Page 7

“This is Hank,” Tate introduces. “He’s the head chef here. I’ve already told him to expect you for meals.”

I smile.

“The staff has strict mealtimes,” Hank says, “but for you, I’ll make an exception.” He winks. But it’s not in a creepy way—more the way a sweet, older uncle would. It makes me laugh. “We’ve always got stuff available. Even in the middle of the night.” He gestures to a corner at what looks like a cupboard filled with snacks. “You’re welcome here anytime.”

“Thank you,” I say to both of them.

“Oh, andthisguy,” Tate says, glancing over my shoulder. “This guy you can bug for anything.”

I follow his gaze, turning, my smile slowly becoming less and less genuine as it lands on the target.

Behind me, hands in the pockets of his dusty blue jeans, stands the irritating cowboy from yesterday.

“Cruz, Addison. Addison, Cruz.”

“We’ve met,” I tell him.

“I know, just reintroducing you,” Tate says with a grin. “Cruz here lives near your cabin. He’ll be around if you need anything. In fact,” he pulls out his phone, “I’ll text you his number right now.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—” I start, but I feel the telltale vibration of my phone in my pants, and I realize he’s already sent it.

Tate stuffs his phone back in his pocket.

I grab mine, glancing down at the contact he’d just sent me. CruzConley. Ugh, even his full name is hot. Annoying and hot.

I shoot a forced smile in Cruz’s direction, and he shoots one right back. Great. He’s obviously just as irritated by Tate’s antics as I am. Which irritates me evenmore. I refuse to be a burden. Besides, what could I possibly need help with? The five-minute walk to the mess hall?

Someone distracts Tate, and he gives Cruz a quick clap on the back before departing, leaving the two of us alone.

Cruz purses his lips, looking disinterested.

“Don’t worry, I don’t need a babysitter. I brush my own teeth and everything,” I clip, trying to both rid him of this strange responsibility Tate has thrust upon him and also prove myself as independent.

“Good. Was a bit worried I’d get roped into some high-maintenance cabin makeover or something.”

I bristle. Is that really what he thinks of me? High maintenance and simply a chore to be avoided? I cross my arms. “Newsflash, cowboy: I’m perfectly capable of existing without your help.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Existing, sure. But empirical evidence from yesterday suggests you might need help with orientation and the like.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” I roll my eyes. “And I’m not high maintenance!” I add.

“Says the woman whose suitcase weighs more than a hay bale.”

“It doesnot.” Although truthfully, I have no idea how much a hay bale weighs.

“You weren’t the one carrying it.”

“I lugged it across half the ranch!” I shoot back.

“You say that like it was someone else’s job to cart your shit around.”

My eyes widen, but I refuse to let him know he’s shocked me. I raise my chin. “If you hate this so much, then why don’t you just tell Tate you refuse to be mybabysitter?” I throw up air quotes around the last word.

“Because, unlike you, I don’t quit when something’s inconvenient.”

My glare deepens—atbothinsults he’s just thrown my way. “Oh, I’m inconvenient now?”

He chuckles, low. “Princess, you’re the definition of it.”