"I see," she says, adding the fallen books to the shelf. "So you were in this section for the romance novels over here or for the exercise?"
"No," I tell her, "I saw you and thought I'd come say hello."
"Well thank you," she says. “It’s nice to see you somewhere besides my uncle’s ranch.”
As we stand, I hand her the romance novels.
"I'm just going to go buy these now," she says. "It was good to see you, Cole, and thanks for helping me."
"Anytime," I tell her as she walks past me. I turn, watching her walk away. Her ass is perfectly round in that a pair of blue jeans, her pink sweater tight around her waist. Her hips are curvy, the kind you could hold onto and never let go.
I run a hand over my jaw, wishing I had been smoother. Why'd I read all those book titles out loud?
Though I like the fact she reads what she likes, I think she was more embarrassed to see me, to talk to me.
Now I also know she's been thinking about romance, about falling in love, the same as I have.
Though it doesn't look like she's falling for cowboys—she's more interested in biker gangs.
When she's finished paying, I follow her out of the bookstore. On the sidewalk under the awning of the shop, I ask if she needs a ride home. She has a canvas tote bag with her books in it slung over her shoulder.
"No, it's only a mile and a half back to the ranch. I'm fine."
But just then, it starts to rain. Serendipitously, as if God decided to answer my prayers.
I can't help but grin. She smiles too. "I suppose I will take you up on that ride,” she tells me. “I don't exactly want to get soaked right now."
The word soaked has me thinking about her and me in a bed, me spreading out her creamy thighs, licking her in the way I've been dreaming about the last month since she arrived.
Her cheeks burn red and I wonder about when she said the word soaked, what it made her think… what she's thinking right now?
"Great, my truck's right here," I tell her. "We can make a dash for it."
She laughs, both of us running. I unlock the truck door for her as the rain falls on her shoulders. We’re in the rain for just a minute but we are drenched.
"That came out of nowhere," she says. "I hope it's just a flash rain and it goes just as quickly." She looks over at me in the driver's seat. "I really hope the barn raising tomorrow goes well; this rain could ruin it altogether."
"I don't think it'll keep on raining, look," I say, pointing to the distance. "It's all blue skies over there. This'll just wash right over by the time I get you home."
"It's like you planned it," she says.
My eyebrows rise. "Planned it?" I ask with a chuckle, turning on the ignition and backing out of the spot on Main Street, headed back to the Callaway ranch.
A mile and a half is not that long in a car with her, hardly long enough at all.
2
LAURA
There’s a reason I have avoided Cole up until this very moment. Every morning, Monday through Friday, that cowboy waves at me, tells me good morning, his hand on the brim of his hat, and then he walks away in those tight blue jeans that squeeze his ass just so perfectly.
There is a reason I simply mutter "morning" with the briefest of hellos—to not appear like a total psychopath.
I want to be polite, but I can't be more than that. I don’t trust myself to be.
Cole's sexy, confident, and yet everything I’m not looking for.
Not that I don't want a sexy, confident man. I just don't want a cowboy. I don't want anything cowboy-related.
By the titles in the tote bag in my lap, as we're driving in Cole's truck, someone might think I want a mafia boss or a biker or something, but that's not it at all.
I just don't want a cowboy.
"You have any plans this weekend?" he asks, looking over at me.
I know I only have a mile and a half to ride in this truck with him. And that's a good thing because he is way too handsome to sit alone with for much longer than that.
My cheeks are already burning just sitting here, my mind spinning. I’ve thought about being with Cole plenty of times. Ever since I moved to this ranch to get away from my drunk father, I've noticed him. How could I not?
He's 6'2", big, broad shoulders. He wears tight jeans and a flannel shirt that pulls at his biceps.
But he is off limits. I've drawn a line in the sand and he's on the other side.
"So, did you have any plans this weekend?" he repeats.