Page 92 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

“I-I don’t—” The words barely came out before my panic hijacked my body.

I shot up so fast the rocking chair flew back with a loud crack against the porch.

“Well, that’s all for me tonight.” My voice was too high and forced. “I’m gonna go!”

I threw my thumb toward the house like some dramatic idiot and all but launched myself off the porch.

“Fable.”

Nope. Not listening. I was already walking. Fast. As fast as I could without breaking into a full-on sprint, my heartbeat drumming in my ears.

“You are not walking by yourself in the dark.”

“I am!” I huffed, picking up my pace.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, and I heard the scrape of his boots against the porch.

No. No. No. If he caught up to me, I’d have to talk. If I had to talk, I might say something stupid. If I said something stupid, then I might⁠—

I pushed forward, focusing on the path, on the shadows stretching out in front of me, but no matter how fast I walked, his footsteps were getting closer.

“We’re friends, Beau.”

“Fuck,” he grumbled as his boots hit the ground hard behind me until he’d somehow caught up to me.

I refused to look at him in the face, focused on getting to the guesthouse.

“I didn’t mean⁠—”

“No.” I stopped abruptly, my heart hammering in my chest. “We have to be friends. You don’t understand—I like being with you. I like that I was invited into your house. I like our ridiculous truth-and-lie game. I like that when I’m around you, I don’t feel like I have to wash my hands a hundred times.” Tears stung the corners of my eyes, and I blinked rapidly, silently begging them not to fall. “Please. Just . . . please don’t ruin that. Let us be friends.”

In the dim light of the moon, I saw him nod, his expression unreadable. “I’m sorry. I feel like I keep screwing this up. You’re right. I don’t want that to be ruined either because I want to kiss you.”

I groaned, throwing my hands in the air.

“What? What did I do?”

“Talking about kissing me is off-limits. End of discussion,” I said with as much conviction as I could muster.

He tipped his hat in my direction. “Got it, Cowgirl.”

“That’s another thing. No more nicknames. No Cowgirl. No . . . baby.” I spun back around and started walking toward the house, thankful I left a light on the porch because it was dark between the pastures.

Falling in step with me, he pressed a hand to his heart in mock offense, then shook his head. “Can’t do that, sorry. You’re my Cowgirl. But fine, I’ll throw friend in there if it makes you feel better.”

I chuckled. “Yes. Friend is what we are.”

We reached my house, and I stopped, turning to face him. I shouldn’t have. Not when my body was betraying me, my mind conjuring thoughts I had no business thinking. Why did I want to invite him in, to tell him to fuck me like he had at the hotel, but better—because this time, I wouldn’t leave? Why did I want him to step inside and not feel like I needed to wash my hands after being outside in the dark, where anything could be lurking?

“Alright, well⁠—”

“I’m practicing tomorrow morning.” He cut in. “Come watch. I need a spotter.”

I raised a brow. “A spotter?”

He shrugged. “Could help get content for the bulls too. Maybe we can take some auction stock or bulls Kline wants to breed out. I’ll ask him.”

That . . . was actually a solid idea.