“I am happy.” I reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his. Out here, with no one around, he allowed the contact. “Aren’t you?”
The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Getting there. Spring means a lot of work though.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, shoulders touching, the sun warming us both. In the distance, the mountains still wore their snow caps, but down here in the valley, green was finally returning to Hell Creek.
“Mr. Whitaker called,” Cole said eventually. “Says he’s happy to see our sales have gone up so much.”
“I told you the new marketing campaign would work,” I grinned, nudging his shoulder with mine. “People love a good cowboy story.”
“They love the idea of buying beef from real Montana ranchers,” Cole corrected, but his eyes were smiling. “Even if one of them is a city slicker who can barely ride a horse.”
“Hey! I’ve gotten better,” I protested, laughing. “Besides, my talents lie elsewhere.” I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively.
Cole rolled his eyes, but I caught the flush creeping up his neck. “Is that all you think about?”
“Around you? Pretty much.” I leaned closer, lowering my voice. “Can’t help it when you’re so damn handsome.”
He shook his head, but I saw the way his breath caught, the way his eyes darkened just slightly. After months together, Iknew exactly how to get under his skin. It was almost too easy now.
“You’re incorrigible,” Cole muttered, but there was no heat in it. “We’re supposed to be working,” Cole reminded me, but he didn’t move away. His thumb traced small circles on the back of my hand, sending little sparks of electricity up my arm.
“All work and no play makes Jesse a dull boy,” I quipped, letting my gaze linger on his lips.
He glanced around again, a nervous habit that he still couldn’t quite shake. Even after months together, he remained cautious about public displays of affection. Hell Creek wasn’t exactly known for its progressive views, and Cole had spent his entire life here, building a reputation he was afraid to lose. And I wasn’t going to push him either. I knew just how bigoted some people could be, never mind the fact that we were technically stepbrothers.
“Tonight,” he promised, his voice dropping to that deep register that never failed to make my skin tingle. “After Evelyn leaves.”
I was about to respond when the sound of tires on gravel caught our attention. Cole immediately released my hand, putting a respectable distance between us. I tried not to let it sting. This was our compromise. Closeness in private, careful distance in public. I understood his fears, even if I didn’t fully share them.
We both turned toward the driveway, expecting to see Evelyn’s familiar truck. Instead, a dusty black pickup I didn’t recognize rolled to a stop near the main house. The driver’s door swung open, and a heavyset man with a weathered face and a faded baseball cap climbed out.
“Shit,” Cole muttered under his breath. “It’s Mack Hollister. What’s he doing here?”
My stomach clenched. Mack had been one of the most vocal critics at the Whitakers’ New Year’s party. My father’s old friend who’d made it clear he thought I had no business being back at Nelson Ranch.
“What’s he doing here?” I whispered, suddenly wishing we were safely inside.
“Probably looking for a beef order,” Cole said, rising to his feet and dusting off his jeans. “He mentioned something about his daughter’s wedding coming up.”
I stood too, putting another step between us for good measure. “I’ll head back to the barn, let you handle it.”
“No,” Cole said firmly. “We’re business partners. We can handle customers together.”
The determination in his voice surprised me. It was a small thing, but it meant something. Cole had gotten in the habit of acknowledging our business partnership publicly, even to someone like Mack.
We walked toward the house together, and I noticed Mack had spotted us. He stood by his truck, arms crossed over his barrel chest, watching our approach with narrowed eyes.
“Afternoon, Mack,” Cole called, his voice shifting into what I privately called his “rancher mode”—slightly deeper, more authoritative. “What brings you out to Hell Creek today?”
Mack’s gaze flicked between us, lingering on me with obvious distaste. “Cole,” he nodded, deliberately ignoring me. “Came by to talk about that beef order for my girl’s wedding reception. Figured I should deal with you direct instead of going through that fancy website.”
I bit back a retort, keeping my face carefully neutral. After months of proving myself, some folks in Hell Creek still refused to acknowledge my contribution to the ranch’s success. Cole noticed my tension. His hand briefly brushed against my lower back, a small gesture of solidarity before he stepped forward.
“The website’s Jesse’s department,” Cole said evenly. “And it’s been mighty successful. But we’re happy to handle your order in person if you prefer.”
Mack’s eyes narrowed at the way Cole included me with that ‘we.’ “Just like your daddy to handle business face to face. None of this internet nonsense.”
“Times change, Mack,” I said, keeping my tone light despite the knot forming in my stomach. “The website’s brought in customers from thirty-seven states now.”
