ignite something uncontrollable.
And the worst part was he'd let her see it, he'd sat across that table and handed her ammunition and called it conversation.
It didn't matter that there was an expiration date on whatever this was. He wanted the time they had left. All of it. Every last day.
He shoved another plank into place. "Dammit," he muttered. "Why is she so—everything?"
Because she was.
Infuriatingly brilliant and maddeningly good at making him feel like a goddamn human being instead of just a ranch machine. And it was entirely her fault that even surrounded by dust, paint, and sawdust, he couldn’t focus on the damn bunkhouse for more than two seconds.
Setting down the hammer, Boone wiped the sweat from his forehead and leaned against the wooden beam.
"Of course," he muttered. "Apparently I like doing things I didn't sign up for. By myself."
But that wasn't entirely true. He hadn't told his brothers about the working in the bunkhouse this morning, so they didn't know he needed help.
Asking for help wasn't exactly his superpower—something Vivi had told him more than once, with that exasperated look that somehow made him feel both guilty and stubbornly proud.
If he didn't get better at letting people in, he might lose the ranch.
He had a feeling the ranch wasn't the only thing at risk.
The creak of the bunkhouse door pulled him from his thoughts—and then she was there. Standing in the doorway like she’d just stepped off a perfectly lit sidewalk and taken a wrong turn into his dusty Montana world. She looked out of place and exactly where she was meant to be, all at the same time.
Holding a wicker basket, she wore skinny jeans tucked into ankle boots, a soft-fitted green top that hinted at curves and dipped just enough at the neckline to give him a view worth etching to memory.
Her hair was tousled in that effortless, just-rolled-out-of-bed way that somehow managed to look anything but messy.
She was stunning and so fucking bright it hurt sometimes to look at her.
Of course, his body betrayed him instantly. Demanding heat pooled low—a sharp reminder that she had him exactly where she wanted.
Just looking at the way she shifted her weight, the tiny spark in her eyes, the curve of her smile—she was a challenge he could no longer resist. She was a blazing wildfire, and he was already caught in her flame.
"You know, standing there like that should come with a warning label," he said.
"Oh? And what would the warning say?"
"Danger." He carefully closed the distance between them, watching her track every step. "May cause racing heart, weak knees, and uncontrollable thoughts."
Her smirk widened and she shifted the picnic basket to rest against her hip. "Sounds like you're describing yourself."
"Maybe." His eyes moved over her face, taking his time to memorize those plump fuck-me lips. "Or maybe I'm warning you what will happen when you stay in one place too long."
"If standing still is against the rules then what would happen if I moved?" she asked, a sultry hitch in her voice that did him in.
"Come here and find out,” he said, thinking about those red panties and wondering if she had them on. “Not a suggestion.”
She shook her head—but pushed off the doorframe as she did it, and he swore her smile was just to torture him.
"If I come over there we both know what'll happen," she said, voice playful.
"What's that?"
"It will probably end with my panties in your hand."
Something twitched behind his zipper.
He let that sit between them for exactly one beat—watching the color rise in her cheeks, watching her realize he wasn't going to pretend he hadn't heard it. Then he stepped forward, because he couldn't help himself.
She was so fucking tempting.
So fucking beautiful.
"Boots." His voice dropped to something quiet and certain. "You lick you lips one more time and it won't be your panties you have to worry about."
Her breath caught and there it was, confirmation that she was just as undone as he was.
He closed the last of the space between them. "All you gotta do is say yes."
"Yes," she whispered—but her hands rested on his chest, holding him back. "But this isn't why I came here."
"Are you sure?"
"No. But I don't want to mess this moment up."
He brought his hand up and curved it gently around her jaw, tilting her face until she had nowhere to look but at him.
"There is nothing you can do to mess up this moment.
Whatever you say, it'll be perfect." He held her gaze, making sure she believed it before he moved on. "Tell me why you're here."
"I'm here to rescue you," she said, with an adorable bright smile.
"Rescue me? From who?"
"From yourself." She patted his cheek then held up the picnic basket with one hand and gestured around the room with the other. "From this. The hammers and nails and your tragic solo DIY adventure."
Boone chuckled and, damn, it felt good.
"Buckle up, Cowboy," she said, pointing to the truck parked outside with fishing poles in the bed. "We're going for a ride because you told me the other night you haven't had time to fish."
He froze, staring at the truck like he'd just been handed something he hadn't known he was waiting for. His truck, gassed up, ready and waiting—just for him.
His chest did something he wasn't prepared for. She had listened. She'd actually listened to the words he'd muttered almost carelessly the other night, the ones he'd barely thought anyone would register.
He looked at her, really looked at her, and felt something shift in him that he was nowhere near ready to name. Before he could fully process any of it, Eli stepped out from the shadows of the barn, hands shoved in his pockets, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
"Well, well," he strung out. "Look at you. Didn't think I'd see the day."
Before Boone could answer, Colter appeared on the other side with that infuriating grin.
"Come on," Colter said. "You've been saying you have no time to fish for months, and now Vivi shows up like a personal life coach slash professional fisherman. Should we clap, or just hand out cowboy boots as trophies?"
"Is this a setup?" Boone muttered, but something old and warm was flickering in his chest—something that had been snuffed out the day his parents died, rusty from disuse but unmistakably there.
"They're not a setup," Vivi said, mock offended. "They're just here to take over your hard work. That's all."
Boone looked at his brothers, who were openly snickering now, elbowing each other like idiots.
"It sure as hell looks like a setup," he said—though he could feel a smile tugging at his mouth.
"Call it a thoughtful intervention," Vivi said, stepping closer, basket swinging. "I brought food, fishing poles and your brothers, apparently, for comic relief."
Boone took a slow breath, surveying the recently cleared barn, the projects that suddenly seemed lighter knowing he wasn't alone in it. Then he looked at her—her the careful planning, the effort she'd quietly poured into pulling him out of a day that would have been nothing but sweat and silence.
His heart tugged in ways he couldn’t name and somewhere deep inside, a slow, quiet thing was growing—something that had nothing to do with words or plans, something that only she could touch with small, perfect gestures like this.
"You didn't have to do this," he said finally, his voice rougher than he intended.
She shrugged like it was nothing, though her eyes betrayed her pride. "I wanted to. You do so much for so many people and never ask for anything in return. I figured it was time someone did something for you."
"I do what needs to be done." He tried to laugh it off, but it came out quiet and uneven. He held her gaze a moment longer than was casual. "Is that the only reason you did this?"
Her face turned the prettiest shade of pink. "That's the only reason I'm going to give right now."