Page 7 of Wrangle Me, Cowboys

“Well, hello, dear,” she said, clattering up the steps in her heels. “I thought I’d come pay a visit. See what all the gossip was about in town.”

“Oh, hi, then,” I said as she bustled past me and into the house.

“I figured the boys would be out this time of day, so we could have a little girl talk,” she said, hanging her coat on the rack behind the door.

Okay, then. A bit presumptuous, but whatever.

“I don’t know if I’m the best one to share gossip,” I said. “I’ve only been to town once, and all we did was buy a new phone and some hardware.”

“Oh, honey, I’m not here to gossip with you about other people,” she said. “I’m here to see with my own eyes what other people are gossiping about.”

I gulped. “Other people are gossiping about me?”

“Well, of course,” she said. “You’re new to the area. Not to mention, a pretty girl like you living with three handsome single men.”

“Uh huh.” I wasn’t drunk, but I wasn’t sober enough for this conversation. What if I said something wrong, like, hell yeah, they’re hotter than hell and I want to make up for lost time and do all three of them?

“Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?” she asked, standing by the coat rack.

“Sure, I guess,” I said, wondering if the boys would like this gossipy stranger snooping around in their house. I’d have to watch the old coot if she went to the bathroom.

“Manners are a little lacking,” she commented as I led her into the kitchen.

“Wine?” I asked, motioning to the bottle and my empty glass, which were still on the table.

“Heavens no,” she said, sounding truly scandalized. “It’s barely past lunch time.”

“Never stopped me,” I said with a grin, hoping she’d lighten up and join me.

“I see that,” the woman said, glaring disapprovingly at my glass.

“We’ve also got beer,” I offered.

Instead of laughing, she frowned harder. Craptastic. That hadn’t worked at all. If we both got a little tipsy, we’d be on a more even playing field. Maybe we’d even be friends. I could use someone to stop by, have a cocktail, and chat every once in a while, even if she was the neighborhood gossip. That would serve Waylon right for being a dick to me.

“Or tea,” I said weakly. “Soda?”

“I’ll take a Diet Coke, please and thank you,” she said, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table. “And throw another log on the fire if you don’t mind.”

“Okay, then.” I handed over the can of Diet Coke, which she scowled at. “Diet Coke, right?” I asked when she didn’t reach for it.

“I’ll take a glass and some ice, if you don’t mind,” she said.

“Guess I’m not the only one who needs to learn manners,” I muttered as I grabbed a glass and filled it with ice. When the drink was up to her standards, I turned to the wood stove.

“They told me you were easy on the eyes,” she said. “That might be a good thing for my boys if my ex-husband hadn’t gone and married that senator. It does no good for stepsiblings to be the same age.”

I had opened the door to the fire, and I almost pitched headlong into the coals.

“What did you just say?” I squeaked.

“I said it’s no good for you to be the same age as my boys. I’m sure they could use some good women around here, but it’s not doing anyone any favors to put a pretty girl in front of three lonely men and tell them they can’t have her. I don’t know what that man was thinking.”

“You’re their mother?” I reached out to steady myself and almost put my hand on top of the stove. Considering my history with mishaps since I’d arrived, I figured I should get away from any hot surfaces, so I stumbled to the table and collapsed into a chair. I’d been rude to their mother! I wanted to die.

“Of course I’m their mother,” she said. “Who did you think I was? You smell like you’re three sheets to the wind, but try to keep up, dear.”

Oh my God, oh my God, it’s their mother. What do I do?