Wrangling the Cowboy

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

LEVI

The gelding Quarter horse tries to kill me before noon.

I’ve had worse mornings.

Boots planted in packed dirt, I hold the lead rope steady and wait him out. He’s all tension—eyes blown wide, breath sharp, muscle coiled to break.

“Easy,” I say, low enough it doesn’t spook him further. “Nobody’s coming for you, Buddy.” Some name for walking chaos.

He doesn’t believe me.

They never do.

He slams back against the stall, wood rattling under the force of it. Dust shakes loose from the rafters. The whole barn seems to hold its breath.

I don’t move.

That’s the work.

You don’t fight something like this. You give it time. You let it decide you’re not the enemy.

Eventually, the edge dulls.

It doesn’t go away. Just gets… less sharp.

I step closer, slow enough it doesn’t register as a threat. My hand settles against his neck. Solid. Grounding.

He flinches. But he stays.

“That’s it,” I murmur. Enough.

As good as it gets on day one.

Out here at Wild Vista Ranch in the Texas Hill Country, I take what everyone else writes off and make it manageable again.

Horses are honest. They tell you exactly where you stand.

People don’t.

A sharp noise cuts through the quiet.

Buddy jolts. Again. For the umpteenth time.

But now, I do, too.

The barn door swings open, and a woman walks in like she has no idea what kind of place she’s stepped into.

“Hey—”

Too late.

The horse rears, rope ripping through my grip. She freezes right where she stands, eyes wide, body locked.

“Move.”

She doesn’t.

I don’t think. I grab her and pull.

She collides with me just as the gelding crashes down where she’d been standing. The impact knocks the breath from her, but I keep her upright, arm locked around her without thinking.

“You trying to get yourself killed?” I ask.

Her gaze snaps to mine. “I didn’t know—”

“That much is obvious.”

I move her back another step, putting space between her and the stall before letting go.

Too slow.

I notice things I shouldn’t.

Sunlight in her auburn hair. The flush in her cheeks. The way her breath catches like she’s still half in the moment.

She looks… out of place. A white crochet shawl over her shoulders, rings on nearly every finger. Too-dark polish on neat, manicured nails.

Open. Unguarded. Eyes blue-green sapphires framed by thick fringes of dark lashes.

I drop her wrist.

“You can’t walk in here like that.”

Her tongue darts out—too pink, too inviting—to wet her bottom lip. “I was looking for Levi.”

“That’s me.”

Relief flickers across her face. Like she just found what she came for.

I don’t like that.

“Good,” she says. “Because I think I’m supposed to be working with you.”

“No.”

She blinks. “No?”

“No.”

“Carl and Lucinda said—”

I shake my head once. “I work alone.” It comes out all gravel, uncompromising.

Buddy stomps behind me, punctuating the statement.

The woman shifts back on her heels, glancing past me. She takes in the horse, the tension, the risk. I take in her boots. Hand-tooled, fancy enough for a country wedding, brand-new enough to still squeak. Same with her hat—a fashion statement, not a Stetson.

Everything about her look screams not for this stable. Not for me.

Then she looks back at me and smiles. It lands harder than it should.

Teeth too white, too straight. Until I find a crooked one, third from the right, curved in a little more than the rest, like the orthodontist blinked too long.

I let out a slow sigh, shoulders relaxing a tick.

“Looks like you could use help.”

I let out a huff. Not quite a laugh. “You don’t know what you’re looking at.”

“Then show me.”

There’s no edge in it. No challenge.

Just… certainty.

That’s worse.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Dakota. Dakota Sage.”

Yeah. That fits.

Soft edges. Something wild underneath. Something that doesn’t belong here. Or near me.

I turn back to the stall before I can think about that too long.

“Head back to the house, Dakota Sage.”

“Why?”

I glance over my shoulder. Because I’ve seen it before.

The ones who walk in with open eyes and think they can handle anything. They don’t last.

“This place isn’t forgiving,” I say. “You either learn fast or life’ll make the choice for you.”

She holds my gaze like that doesn’t scare her. “If it does,” she says quietly, “I’ll deal with it.”

I study her a second longer than I should, noticing the faint hint of dimples in her cheeks as she forces a smile.

She smells exotic at this close range, a slight breeze blowing her perfume toward me like a gift I didn’t ask for.

Peonies and jasmine.

Not made for Rosewood County. Not made for me.

Shouldn’t notice. Shouldn’t care.

But I still do.

Then I turn away. “Not my concern.”

That’s what I tell myself. But the moment she walked into my barn, something shifted. I felt it. The kind of shift that doesn’t fade. The kind that costs you.

And I already know…

Dakota Sage isn’t passing through my life.

She’s the kind of mistake that stays.

That’s what scares me.