Page 11 of Slow Hands Cowboy

“Yes. A genetic stepstool,” she said, and she said it a little bit sour, which really wasn’t fair, because she had only been thinking a moment ago that a lot of the things she had were because of her father.

That was true. There wasn’t anything wrong with recognizing that. But it was irritating when he said it, and she couldn’t prove it, but it felt like he was being deliberately provocative. Like he was diminishing her on purpose, trying to make her feel like her achievements weren’t all that… valid.

No jury would ever convict him, because he was just too handsome, and that was how the patriarchy worked. Well, and also how pretty privilege worked. And Walker Grayson had pretty privilege in spades.

“Have you ever run a campaign?”

“Have I ever run a campaign? Oh, I used to run a campaign every single day. Unofficially, and really, my job here is to run campaigns.”

She had a feeling there was a lot of unspoken history in those sentences, and she didn’t know how to parse it. It irritated her that she didn’t just know what he was getting at, because she felt like she should know, and she didn’t like that he was smug, and kind of making fun of her.

“Aren’t we all running a campaign?” Addison asked, smiling.

“I suppose so.”

“I’m actually helping manage the campaign,” Anna said, her tone a little bit stern, and that pleased Addison to an extent, because she didn’t play about the campaign, and that also meant that Addison probably wasn’t hallucinating the disrespect coming from Walker.

“Really? And how does one run a political campaign here in a town the size of a postage stamp? That is a genuine question.” He turned around and smiled again, and her stomach plummeted down to her toes.

“Personally,” Anna said. “You try to connect with people personally. To your point, she does have a reputation built into her name, but in a town this size, that is going to be the case for most people that have been here in excess of ten years. And if you haven’t been here for ten years, then you’re new.”

“Yeah, I suppose that is true,” he said. “And I know a thing or two about a reputation being embedded in your name.”

She wasn’t imagining that. There was a bite behind those words.

It had taken her until right now to realize that Walker Grayson didn’t like her.

He was smiling, he was making conversation, he had taken every change request that she made about the wedding with what had felt like good humor, but she realized right then as they were making structured conversation that he actually hated her.

The subtext in all of his words had to do with their last names.

He was a Grayson, and his mother’s reputation had been ground into dust before Walker had been out of diapers.

Addison’s mother had been a pariah too, but her father had been able to cover the reputation of his children by being an innocent victim.

For some reason, the town had seen Anita Grayson as being responsible for her condition. Had seen her as responsible for being a single mother, and hadn’t looked into who the men were.

Or where they were being derelict in their responsibilities.

There had been rumors— all her life anyway— about who Walker, Cody, and Lila’s father was. And when they had inherited the Painted Ridge Ranch (formerly Triple R) the question had been answered.

But he had never faced any scrutiny for having his kids out of wedlock, or abandoning their mother and not putting money toward their future, or anything of the kind. Largely because, of course, no one had been one hundred percent certain of the identity of their father, but also just because… men did seem to get away with everything.

It felt complicated now, because Walker was nothing if not gorgeous and male.

Which meant, in many ways, he would be able to wield more power in a room than she would.

But she had her name, and she had a reputation, just as he did.

Both of their reputations based on their parents in the strangest, most unfair way. His, ironically, on his mother.

While her mother’s reputation served as a buffer for her. A bumper, a guide rail that kept her from going off course.

She had to walk a balance beam, but Walker had been running a campaign from the gutter all his life.

She understood exactly what he meant.

“So knocking on doors and things like that?”