A squeak slips from my lips as my boot hits a patch of ice and flies out in front of me. I brace for an impact that never comes. And then I’m surrounded by the warm scent of hay and leather, as Cash catches me in his arms.
For a second, neither of us moves. The world narrows to his hands on my waist and the dark look in his eyes.
“Careful,” he says. His voice holds a layer of concern, and something else I can’t quite decipher.
And just like that I’m not sure if he’s warning me about the ice…or him.
Chapter Two
Cash
Ishould have let her fall.
And if I’d been any kind of an asshole, I would have, and it would have been easier on both of us if this city girl saw immediately how completely out of her depth on this ranch. And with me.
I’m a lot of things. But I’m not an asshole.
So now, I have an armful of soft city girl who smells like roses.
Rosesof all damn things. In the middle of February.
On a ranch.
Myranch.
Still.
I hold her a second longer than is strictly necessary and breathe her in before clearing my throat and setting her up on her feet.
“Careful.”
Not sure if I’m warning her or myself.
Kali nods and clutches her purse tighter. “Right. Ice. Got it.”
“Guest cabin is just a bit further down the path.” I start walking away before she can say anything that will get me into trouble.
Which, when it comes to reporters, is pretty much anything.
The path to the guest cabin winds past the main house. It was one of the first outbuildings Wyatt wanted fixed up I was beginning to see why. Maybe getting a journalist out here was part of his master plan all along.
I can’t deny that publicity would be good for the ranch. As long as it’sgoodpublicity. We’ve been fighting an uphill battle changing public perception on this place, and our family, since our dad died and Wyatt got back here.
“What kind of piece are you writing again?” I turn a little as I ask the question. Just enough to notice the way she’s slipping a little with every step she takes.
I swallow back a grunt. Her boots are better suited for the mall. They have no business out here.
“It’s a lifestyle piece,” she says, taking her eyes off her footing for a flash of a second. “It’ll feature you and all of your brothers, really,” she adds the last bit quickly as if I’ll object. Which I will. “I really want to capture your story of growing up here and leaving before coming back to?—”
“There’s no story there,” I stop her. I won’t be discussing our childhood or why we left this place. Not with a reporter. No way.
“Oh,” she says a little uncertainly. “Well, thereisa story here at Rock Creek. I’m sure of it.”
She’s got that same determination as every other reporter I’ve ever met. The type of attitude that means trouble for anyone on the receiving end of whatever story she decides to dig up.
I walk slower than I normally would, aware that Kali’s doing her best to keep up without slipping and falling. The ground is slick, and her boots don’t have much traction.
I’ll be back later to throw down a layer of sand.
