Change of Hart (Wells Ranch, #3)(110)
I look up to find Denver placing a plate on my lap as he sinks down to sit on the grass. “Did all that cowboy shit do it for you, or what?”
“I think you better do it again, for science.”
“It’s your lucky day, baby.” He grins, sliding his palm up and down my bare calf in a soothing way; something about feeling his skin on mine is grounding. “So, what evil schemes did you get roped into over here this morning? It looked like there was a lot of sinister plotting happening.”
“A pregnancy pact.” I shrug nonchalantly, and Cassidy spits out her drink, narrowly missing Hazel.
“Sheesh, Cass.” Denver stares at her wide-eyed. “Are you in on this?”
“God, no.” Cassidy pulls a face.
Denver returns his focus to me. “But you are?”
“What if I was?”
“Okay. That’s my cue to leave.” Cass stands up, shaking the water droplets off her legs from her accidental mouth-sprinkler incident. “You kids make good choices.”
I snort. “Rich, coming from you.”
She flips the middle finger over her shoulder, then strolls over to where Red’s filling two plates with food.
“So, hey,” Denver says. “Want to take a drive with me when we’re done here?”
“And leave Jonas—”
“Got it covered. He and Colt have something potentially delinquent planned, so he’ll give him a ride.”
I open my mouth to protest, and he puts up a hand to stop me. “It’s fine. Colt’s been managing Jonas with his chores all summer, and so far nobody’s gotten seriously injured or thrown in jail. They’ll be okay.”
With an exhale, I nod. No sense in arguing when I know he’s right—from what I know about Colt, he’s not going to do anything that would put a kid in danger.
“I’d love to go for a drive. Where do you have in mind?”
“You’ll see.” He adjusts his Stetson in the sun and hops to his feet. “Back to doing more hot cowboy shit for your viewing pleasure.”
“You’re never going to let it go that I said that, are you?”
“Never. Just like I know you love a backwards hat.” He flips his cowboy hat around. “Is this working for you?”
I toss my head back with a breathy laugh. “You’re a dork. But please wear it exactly like that, so somebody other than me can make fun of you, for once.”
“Just sayin’, if this makes you want to ride me, I’ll put up with some heckling.”
“A cowboy hat the wrong way is definitely not doing it for me. You look like a city boy at a rodeo for the first time.”
He leans in, putting his hands on my thighs. “Like Mark with his bitch-boy hands?”
“Precisely.”
He contemplates his words for a second, then chooses to continue with the Mark discussion, for some ungodly reason. “I mean, you liked him enough to get engaged. Which is more than you can say about me.”
His laughter does little to ease the bruising blow of his words.
“Are you jealous of a fictional man? You realize how insane that sounds, right?” I tilt my head, giving him a look.
“Well, I’m pretty sure these rough hands”—he glides his work-worn palms up my thighs—“make you come better than his fancy surgeon fingers could.”
“Correct. Because again, he’s fictional.” I grab his face, middle fingers falling into the divots of his dimples. “Please turn the cowboy hat back around and go do some good work, because you know what really turns me on? A competent, hardworking man.”
“You’ve single-handedly convinced me to work the hardest I ever have. Bet the ranch can pay you, if you want a side-gig watching me work.” He winks. “I’m gonna be such a good boy for you.”
“You already are such a good boy.”
With a glimmer in his eyes, Denver kisses me softly, then turns to head back to his horse.
Picking up a massive slice of watermelon from my plate, I watch him sort the cattle and try not to drool at the way his shoulder muscles flex under his shirt. His body’s perfectly relaxed yet sturdy, moving with his cutting horse like they share a soul, completely trusting the animal to do its job. The cows fight separation from the herd, always looking for a way to get back. And it seems entirely chaotic, with Austin yelling at his guys from the top fence rail, horses moving through the cattle, guys working the cow squeeze to check ear tags and confirm every animal is safe to travel before they’re loaded onto a massive livestock trailer—destination: Alberta.
And Jonas, my short, skinny preteen nephew, is right in there. When Denver mentioned lining up some work for Jonas over the summer to keep him out of trouble, I didn’t expect this. He’s using every ounce of energy in his tiny body to open and close the backstop on the cattle chute—the sliding door that keeps cows from backing out of the chute once they’ve been loaded in.
I pull out my phone and zoom in to discreetly take photos for my sister. Then I turn the camera toward Denver, and when he looks at me with a smile, I snap my new favorite photo of him.
Denver said I brought the light back into his life, but I don’t think he’ll ever understand how badly I needed him to anchor me here. Before I came home, I had a career and a fancy apartment, but I was anxiously flitting about. Working as much overtime at the hospital as I could manage and spending a concerning amount of my free time at the gym—being busy kept my mind from wandering, and I confused that with my brain being calm.