Falling for the Cowboy

My best friend bought me a week at a dude ranch for my birthday.

A dude ranch. In Rosewood, Texas. For my birthday.
I said I wanted a spa day. She said I needed dirt under my brand-new boots, stars over my head and to stop wasting my heart on men who didn’t know what to do with a real woman.
She wasn’t wrong.
Here’s the thing — I’m a curvy girl, which means I have never in my life considered getting on a horse. I’m allergic to smoke, so campfires are out. And really, who does bugs? I am a concrete-and-coffee kind of girl and the closest I’ve come to nature is a rooftop bar with a view of the park.
And then I met him.
He’s tall, stupidly handsome, and he’s got a smirk that should require a permit in at least forty states.
I didn’t come to Wild Vista Ranch to fall for anyone.
And certainly not for a cowboy.