Page 8 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

I cried like a little bitch. After months of feeling like I was cursed with bad luck, like I was going to be stuck in the one place that had me feeling like an alien, maybe the universe is finally giving me a break. About bloody time.

Saying goodbye to Iris was the worst part. It always is. She’s the only reason I return to London. The only person who has ever truly loved me unconditionally—my soul sister. Leaving her feels like leaving the one place where I actually fit, which is a lot of pressure to put on one person. I know she can't exactly be glued to my side forever, regardless of much I'd love it.

So, we made a plan like we always do: weekly video calls, minimum; daily text updates, and must-have pictures. Keeping her fully updated on my ranch adventures, or as she's already called them, The Cowboy Chronicles.

Though in version of The Cowboy Chronicles, horses wouldn't be the only thing I'd be riding.

I laughed at the thought. I’m going to miss her crude mind. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no saint. I just genuinely can’t remember the last time I met a man who made me want to exert energy “riding” him, unless you count book boyfriends. That’s a different story. One that stays between me, my Kindle, and my pink friend, safely stashed away in my suitcase—my most reliable companions.

That’s not to say I can't appreciate when a man is attractive. Take Colt, for example. With his blond hair, sun-kissed skin, and a kind smile softening the sharpness of his jaw, he was the definition of “boy next door.” But as attractive as he was, I have no urge to jump his bones.

Unfortunately, it’s not Colt’s sweet cowboy vibes that will be greeting me when I land in Austin. Something I was only informed of through email ten minutes before my flight took off, as if it had been a rushed last-minute decision. Instead, I'll be meeting his dad, Wade Carter—owner of the ranch and someone Colt diplomatically described as “a man of few words.”

Translation: full-time grump. One I get to spend over an hour trapped in a car with until we reach the small town of Wildbrook Hollow. Perfect.

The thought makes me sick with nerves. What if he doesn’t like me and finds me annoying? It wouldn't exactly be the first time. He’s going to be my boss, after all, I want to make a good impression. But at the same time, I didn’t fly all the way across the world just to walk on eggshells around people. If that had been the case, I would’ve stayed in London, getting yelled at over lukewarm lattes.

I mentally map out a strategy to survive the car ride. Surely, I can get him talking, right? Maybe I should ask about how he came to own the ranch, or the kind of work he does on it. People usually love talking about their success. At the very least, it might fill a decent chunk of the journey and show I am genuinely interested in this role.

Feeling a little more prepared, I grab my Kindle to kill the remaining time on this flight. The plan is loose—very loose. But it’s better than nothing. And it’s made me feel slightly more prepared.

Ok, so I wasn’t prepared.

I wasn’t ready for my boss to look like a cowboy god. The type I thought could exist in my smutty cowboy romances. And sure, I am not here for a man—absolutely not. But I'm also not blind.

The man holding a “Callaghan” sign in the arrivals area, scowling like it's his entire personality, can only be Wade Carter, and he looks nothing like the sweet-looking cowboy who interviewed me.

How the hell do they even share the same genes?

Where Colt is slim and toned with blond hair, Wade is big and broad, arms straining against the sleeves of his muscle-fit t-shirt, dark wavy hair brushing his shoulders. Even from a distance, the tattoos canvassing his forearms are impossible to miss.

All hard lines and rough edges, Wade is the kind of man you think twice about approaching. Yet, I do not have a choice in the matter. Forward it is.

I try to steady my breath, each step toward him tightening the coil of anxiety in my chest. My stomach is doing its own Olympic routine, all flips, twists, and nerves. He lifts his head slightly. The brim of his hat tips back enough for me to catch a glimpse of piercing green eyes, and even from a distance, I can see there is something unreadable and unflinching in the way he holds himself.,

I swallow hard, forcing my feet to keep moving.

“Hey! I am Maeve,” I blurt, sounding a bit too enthusiastic. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Carter.”

He stares at me for what feels like an eternity before grabbing my suitcase out of my grip with a grunt.

“Let’s get moving,” he commands, already striding away.

Charming.

I hurry after him, struggling to keep up with his long strides, the wheels of my abused suitcase rattling against the polished floor.

Outside, the heat hits me hard, and the sweat begins to trickle down my forehead by the time we reach a massive dust-covered truck. Wade hoists my suitcase into the trunk like it weighs nothing. He then plucks the holdall from my shoulder and tosses it in after it without a word. I watch, momentarily caught up in trying to figure out this tall, brooding man. He is an enigma in comparison to Colt.

A loud, forced cough grabs my attention. Wade is standing there, holding the passenger door open, one hand resting on the roof of the truck. Waiting.

I’m caught off-guard by the juxtaposition of his gentlemanly actions and the sharpness of his attitude, paired with a complete lack of words.

I scramble into the seat, my legs already sticking to the warm leather seats, doing my best not to make eye contact.

He rounds the truck and slides into the driver’s seat. The silence is so thick it’s practically a third passenger.

“You know,” I blurt, unable to help myself, “you’re allowed to say more than three words to me. I am going to be your employee, after all. Not exactly rolling out the welcome wagon here.”