“I don’t have that kind of luxury.” I snap back, but for some reason, guilt settles into my gut and my shoulders sag. “Fine. I can take this afternoon off.”
A half-smile pulls up one side of his mouth. “Meet me at the ranch.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose; this is such a bad idea. The worst idea. I’ve been reckless and impulsive before, but this? This has to take the cake. “When?”
“Twelve Thirty.”
“Fine,” I agree, shaking my head. I throw the towel back onto my bag and turn to the water, but I don’t hear Roman walking away. “You waiting for a show?”
His eyes roll down me as he lifts his hand to run his middle finger across his bottom lip, hiding a smirk. He still makes no move to leave, and I am going to run out of time if I don’t get going now. He’s not going to ruin the one hour of peace I give myself, so I push myselfinto the pool, ignoring the way my muscles tighten and the cold steals my breath.
I get control of myself and once I’m deep enough, I lift my feet off the ground and push myself forward, cutting through the water until I’m in my usual spot with the falls at my back and tread water, looking to where he leans on a tree.
He watches for the entire hour while I swim.
I slowly drive my truck up the long road that winds its way up to the ranch, admiring the landscape. Horses graze in the fields to the left, and thousands of cattle are on the right, with barns and stables where several people are working. With the mountains as the backdrop, I can see how easy it would be to fall in love with this place. Sunstone Ridge has been my home my entire life. I’ve always seen the charm, how our tiny little town seemed to be stuck in time in the best way, but this place… It’s magic. Something that had looked unreachable and yet had been on my doorstep the entire time. I’ve only seen a fraction of this place, and I had thought the falls would be the most stunning part, but I’m not so sure that’s true.
It takes almost five minutes to get to the very end of the drive. The farmhouse stands proud in front of the mountains, a mix of wood and natural stone, with vast windows to let in as much light as possible. A huge brand-new Ford Ranger is parked in front of the house, its glossy black paint reflecting the sun that’s only just broken free of the clouds. I’d called in a favor with Ashley to cover the bar for this afternoon, but I should be back within the hour.
I’m here only to give him my final answer. No.
Absolutely not.
It’s insane I even considered it in the first place.
I reach for the door handle but pause. I had another red-stamped letter this morning, and I’m running out of time. What if doing thisisthe answer?
Movement on the porch that wraps around the farmhouse draws my attention, and I look up to find Roman standing there, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up showing tan skin and ropes of veins protruding from his arms. The first few buttons are left open at the neck, showing his collarbones and just a small smattering of dark hair on his chest. His hat shields his eyes, but I can feel them on me through the windshield.
He lifts his hand and turns his wrist to look down at his watch. I’m fifteen minutes late, but I figured it didn’t matter.
Swallowing down all those twisty feelings coiling up tight in my gut, I get out of the car, the hinges on my old truck squeaking. My dad got me this truck, and while it is literally falling apart, being held together with duct tape and hope, I can’t part with it. It’s the only thing I have left.
Gravel crunches under my feet as I make my way toward the porch.
“You’re late.”
“We’re talking, not attending court. You’ll live.”
He makes some kind of growling noise before he reaches for the door handle and offers me inside. I pass him, his scent immediately coming over me as I step inside. This place is rustic charm through and through, with its high ceilings and natural stone walls that seem to pull from the landscape beyond the windows. A fireplace dominates one wall, the hearth made from astone that matches the mountains, and tan couches that look to be a leather, suede mix sit in front of it. Framed photos of the ranch through the years are mounted on the hallway walls, and the hardwood floor looks original, still with scrapes and scratches from the many years this place has been here.
Roman shows me through to what I assume is his office, matching what I saw of the house except this has a set of double glass doors that offers a wide view of the ranch and the mountains with a smaller fireplace that doesn’t look like it’s been used at all. It’s luxury, down to the hide rug on the floor and the shined leather chairs both in front and behind the desk. It doesn’t squeak once as I lower into it and run my hand over the soft leather.
I keep my eyes on Roman as he takes his place behind the desk and meets my gaze. “Drink?” He glances at the decanter of whiskey and the two glasses sitting next to it.
“Only if you’ll make me a sours.” I quirk a brow, expecting it to be a challenge for him. There’s no way this cowboy knows how to make a real whiskey sour.
He chuckles, “Wait here.”
Like I have anywhere else to go. I watch him leave, plucking up the decanter on the way out but he leaves the door ajar, and I can see his tall, wide body walking into the kitchen. He places the bottle down on the oak wood kitchen island and then slips out of view. A moment later, I hear cupboard doors opening and closing, and he places items down with the whiskey.
Well damn, he’s actually going to make me a cocktail.
I watch in fascination as he puts the whiskey, lemon juice and syrup into the shaker before he cracks an eggand separates the yolk, leaving only the white, which he tips in last before sealing the shaker. He shakes it and then disappears briefly before he picks it up and comes back with it and a small jar of cherries. My shock must be evident on my face because he smirks and stops at the desk to grab the glasses to pour the cocktail into both of them. He finishes it off by skewering a cherry onto a metal cocktail stick with a cattle skull on the end.
With his own drink in hand, he lowers into the chair again and settles his eyes on me, but I’m still staring at the damn cocktail he made me.
“Is there a problem, sweetheart?” I can hear his amusement making his usually rough tone light.
