Shelby opens her mouth.
Then Ruby looks up at her and says, “You do?”
Imma Jean answers for her, “She sure does. Shelby is one of the best riders around. She has won ribbons and everything. She’s even been on TV.”
Ruby’s eyes light up, and she looks at me. “Can she come too, Daddy? Please?”
“I think Shelby has plans, kiddo.”
Shelby’s shoulders sag. “Fine. I can walk down with you guys and help pick out a few things before I head to the market.”
“Yay,” Ruby says as she hops up on the bench beside Shelby.
I head to the counter to pay while Shelby mutters something under her breath about being volunteered. Albert just laughs.
“It’s the neighborly thing,” he says. “And he obviously needs the help.”
I glance back at Shelby and Ruby as Imma Jean takes my money.
“She’s adorable, isn’t she?”
“Which one?” I ask before I can catch myself.
Imma Jean grins as she hands me my change. “Both of them.”
I chuckle to myself.
Sunday mornings in Wildhaven.
Idon’t know how I let this happen.
One minute, I’m sitting at Ryse & Shine, minding my business, drinking coffee with my father, and the next, I’m walking down Main Street with Waylon Ludlow and his kid, after apparently “volunteering” to help a grown man shop for winter clothes like he’s incapable. And he probably is.
I blame Ruby.
Thatpleasewas lethal.
She’s skipping now, her small hand wrapped in Waylon’s, hair bouncing beneath the big pink bow she’s wearing. She hums under her breath, boots scuffing the sidewalk. Waylon walks on her other side, carrying the yellow pastry box.
I walk half a step in front of them, hands shoved into my jacket pockets, leading them toward the boutique.
My goal is to get in and out as quickly as possible. The last thing I want is to spend my entire Sunday afternoon with Waylon Ludlow.
I don’t want to think about his body sprawled across hay bales in our barn. Don’t want to remember the way my heart jumped into my throat when I screamed and he came awake, disoriented and very, very attractive. Don’t want to unpack the fact that I’d expected something else entirely from him—the rich, careless cowboy I remembered, who didn’t feel guilt or embarrassment or gratitude.
And yet …
Here I am.
“Here we are,” I say when we reach the corner, stopping in front of Saddle Sisters Boutique.
Ruby gasps like she just spotted a unicorn.
The window display is eye-catching—cowgirl boots lined up in perfect rows, denim and suede jackets trimmed with wool, pastel-hued flannels folded neatly. But it’s the hats that do it. Cowgirl hats in every shade imaginable, perched atop mannequins’ heads like rustic crowns.
Ruby points with both hands. “Daddy! Look!” Her fingers go straight to a tiny cream-colored felt hat with a pale pink leather band.
Waylon smiles and scoops her up without hesitation, settling her on his hip, so she can see it better. She loops her arms around his neck automatically, like she’s done it a thousand times before.
