Page 77 of Ride or Die

Cole stares at me for a long pause, but then, I see the corners of his lips turn up before he rubs his mouth with his hand in some attempt to hide his own smile, clearing his throat. “Did they just?”

“What are they talking about?” I look him up and down, searching for whatever the word might mean but honestly, Cole doesn’t even wear a watch. The only shiny thing is his belt buckle.

He sniffs a laugh, scrubbing his stubbled chin, and honestly, the fact that he’s laughing right now, isn’t doing anything to help quell my curiosity.

“What on earth is funny?”

“You are just so…” Trailing off, he sighs, his smile remaining as he leans forward again, pressing a kiss to my cheek. His mustache tickles my skin as his mouth moves to my ear, lips grazing the shell as he whispers, “Don’t worry, baby. You’ll find out soon enough. That’s a promise.”

I pull back, gaping up at him incredulously, more confused than I was before. But Cole just continues smiling, taking a few steps back and winking at me before turning and striding across the parking lot to where his truck is parked off to the side.

“You know that doesn’t help,” I call out to him. “Like, at all.”

He turns when he reaches his truck, that dimpled grin hitting me directly in my chest where my heart sits. “Get that sexy ass inside, baby.”

I deadpan.

Cole looks to where Buddy is standing stoically by the door. “Buddy, you look after my girl.”

“Sure thing, Cole.” Buddy nods, his eyes sliding to me as he pulls open the door and waits.

Walking back inside, I turn and glance back at Cole once more, meeting his smiling eyes as he offers me a wink, and I bite back my own smile, shaking my head at him.

I’m exhausted. My feet are almost numb, sending jolts of pain up my legs with every step as I walk out into the quiet, stillness of night after my shit.

“Night, Clara,” Buddy gruffs from his post by the door, nodding at me politely as I pass.

“Night, Buddy.” I smile at him before navigating the parking lot to where my car is parked next to Maci’s sporty little BMW with theBADBITCHlicense plate that makes me giggle every time.

Pulling my keys out of my purse, I click the fob, but just as I pull open the door to slide in, I’m stopped, my brows tugging together when I see something foreign on my windshield, wedged under one of the wipers.

As I lean across the hood to get a closer look, my lips curl up into a slow smile as warmth spreads through me. Redbud blooms. I pull the sprig out from under the wiper, my heart skipping a few beats as I lift it to my nose, sniffing the buds deep and reveling in the familiar scent I’ve come to love these last few weeks.

With a smile that makes my cheeks ache, I hop into my car and lock the doors, like I always do, starting the engine as Kacey Musgraves’ voice tamps out the silence, keeping me company. I place the blooms onto the dash where I can see them, and as I pull out onto the road, and head home, my feet are still sore, I’m still dog tired, but I can stop grinning, my heart so full it’s almost overflowing.

CHAPTER 29

COLE

Panic, concern, and something else settles in my gut when I check my phone for the millionth time so far today. Clara was supposed to be here. The kids, too. But so far, they’re an hour late, and my texts are going unanswered. I try calling her again, but just as it has every time so far, the call goes straight to voicemail.

The fuck?

I swallow around the lump in my throat, trying not to think the worst as I slide my phone back into my pocket. Maybe she got caught up doing something. Maybe she lost track of time. She’s safe. I know she is. If she wasn’t, I’d be the first person to know about it with the eyes I’ve got on her. I need to let it go. It’s all part of giving her back some of that control she lost to that motherfucker.

After weeks of riding boundaries, fixing fences, getting the calves ready, today’s the Rattlesnake Ranch annual turnout, and the place is teeming with Summer locals, here to help us celebrate the official end of the winter half as we turn the cattle out to pasture.

Dust hangs in the air, kicked up by a few hundred restless hooves and the steady grind of boots against packed dirt. Thewhole ranch smells like sun-warmed leather, hay, sweat, and cattle—the kind of smell that settles into your skin so deep it becomes a part of you.

Popping a piece of nicotine gun from the blister pack I keep in my back pocket at all times, I chomp on it, heaving a sigh and leaning my forearms against the top rail of the pen for half a second, watching the heifers crowd together in a shifting wall of nervous energy while folks gather beyond the fences watching on with eager anticipation. Kids dart around with lemonades and paper plates already stacked high with barbecue, the mouthwatering scent hanging low and thick in the air. The band plays a cover of a Brooks & Dunn tune, the music crackling through the speakers and across the fields. The energy throughout the ranch is electric, festive. This is what we work for all year. For a cowboy, turnout is bigger than Christmas.

Behind me, Webber lets out a yell, “Brady, you dumb son of an ass. Close the goddamn gate!”

I turn just in time to see one black heifer slip through a half-latched opening like she’s been planning a prison break all week.

Brady throws his head back on a groan. “Aw, man, she looked trustworthy!”

“She’s a cow, stupid ass!” Wyatt laughs out loud.