Done letting a bunch of small-town mouths write my story in gossip and half-truths.. The caption reads:Casanova Cash rides again?and the comments are worse. Half the town’s weighing in like it’s open season. Some laughing. Some warning Avery to be careful. All of it poison.
I have a reputation in Wilder Creek. Always have. Started back when I was seventeen and kissed the sheriff’s daughter under the bleachers during the Fourth of July dance. Kept going through my twenties with a string of bar hookups and bad choices, most of which ended with lipstick smudged on my neck and my boots somewhere they shouldn’t be.
But I’m not that guy anymore. Haven’t been in a long time.
Doesn’t matter, though. Not in this town. Not now.
Because apparently, someone’s dredged up the past and dragged my name back through it. And they’re not just whispering about my bad-boy days. They’re talking about Avery.
By the time I get to the barn, Billy Mac is grinning like he just won the gossip rodeo. “You been busy, cowboy,” he says, waggling his brows. “Town can’t stop talking about you and the boss lady. Hayloft rumors are running hotter than the July sun.”
I shoot him a look sharp enough to skin a steer, but he just chuckles and ducks into the tack room.
Great.
I grab a pitchfork and head toward the stalls, needing to burn this irritation into something useful. The rhythm of work usually calms me, something about muscle memory and the smell of hay that drowns out the noise. Not today.
Today, every slam of a stall door feels like a warning shot. Every glance from the hands is a silent question they don’t have the guts to ask out loud.
And the worst part? I don’t know if Avery’s heard it yet.
I don’t know what she’ll think if she does.
She’s smart. She’s tough. But she’s also proud, and I know firsthand how much it hurts to be judged for someone else’s mistakes. Especially when they come gift-wrapped in town gossip and a nickname like Casanova Cash.
I stab the pitchfork into the hay, harder than necessary.
I don’t care what Wilder Creek thinks of me. Never have.
But I care whatshethinks.
And for the first time in years, that scares the hell out of me.
I head to the general store for a few things, just an excuse to get off the ranch and breathe for a minute. The truck ride over does little to clear my head, the cab stuffy with heat and the faint scent of leather and sweat. When I push through the glass door, the bell overhead jingles like a starter pistol.
The store smells like cedar chips, dusty grain sacks, and the cloying sweetness of licorice ropes from the penny jar up front. The old ceiling fan clicks with every slow rotation, a metronome ticking out the tension in my chest, and the worn linoleum underfoot gives just enough to make each step feel heavier than it should.
There’s an old ceiling fan creaking overhead, and country music crackles softly from a beat-up radio behind the counter. My boots scuff the linoleum as I make my way down the first aisle, grabbing a few nails I don’t need and dog food I probably have plenty of,all while trying to shake the tension riding shotgun in my chest. Of course, I barely make it three feet inside before the trap snaps.
"Cash Bennett," drawls Melissa Harper, former rodeo queen and Wilder Creek’s most committed flirt. She struts toward me like she’s still in rhinestones and sash. "Heard you were back to your old tricks."
I roll my eyes, managing a tight smile. "Just here for nails and dog food, Mel. Not mischief."
"Shame," she purrs, placing a hand on my forearm. "That used to be your specialty."
I’m about to step away when a sharp intake of breath cuts through the air like a whip.
Avery.
She stands frozen at the end of the aisle, Emmy's tiny hand curled in hers, and in that moment, time stalls. Her eyes widen, not with surprise, but with a cold certainty that slices straight through me. My stomach drops, a flash of panic surging through me like wildfire.
All I can think is,please don’t believe what it looks like.Not her. Not now. Not after everything we've started to build. It's not just the sight of Melissa’s hand on my arm, it’s everything I didn’t say fast enough,everything this town’s ever whispered. Shame lances through me, hot and fast. I see the flicker in Avery’s eyes, that split second of betrayal, and something in my chest tightens to the point of pain. Because this, this is exactly what I feared.
That my past would stand between us, smirking like a ghost with perfect timing, a half-full shopping basket swinging from her other arm. Her eyes land on Melissa’s hand, then flick to mine. For a beat, she doesn’t blink.
Shit.
I pull back instantly, guilt surging hotter than the Texas sun outside. "Avery—"
