Absolutely not. I’ll have a ranch hand drive you.
I’m honestly devastated. Make that hurt. Or maybe even a little pissed off that he doesn’t trust me to drive his car. Before I’m able to think better of it, I hastily type out my reply.
Me
I swear, I’m a great driver. I’ll bring it back in one piece, promise.
This time, the reply is instant.
Flint
I don’t give a fuck about the car. I don’t want you going back to that apartment alone. A ranch hand will be there in 20 minutes to go with you.
Me
Thank you
Flint
You don’t have to thank me, Sugar Plum. What I have is yours. I just won’t let you risk yourself. You can drive the Mustang any time you want. Just not to that shitty part of town.
My heart melts. I should be a little perturbed he’s telling me what to do, but I’m not. I’m not going to lie. It’s kinda nice having someone look out for me. Actually, it’s freaking great.
I head back to the kitchen and check on our dinner. It looks like the stew is coming along great. I find my purse and set it on the edge of the breakfast bar so I’m ready when my babysitter arrives.
By the time I hear the rumble of a truck in the drive, I’m ready and waiting. I’m not sure what I expected, but when I open the door, I nearly swallow my own tongue.
Standing on the porch is a man who looks like he could have walked straight off a GQ cover, if GQ ever featured six-foot-five cowboys with a sleeve of tattoos and a jawline sharp enough to slice cheese. He’s got blue eyes, hair a shade lighter than Flint’s, and a smile that’s half-wolf, half-Marlboro ad.
“Saoirse?” he asks, voice low and polite, like he’s asking for the time.
I nod, suddenly wondering if all ranch hands look like him.
“I’m Cole Carrington,” he says, extending a hand. “Flint asked me to drive you into town.”
Cole Carrington? Damn. This is what Flint came up with? He sent his millionaire boss to chauffeur me home? I slip my hand into Cole’s, a little startled by how warm his grip is, how gentle. But sparks? Not one—not even a flicker. Nothing.
“Thanks,” I say, and my voice comes out a notch steadier than I expect. “Hope I’m not dragging you away from anything important.”
Cole just shrugs, easygoing. “I needed to make a run into town anyway. We’ll swing by your place, grab your things, and I’ll stop at the hardware store before heading back. If that’s okay with you?”
“That works for me.” Now, I know I've stepped into the Twilight Zone. He leads the way to a black pickup truck, double-cab, spotless inside and out. I climb in, buckle up, and try not to stare at the ridiculous array of gadgets and dials on the dashboard. This thing is a space shuttle compared to my ancient Mazda.
We ride in silence for the first mile, Cole focusing on the road while I obsessively check my phone just to do something.
“So,” Cole says, glancing over, “Flint told me you’re a teacher.”
“That’s right,” I mumble, not knowing what else to say. I stare out the window, watching the fields blur past. “First grade.”
Cole glances over at me, eyes crinkling at the corners. “First grade, huh? That sounds like pure chaos.”
He isn’t wrong. A laugh escapes me. “It’s pretty much controlled mutiny,” I admit.
Cole’s gaze finds me. “You like it, though. Teaching.”
I nod, letting myself grin because it’s true. “Yeah. Even when they try to give me a heart attack before noon.” I can’t hold back a smile. “They’re adorable little terrorists.”
Cole gives me a look with one eyebrow cocked. “Flint says you’re tough as hell. Didn’t believe it until I heard you survived a night at the Silver Spur in an elf outfit.” His mouth twitches. “That took guts.”
