Page 32 of Dallas Rivals

“Come on,” he says. “I’ll help you. It’s getting dark.”

What is it with this man and the night?

And then he does it—like some kind of cowboy magician—whistles loud and clear, and the cows start moving, following him back toward the barn like he’s the Pied Piper of Texas.

He walks slowly, the picture of calm authority, his expensive clothes catching the last rays of sunlight.

If someone hung a neon sign over his head, it would read: ALL MAN.

If I took a picture right now, I could probably make a fortune on Instagram.

“Anything else?” he asks casually, handing me another sack of hay to stack.

“Nope. The horses are already asleep. I let them graze a little longer—because, you know, I’m nice like that.” I smile, but he doesn’t respond in kind. He just stares at me with that bored, unreadable face of his.

We’re almost done when I hear that familiar throat-clear—the one that always means he’s about to correct me.

“Miss Saint-Clair…”

Here we go.

“Cala,” I interrupt. “Miss Saint-Clair’s way too formal, don’t you think? Cala’s fine.”

I’m determined to crack the ice that’s permanently frozen around this man.

He clears his throat again—awkward now—clasps his hands behind his back, shifts on his heels, and finally says, “Cala…” He drags my name out like he’s testing it. “…Good job.”

I freeze mid-motion, hay still in my arms. For a moment, the two meters between us feel like two inches.

“What?”

I must’ve misheard him.

No way.

“Don’t make me repeat it,” he grumbles, already turning toward the door.

I can’t help laughing.

“Okay, okay! You can’t blame a girl for wanting to hear a compliment twice, Mr. Walker!”

He stops in the doorway, crosses his arms, and looks back at me.

“Oliver.”

Right. But I wanted to wait for him to say it first.

I nod, still smiling. “Thanks, Oliver. I really needed to hear that.”

His sea-green eyes soften for just a second, and that’s when I remember—he overheard my dad yelling at me earlier, tearing me down.

Oh. So that’s why. Pity.

And just like that, the warmth fades.

“There it is,” he says suddenly, frowning.

I blink. “What?”