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“Princess, I’m sure your little city parties have got nothin’ on a cowboy party.”

Now it’s my turn to scoff. “Okay, big boy.”

I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth, especially when I see the corners of Cruz’s lips turn up ever so slightly and his eyes widen in amusement. I huff out a quick breath, crossing my arms and turning to face the window. His finding joy in my discomfort is not exactly the warm welcome I’d been hoping for upon arrival.

Within a few minutes, I see a ranch house come into view—one that I’m pretty sure is the main house where Theresa lives, along with my cousin, Tate, and his family. As soon as Cruz puts the truck into park, I’m out the door and reaching into the truck bed to grab my luggage.

But my arms aren’t exactly long enough.

Chuckling—and only making me madder—Cruz reaches in and snaps up my suitcase, bringing it around the back of the vehicle and setting it down in front of me.

My chin held high, I simply state, “Thank you,” before turning on my heel and marching straight toward the house.

“Sure thing, Princess,” I hear him call after me. His usage of that name again sets off something inside of me—something close to hatred. “See you around.”

“I certainly hope not,” I mutter under mybreath.

Chapter 2

Cruz

Despite the heavy workload of the day and the vast number of topics I’d rather be ruminating on, there’s simply one thing I can’t get out of my head.

Those damn pink boots.

More specifically—the woman wearing them.

When she’d shown up in the hay barn, frazzled-looking, suitcase in tow, dressed like a background dancer in some Dolly Parton music video, I thought I’d just about lost my mind. Maybe the dry spell I’d been suffering from had manifested into hallucinations of gorgeous damsels in distress.

And then she’d opened her mouth.

Nope, definitely not a hallucination. More like a stuck-up girl from Seattle who’s, for some reason, decided to spend her summer here despite calling the most beautiful place in the world “desolate.”

I did enjoy getting under her skin a bit, though. Can’t help it. Riling up a pretty girl—no matter the reason—is always fun.

Glancing at the sun that’s slowly making its way toward the horizon, I hop into my truck, heading home. Luckily for me, home isn’t that far away.

I’m one of the many men and women who live on Thatcher Ranch fulltime. It’s honestly a great gig. They’re a successful and wealthy cattle ranch operation, so they’ve got nice bunkhouses, a mess hall, and a common area. And as the assistant foreman—working directly under Tate Thatcher—I get my own cabin. Not that it’s glamorous or anything, but it’s a step up from the main shared bunkhouse filled with snoring guys.

And besides, you can’t beat the views from Thatcher Ranch. Those mountains are the reason I moved to Montana in the first place.

As the “Village”—as all the ranch hands like to refer to the area of land that holds our bunkhouses, mess hall, and rec area—comes into view, I see a group of people gathered around a small bonfire being set up. I quickly park the truck and head over, greeting friends after a long day and taking a beer offered my way.

When I see Tate amongst the party, I sidle up to him. “Hey, man,” I say. “I dropped your cousin off at the ranch house earlier today. At lease she claimed to be your cousin.” I chuckle. “You find her?”

Tate laughs, nodding. “Yes—Addison! Thank you so much, by the way. Can’t believe her car took her all the way out to the cattle yards.”

Addison. The name suits her.

“Yeah, she’d seem out of place pretty much anywhere in Montana—butespeciallyout where I found her,” I say.

“Yeah, poor girl.” Tate chuckles. Then there’s a gleam in his eye—one that I recognize. It means he has an idea. “Hey, actually …” He purses his lips. “Would you do me a favor?”

My eyes narrow somewhat involuntarily. What kind of favor is Tate talking about? Something that has to do with Addison? I’ve become pretty close to him over the five years I’ve worked here, but what kind of proposition is he edging towards?

But he continues anyway. “Would you mind just … keeping an eye on her?”

I balk, staring at him for a few seconds. “Keeping an eye on her?” I repeat. “But … wouldn’t that be easier for …youto do? Being at the ranch house and all.” I’m not trying to tell my bossno, but I’m also not exactly sure what the hell he’s asking me. Or why.