Page 17 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

“Let’s just say, the last time I drank wine, I tried to fight a statue, and Iris had to physically drag me off it. Oh, and I cried over puppy-for-sale ads. But if I’m being honest, I do that sober too.”

Her giggle relaxes me, and I bark a laugh. “Alright, no wine. And maybe steer clear of the puppy ads. We’ll stick to beer. Safe choice.”

She winks. “Perfect. It’s a date.”

I raise a brow.

She smirks. “A friendly date. Don’t worry. I’m not going to jump your bones.”

I laugh it off. Friend, Colt. A frickin’ friend. Hold your horses.

And just like that, the heaviness that Wade left behind lifts. Maeve's smile is back where it belongs, and God, it’s damn beautiful.

Mission complete.

We fall back into step side by side, headed toward the feed pen. I haven't just hung out with someone for the hell of it since Jae left for his bull-riding tour—five months ago now, give or take. Feels like a lifetime.

The excitement that bubbles up in my chest at the thought of tonight is embarrassingly easy to explain. I've just missed having someone I can hang out with.

For the rest of the day, I catch myself watching the clock.

Chapter Seven

Maeve

The sound of clattering dishes and the team’s goodbyes flood the kitchen as I shovel the last spoonful of beef casserole into my mouth. I’ve barely finished swallowing when Colt swoops in to grab my plate and starts washing it up, like a domesticated angel.

The man practically inhaled his food. Honestly? It’s kind of endearing how keen he is to hang out.

I, on the other hand, feel like a sticky, sweaty goblin. Same jeans and tank top I've been in since sunrise, feet screaming in protest from being trapped all day in my worn-out Docs. Turns out they’re not exactly ranch-approved footwear. A lesson learned the hard way, blisters and all.

I've got to get new boots before I end up having to amputate my feet. But the town's too far to walk and driving on the wrong side of the road petrifies me. A problem for another day—and by another day, I mean within the next few days, because I'm also down to my last few essentials that Mrs. Mae provided. The woman is basically a cross between Mother Teresa and Dolly Parton, and I am entirely here for it.

“I’m gonna go freshen up, alright? Meet you back down here in ten?”

Colt glances over his shoulder mid-counter wipe. “Sounds good.”

I nod and slip out, joining a few stragglers heading for the bunkhouse. Wade included—though true to form, he doesn’t say goodbye. Just stands up and walks out.

I haven’t seen him since I made my dig at him and his stupid bloody rudeness. And yes, fine, maybe I shouldn’t have spoken to my boss like that. But he just gets under my skin in a way I can’t make sense out of. It’s like he wants people to hate him. To keep their distance from him. And yet, he’s always there. Lurking in doorways, hovering by fences, a constant presence at the edges of my peripheral vision.

Which makes what I've concluded is just a fanny-flutter-inducing crush into a real, spectacular pain in the ass. You'd think the constant rudeness, the grunting, the inability to make polite small talk would have killed that vibe by now. Nope. Apparently, all it takes is a pair of Wranglers and thighs sculpted by the ranching Gods, and I lose all sense of logic.

Well… that’s kind of a lie. Because annoyingly, whenever he is nearby, I can’t help but watch him closely.

Not in a stalker way.

Okay, maybe mildly stalker adjacent.

But I've been invested in the Carter family since that first night—since getting caught snooping in a room full of their history—and I just can't help but observe. And honestly, what I've observed doesn't line up with my initial read of him at all. Because Wade Carter isn't just the moody Cowboy Batman I've labelled him to be—it's a front. Beneath that exterior, he quietly but deeply cares about the people around him. The way he softens for Mrs. Mae, always thanking her and complimenting her cooking; the way he quietly takes on Colt's tasks when he's in therapy without making a fuss; and the way he lets Bryan be his full, bonkers, neurospicy self without a flicker of judgment.

He's an enigma. A sexy, frustrating, thick-thighed enigma who is still, for the record, a complete twat. That part hasn't changed. It just makes ignoring him significantly harder.

But tonight is not about untangling my tragic crush. Tonight is about Colt. The sunshine in a Stetson. The person who treats me with respect and warmth, and not like a problem. I'm genuinely excited. Not just to hang out, but to get to know him properly. Not just the snippets I’ve seen through my late-night snooping sessions in the house. And maybe by figuring out Colt, I might also start to piece together the parts of his father that don’t quite add up.

I step into my room, greeted by the now-familiar scent of lavender. I kick off my Docs without unlacing them, a task that would’ve been easier if I had just spent the extra seconds it takes to unlace them. I groan at the relief. There’s not a chance in hell I’m putting those torture devices back on tonight.

My phone buzzes.