Page 38 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

“Maeve… You good there?”

Yup. Definitely Colt.

I manage to raise my arm, giving him a good old thumbs up, then let it drop dramatically beside the rest of my stiff body.

His soft laugh fills the barn, and I just know he has that golden-boy smile plastered across his face. “Need help getting vertical?”

He appears above me, hand outstretched, the afternoon light coming through the barn slats catching the gold in his hair. I reach for his hand with great effort. His skin is surprisingly soft for a ranch worker, fingers curling around mine with a tight grip as he attempts the task.

The first tug fails to lift me an inch from the ground. Granted, I’m doing nothing to help, just letting my body be a sack of dead weight.

On the second attempt, he grabs me with both hands and hauls me to my feet.

“Cheers,” I brush the hay off my jeans. “I thought you said the aches lessen with every lesson? Or have you begun to lie to me, Golden Boy?”

A slight colour rises in his cheeks; he ducks his head in an attempt to hide it. “I would never lie to you, Maeve.”

The sincerity in his voice makes me blink. He watches me for a brief moment before adding, “Your city-girl body probably just needs longer to adjust.” The laugh that follows sounds forced, like he’s having to try extra hard to match my banter.

“How much longer? Because at this rate, I’ll have to call in sick, then you gotta do all my jobs for me.” I nudge his arm as I attempt to walk.

I now understand what people mean when they say, “walking like a cowboy.”

“Do you need a day off to rest?” He straightens immediately, completely missing that I'm taking the piss. I've noticed he does this a lot, pivoting from easy-going to panic the second he thinks someone might need something. Like he's always half-ready to step in. “I can cover your jobs and let Wade know.”

“It’s chill Colt, I was just messing.” I give him a reassuring smile. “A soak in a bath and a good night’s sleep will sort me out. Maybe let’s give it a few days till the next lesson though, because back-to-back days might not have been one of our brightest ideas.”

He goes quiet. I watch him drop his gaze to his dust-covered boots, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

“Ah, yeah. No problem.” He shrugs. “Did you want to do something else tomorrow after work instead? Maybe go for a swim? I know a spot.” Before I can answer, he lifts his head and bumps his shoulder against mine. “Or are you tired of my company already?”

He’s smiling, but there’s something underneath it that I know all too well. He’s bracing himself for rejection.

I’ve done the same thing myself more times than I care to admit, mainly with my mum. Joking to hide how desperately I needed her to say she wanted me around when I told her I was leaving.

“I could never get tired of your company, Colt.” I squeeze his arm, his muscle tensing with the contact. “You’re a good friend. I’m glad I have you during this experience.”

His smile flickers back across his face.

“That being said, could we maybe take a raincheck until the day after? It’s my weekly video call with Iris tomorrow.”

A lie. I just need some alone time, but I don’t want to say that. I understand Colt because we are more similar than we both care to admit. Both abandoned in some way, and both seeking something to make us feel better.

The last thing I want is to make Colt feel rejected over something that has nothing to do with him. I just need an evening to rot in bed and let my body recover before I end up getting pushed around the ranch in a wheelchair.

“Course. Can't have Iris thinking I'm monopolizing you.” He grins.

We walk back toward the main house. I'm hoping it'll be quiet at this hour.

Tonight's agenda: quick snack from the kitchen, bath, call Iris, bed.

The warmth of the house wraps around me like a comforting hug as I step through the doorway. I stand in the hall alone, head raised, listening for any signs of life within these walls.

All I can hear is the growling of an engine. Colt decided to skip the main house, heading straight for his cabin in the rusty tin can he calls a truck. He made a point of needing to be up early, hence why he needed to shoot off, like early starts aren’t a part of the cowboy lifestyle. I decided to shrug it off, trying not to read into the fact that I may have upset him.

I head straight for the kitchen, making a beeline for the peanut butter cups I’ve hidden in one of the bottom drawers, next to the cleaning supplies where none of these men dares to go. That’s the thing about working and essentially living with several rowdy cowboys—they always steal your snacks.

Just as I reach the kitchen entrance, I freeze.