Page 36 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

For weeks, we have just coexisted in the quiet morning that Meadow Bell Ranch offers before the main house turns into a mad house. Letting him bring me fresh coffee without even needing to ask. He just does it. Every morning, without fail.

I lift my e-reader back to my face, ready to savour the last moments of quiet, when Wade turns his body to face me. I glance up, expecting him to say something, but nothing comes, just seconds of silence. The longest seconds of my life.

“Everything ok?” I drag out the ok, emphasising my confusion.

He shifts his weight slightly; one hand still curled around his flask. “Yes, I wanted to ask you something, but I know better than to come between you and those books. Unless I'm carrying coffee. So, I was working out if it was safe to approach.”

I lower the e-reader slowly. “Someone's been paying attention, it seems.”

“I like my balls attached to my body. Small details are key to survival,” he quips back.

My brow raises, “Says who?”

“Bear Grylls, of course,” his stupid handsome face lights up, clearly proud of his joke. “You gotta approach danger with caution.”

“So, you think I am dangerous?” I shift my expression into what I hope reads as pure innocence. “Little old me?”

“More than you realise, angel.” His voice is rough and soft all at the same time, and I feel it somewhere thoroughly inconvenient.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? A question that I don’t think I want to know the answer to for the safety of the tiny sliver of self-control I am trying to keep.

I clear my throat—which comes out gruffer than intended, fantastic—and shift back into something resembling professionalism. “What did you want to ask?”

Wade's expression settles back into that unreadable face I've spent weeks trying to decode, and he asks how I'm getting on with the ranch, whether the additional responsibilities he handed me after our stand-off a few weeks back are working out.

I catch him up with how I am getting along, which, to be fair, is really well. The business side of the ranch isn't that different from managing stock in a coffee shop, and somewhere along the way, I stopped just doing the job I was given and started looking at the whole picture.

“I've actually been looking at the supply orders,” I say, keeping my tone casual even though my pulse quickens, fearing that I might be overstepping. “I think I found a way to save quite a bit of money.”

Wade's brow arches. He's still standing, which means I'm looking up at him. To be fair, this is no different than when I’m standing. “Is that so?”

“That’s so,” I confirm, holding his gaze. “Looking at your historic order sheets and invoices, you've been paying well over market price for a lot of supplies just out of convenience. And I mean no disrespect to your father, but he used big distributors because it was easy, and nothing's changed since you took over.”

Wade's expression doesn't change. Using my recently acquired skills as a cowboy behaviour analyst, I assess that it is safe to press on.

“I've done some research and talked to a few people in town. There's a small feed operation in a neighbouring town that'll beat your current prices by fifteen percent and can deliver twice a week, if needed. I also remembered walking past a store with tack supplies, so I got Bryan to drive me there to talk to the owner, Jimmerson—”

“Yes, I know who he is.” His sharp tone nearly throws me off this little confident streak I got going on, but I ain’t going to let him. I want to show my worth around here, show that I could be useful… potentially long term. A girl can dream.

“Then you'll know he could supply whatever the ranch needs with enough notice. I know his store is small and this place is massive, so you've probably never considered using him at scale—but your business could make a real difference to his. And in a town this size, supporting locals matters.”

He says nothing. The space between us is so silent that I am sure I can hear the cows in the neighbouring town.

“Look, I know I am overstepping, but I am only partially sorry.”

“Only partially?” Wade questions, his right brow raised, and a slight twitch of the corner of his mouth. I know he is more amused than annoyed. Thank fucking God.

“I did stock management back in London. I know what I'm talking about. You gave me a job, I saw potential, and I thought I could make myself useful.” I pause, then say, because I absolutely cannot help myself, "Boss.”

Wade let’s out a breathy hum, “Most people would’ve just done the job I asked and called it a day. You went looking for problems to solve.”

“Maybe I like a challenge.” I was aiming for sassy, but it came out flirtatious. I know it immediately, and from the way Wade takes one slow step closer to the swing—close enough that I can take in his warm scent—he knows it too. That alone sends goosebumps along my body.

“Is that right?” His voice drops. His eyes hold mine steadily, unhurried, the way he does everything. “Because I'm starting to think you might be more trouble than I anticipated.”

My breath catches, and it takes every bit of self-respect and control to not melt into a puddle at his feet. I tip my chin up. “So, I’m dangerous and trouble now?”

“Seems that way.” His eyes don't move from mine. “Luckily, I don't mind taking risks when the reward is worth it.”