Page 18 of The Cowboy Who Stayed

My fingers land on the purple sleeve before I even see the title, the recognition immediate. My limited-edition Purple Rain—one of my most prized possessions, the record I hunted down for two years before finding it at an estate sale in Austin.

I wonder what Rhett would think of it.

The thought appears uninvited, and I promptly set the record down, annoyed at myself for even going there.

It doesn’t matter what he’d think of it. He’s a twenty-six-year-old ranch hand I slept with once and have no intention of sleeping with again. The fact that he happens to appreciate music the way I do doesn’t change the math.

Two plus two is still four, and Rhett Dawson and I should have nothing to do with each other.

I’m sliding the last of the vinyl onto the shelf when my phone buzzes on the counter. Aunt Paula’s name lights up the screen, and I answer with a smile.

“Alright, baby, it’s been a few days and you’ve given me nothing,” she says by way of greeting. “How was your Friday night? Did you go to that bar in town?”

“Yes, Auntie. For once, I took your advice. I went out for a few hours.”

“That’s my girl! I bet you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did. It was… nice. Good music, good atmosphere, good drinks. I’m glad I went.”

“Mhmm. Meet anybody interesting?”

My pulse jumps in my veins, quickening at the memory of hazel eyes and a hand at the small of my back and Sade playing in my living room.

“I met one guy. We talked for a while. It was… nice.”

“Baby, you realize you just said it was… nice twice, right?” Aunt Paula presses. “Which, knowing you, means it was either a steaming hot mess or so good you’re downplaying it.”

“It was fine,” I say defensively. “He was… nice. I mean, it was nothing special.”

“Mmhmm. Do I need to remind you that you are the worst liar in this entire family? Which is saying something because your cousin Terrence once tried to convince us he was dating Beyoncé.”

I laugh in spite of myself, shaking my head. “It really was nothing, Paula. Just a nice conversation.”

“What I should do is take a shot every time you said the word nice in this conversation. I know you better than most, and I’m thinking it was a lot more than nice. But whatever the case, you remember this new start is about you and living again, alright? Do what makes you happy.”

We talk for another twenty minutes about her upcoming cruise and my impressions of the ranch before hanging up.

I set the phone down, my eyes drifting back to my vinyl collection on the credenza.

The Purple Rain sleeve sticks out among the rest and tempts my thoughts back to him.

I turn away from it and drain the last of my wine glass.

A few days later, Buttercup’s breathing is significantly better when I press my stethoscope to her chest.

Her lung sounds are clearer, no congestion to be found, and her temperature has been holding steady at a normal ninety-nine point five for the past forty-eight hours.

Her appetite’s returned too. From what I’ve been told, she polished off her morning grain without hesitation. I’m ready to give her a clean bill of health once Ridge takes a second look at her when he stops by.

Heavy boots thud against the stable floor, and I look up, expecting to see the senior veterinarian walking in.

My stomach lurches like I’ve missed a step on the stairs.

Rhett enters the stable, his gait slow but smooth and confident. It’s yet another thing I noticed about him the night at The Hen House. He walks like he’s carrying something heavy between his legs.

I found out what that heavy thing was when we went back to my place.

A thought that brings an immediate hot flush to my face.