“That’s the thing about villains, son. Sometimes, the villain is just the hero in disguise.”
That makes me laugh out loud.
“So, Thanksgiving at Wildhaven Storm, yes?” he asks as he stands.
“Count us in,” I say. “Surely, they won’t try and poison me with Ruby by my side.”
He clasps my shoulder. “Probably not.”
ABarbie doll.
That’s what she looks like. A real, flesh-and-blood Barbie doll, all long legs and shiny hair and bright, toothy smile. Like she stepped straight out of some glossy magazine.
Honestly, it suits him.
The two of them standing together outside The Prairie Pie earlier in the week has been burned into my brain whether I want it there or not. His hand on the small of her back. Her laughing at something he was saying. The way they looked like they belonged in the same picture.
I don’t know why it bothers me so much.
It’s not like we had any kind of commitment. Hell, we hadn’t even had our first official date. We were … something undefined.A possibility. A spark that hadn’t had time to either catch fire or burn out.
And yet here I am, stewing over some blonde stranger like he owes me something.
She has to be the reason he stood me up. That’s what my mind keeps insisting. Probably followed him here from Nevada, all brokenhearted that her cowboy fantasy had packed up and left town. I imagine her sitting by some luxury resort pool, in a tiny bikini, sipping a fruity drink, waiting for him to come to his senses and come back to her.
I shake my head. This is what I get for letting my guard down and letting Waylon Ludlow and his broad shoulders and chiseled abs and deceptive single-dad charm wiggle his way into my life.
I should have tried harder with Dixon Fisher. I should have given him a real chance instead of brushing him off because he didn’t make my pulse race. I didn’t even let him get past polite and pleasant before I decided he wasn’t enough.
What’s the old saying? Nice guys finish last?
Why is that? Why do we always want the ones who put us through hell? The ones who confuse us and frustrate us and make us feel too much?
Women really are sadists.
Time to flip the script.
Thanksgiving week rolls in like a storm front, busy and loud and full of family. Harleigh comes home for the long weekend, bursting through the front door with her bags and a hundred stories from campus.
And of course, the first thing she wants to do is go out on the town.
“There’s a new band at The Soused Cow tonight,” she announces to Charli, dropping onto the couch. “Everyone’s going. You and Bryce too.”
“I’m not,” I say from the kitchen, where I’m chopping vegetables for Grandma.
“Yes, you are,” she calls back.
“No, I’m not.”
She pops up, and Charli follows her to the kitchen. “Why not?”
“Because Dixon asked me to dinner and a movie,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “And I said yes.”
Her face scrunches up. “Dixon? The farrier? You going there again?”
“Yes, Harleigh. That Dixon. And, yes, I am.”
“But I thought we all agreed he was too boring?”
