Too bad for her. She’s not getting more than a grunt from me.
I didn’t bring anything much more suitable than the designer jeans and polo I’m wearing, unaccustomed to spending my days in anything other than a suit and tie. I should have bought myself some damn Levi’s before coming, but it seemed stupid to buy new clothes that I would only need for the few days I planned on staying here.
I'm here under the guise of helping Pops with the herd's vaccinations before winter, but Dad gave me the task of talking some sense into the stubborn bastard. The man was in his mid-seventies. He was in great shape for his age, but he was in no condition to be ranching anymore, especially after he recently had what he likes to call a "tiny" heart attack. It was well past time for him to sell the ranch and find a nice spot to retire.
The woman’s hands perch on her hips as she hovers, watching me try to pull off the shredded tire now that Cujo stopped its assault long enough to roll around in the grass next to the drive.
She follows my gaze to the dog, whose feet are kicking in the air as it snorts and sneezes. “You’re a good dog, aren’t you, Dixie?” she asks, her tone warm and giddy, making the dog perk up and wag her long tail. Looking at her now, she seems completely harmless as she basks in the sun, her brindled markings a mix of black, gray, and white.
“She can be a little protective of me.”
“I noticed,” I mutter.
“So, what’s a city boy like you doing out here, anyway?” she asks, curiosity heavy in her tone.
I roll my eyes. People in this small town can’t help but be nosy. It’s only a matter of time before everyone knows I’m here. I might as well get the ball rolling on the rumor mill. “I’m Vern Dawson’s grandson, Wes.”
Her jaw goes slack a moment before she remembers herself and makes her face impassive once more. Her lips purse as her scrutinizing gaze trails over me.
I cross my arms over my chest, uncomfortable with the attention of those bright blue eyes on me. I scowl when the crease forms between her brows, making me feel like I was already disappointing her, as if I’d come up short somehow in her eyes.
“I didn’t recognize you in the city boy getup, Wes.”
I startle at that and my eyes rove over her face, taking in that amused expression of hers as her teeth dig into her bottom lip. I take note of her fiery red hair, the freckles dusting her nose and both cheeks and an all too knowing look in her eye. I frown. She looks familiar in a distant sort of way, but the girl I recall was a fourteen-year-old lanky thing with braces, unruly hair, and a prominent jawline that looked too angular on her youthful face. The woman in front of me is a bombshell with substantial curves and her hair is tied up in a neat braid.
“So, you came to visit Pops?”
“Something like that.”
Her nose wrinkles and she studies me like she’s trying to pick apart my intentions from the few words I'm offering.
I ignore her as I attempt to pull the damaged tire off. Even after a fair amount of wiggling, it doesn’t budge. I grip the rim and heave, pulling with everything I’ve got in me. And when the tire finally comes off, it throws me off balance and I land hard in the dirt.
I tense at the sound of her wild laugh. It’s not a ladylike chuckle, but a near feral cackle that I’ve heard countless times. It’s a laugh that’s hard to forget and that brings back memories of my summers spent running around the ranch with my best friend, Tripp, trailed by our little sisters and their friend.
I swing my gaze in her direction. “Sawyer Addams,” I mutter.
Her heart-shaped mouth remains curved up in amusement. “Looks like the city boy finally deigned to remember my name.”
Quinn, Sawyer, and Allie—my best friend, Tripp’s little sister—were like peas in a pod. And they were all sneaky, spying little shit stirrers.They’d catch me and Tripp getting up to no good and then giggle and blackmail us to take them to the Cowboy Corner Café for some of Mrs. Mackey’s baked treats, or to Cottonwood Trading Post, a mini mall of sorts.
“You were a scrawny fourteen-year-old last time I saw you.” I take in the curves she’s grown since then out of the corner of my eye as I put on the spare tire. Her cut-offs show off the generous curve of her hip and the T-shirt is tied in a knot over her pale stomach, cinching in her waist. Definitely not the young girl I remember. “You’ve changed quite a bit since then, but that laugh sure hasn’t.”
I smirk as I tighten the lug nuts. Her cheeks turn red, her eyes narrowing to slits, and I wince slightly as I remember the temper on her. “As much as I’d love to catch up on your exciting life of barn dances and church picnics, Pops is expecting me.”
“Still full of yourself, I see,” she mumbles, mostly to herself.
“What can I say? It’s been a hell of a day. I’m not in the mood for idle chitchat or small-town gossip. The sooner I get out of this shitho—place, the better.” I quickly replace the word I wanted to say, but Sawyer isn’t fooled by my half-assed attempt to gloss over almost calling the town a shithole.
Her hip juts out as she stares down at me with her lips pursed like she’s trying to figure out a difficult math equation. “You’re more of an asshole than I remember.”
I scoff. “And you’re a lot more surly than I remember. Life is full of disappointments, huh?”
Her eyes roll and her top lip curls up in disgust.
I shrug. Her attitude suits me just fine. I’m not here to be friendly. I’m here to convince Pops to put his ranch up for sale. I toss the shredded tire and the jack back into the trunk of my Lexus.
Sawyer snorts derisively and swings a daggered stare my way. She opens her mouth to say something—probably unpleasant—but I cut her off with a slap of my thighs before she has a chance.
