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I have half a mind to tell him off, to explain to him that he has no idea about my work ethic, about sticking to things when you’d rather be anywhere else, that inconvenience has been my entire existence—but I gather all my self-control to tamp it down. I take a deep breath. “Well, I’ll try my hardest to stay out of your hair,” I bite out.

Cruz is silent for a moment, simply staring me down. The silence lasts for one heartbeat, two, three, and then he says, “Well, Tate said I have to help you out if you need anything, so don’t hesitate to call.” He smiles, but it’s fake, inclining his head toward my jeans pocket where the outline of my phone is visible.

I don’t know if it’s the implication that he’s only doing this because of his boss, our tense exchange, or simply how goddamn hot he looks right now, butirritation is bubbling up within me so intensely I’m surprised it’s not noticeably steaming out of my ears. “I promise you I won’t be needing your help,” I assure him.

The corner of his mouth ticks up.

My eyebrows scrunch farther into a frown.

“If you say so, Princess,” he says with a shrug, his voice low. And the cowboy turns and walksoff.

Chapter 4

Cruz

It looks like I’m unfortunately locked in on the babysitting gig. I’d kind of hoped that Tate would just forget about it. I mean, what kind of grown woman needs to be looked after? Presumably she can take care of herself. But when Tate had introduced us again and made a show of texting Addison my phone number … well, looks like I’m stuck.

Which, honestly, wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she wasn’t so hell bent on being annoying and argumentative. Even when I first met her out at the barn. Not a thank you in sight for saving her ass and driving her over to the ranch house. No. Instead, she seemed irritated by my very presence. For no good reason.

When she’d said she was from Seattle, it all clicked. She’s a city kid. And a Thatcher at that—meaning, she’s rich. Rich and from the city. It’s a cliché, but it’s a cliché for a reason. They’re all assholes. Every one of them. They think they’re better than us—those who work hard for a living and don’t get caught up in stupid shit like designer clothes or owning a house in every state.

My cabin in the mountains is more than good enough for me.

I straighten my shoulders, heading deeper into the barn I’ve spent most of the morning in. Today, my main task has been inventory. Making sure we’re stocked up on food, supplies, tack, and such. I’ve just about finished my full walkthrough when a loud noise from outside catches my attention.

Thunder. And then, a few seconds later, the telltale sign of rain upon the roof. It’s not unusual to get thunderstorms in the spring and summer here. I jog to the door, peering out into what’s turned into adownpour. Oof. I feel bad for the ranch hands out there who will now be tasked with herding the cattle to shelter.

I pop back into the barn, spending the next twenty minutes or so finishing up my inventory and then jogging through the rain and into my truck. As I drive down the dirt road toward the Village, I peer out at the rain that just keeps coming. Looks like it won’t be letting up anytime soon. Good thing it’s lunch time.

I park in front of the mess hall, entering to the echoing clatter of voices and plates. I beeline to the front of the room, grabbing a premade sandwich from one of the tables. Hank always has a meal of the day, but I’m a simple man. I have a ham and cheese sandwich every day for lunch.

“Hey, Cruz!” I hear a voice and turn to see Hank exiting the kitchen, wiping his hands on his dirty apron. “You seen Tate’s cousin today? What’s that sweet girl’s name again?”

“Addison,” I answer. “And no, haven’t seen her.” And I’m not sure why Hank cares.

Hank hums, glancing out the window at the pouring rain, his graying eyebrows furrowing. “She hasn’t come in for anything to eat yet. And I doubt she’ll want to in this weather.”

I glance at the clock on the wall. 1 p.m. If she hasn’t eaten anything yet today, she’s definitely starving. And just based on her overall demeanor, I can easily see rain as a world-ending obstacle for her. Especiallythisrain.

I huff out an irritated sigh. “I’ll bring her a sandwich,” I mutter, grabbing a second one off the table and stuffing it into a plastic bag. Wouldn’t want it to get soggy. I fold mine back up in its wrapper and toss it in as well, heading for the door.

“That’s a good man,” Hank calls after me.

As I hop into my truck and head up the hill toward Addison’s cabin, my irritation grows. Sure, “keeping an eye” on her seemed bad enough. But now I’m a glorified food delivery service? You’d think the woman could put on a fucking raincoat and walk five minutes to the mess hall.

When I reach the cabin, I hop out, running up to the front porch and banging on the door. When I don’t immediately get an answer, I call out, “Addison! It’s Cruz. I brought you lunch.”

The seconds tick by, and still there’s no answer. I glance over my shoulder. There’s a car parked in the driveway. She should be here. I peer through the window. The cabin is small and open concept. So unless she’s in the bathroom, she’s not there.

I knock a few more times. “Addison?”

After a few more minutes, I frown, grumbling to myself as I pull out my phone. I text Tate.

Cruz:Do you know if Addison is down at the ranch house?

I’m not even sure why I care. It’s not like this is actually my job. But before I can spiral further into this line of thinking, my phone buzzes.

Tate:I don’t think so. She mentioned wanting to go on a hike this morning. Is she stillout?