Page 99 of Saltwater Cowboy

I nodded, clearing my throat. “She liked women who didn’t take my crap.”

That made her smile. A small one, but real. “She sounds like she was smart.”

“She was.” I hesitated, running my thumb along the edge of the workbench. “She also liked people who went after what they wanted.”

Rose studied me for a beat before softly saying, “Sounds like you miss her.”

I swallowed, nodding once. “Every day.”

She didn’t say anything right away, just reached for another bundle of flowers. But her movements were slower now, more thoughtful.

“Well,” she said after a moment, “I like her already.”

Something in my chest tightened.

I cleared my throat, pushing off the workbench before I did something stupid—like reach for her hand. “I should check on the horses.”

Rose didn’t try to stop me, but as I walked away, I swore I heard her whisper, “She’d be proud of you, Wells.”

And damn it if that didn’t almost bring me to my knees.

I had to push these feelings aside because I have a date tomorrow.

WISHFUL DRINKING

After a long day outside, dinner came together without much thought. It had started happening more and more—Wells and I moving around the kitchen like a well-oiled machine. I chopped vegetables while he manned the stove. I grabbed plates while he pulled a casserole from the oven. It was unspoken and effortless every single night.

“Feels like we should be keeping track,” I said, nudging his hip with mine as I passed him a spatula.

“Of what?”

“How many meals we’ve made together.” I clarified.

He smirked, flipping a piece of chicken in the pan. “You thinking we should start a tally on the fridge?”

“Maybe.” I shrugged. “Or maybe it just means we’re dangerously close to being domestic.”

That made him laugh, a low, easy sound that warmed something in my chest. “Careful, Sunshine,” he teased. “You’ll give a man ideas.”

I rolled my eyes and set the table, pretending my stomach hadn’t just done a little flip.

After dinner, we lingered outside, watching the sky turn into soft shades of pink and purple, our plates empty but our conversation easy. We talked about the horses, about what I was planning for the upcoming market—about everything and nothing.

It was simple, and it was the best part of my day.

When it was time, we went our separate ways—no rush, just a quiet end to the evening. I changed into my pajamas and brushed my teeth, crawling into bed with a book. But the day’s exhaustion hit me all at once, and before I knew it, I was lying there with my eyes closed, letting the quiet of the house lull me toward sleep.

Just as I was about to drift off, there was a knock at the door.

I blinked, startled. “Hmm?”

The door creaked open, and Wells stepped inside. He was barefoot, wearing a faded gray T-shirt and gray sweats that hung just a little too low on his hips, and suddenly, I couldn’t think straight.

“You okay?” I asked, sitting up a little, trying to act normal.

He shifted from foot to foot like he wasn’t entirely sure about what he was doing. “Actually, I need your help with something.”

That made me sit up fully. Wells wasn’t the kind of guy who asked for help—ever.