Page 30 of Roped in Rawhide

The woman of my dreams flares her nostrils. “We’re not going out on a date. I can barely tolerate this conversation.”

“It doesn’t have to be a long one, but you’ll like what I have to show you.”

“I doubt it.”

“Humor me. Please?”

Gemma doesn’t budge. “This is encouraging your bad behavior.”

“From where I’m standing, you’re tempting me to do much worse.”

Her eyes widen. “I should walk away without a backward glance.”

“But you won’t.” I extend an open palm toward her, beckoning her to surrender. “C’mon, baby. Take a ride with me.”

The sharp edges soften in her expression and I know I’ve made an impact. But instead of being replaced with yearning or acceptance, a chilling shadow shrouds her gaze. My heart thumps to a hollow beat as I watch her struggle with the decision to turn me down.

“I’ve been waiting entirely too long for you to take me on a date,” she mumbles. “It took me years to get over that longing, but it still hurts so much. There’s an ache in my chest that won’t quit.”

The urge to sweep her up into my arms is a snarling beast, commanding me to please my woman who’s currently scorn. I should’ve gone all out back then. How different our lives might be. We’d be together and happy… or maybe not.

“It’s not too late for us. If you give me a chance, I’ll right all those wrongs. Please, Wildflower.”

Those freckles on the bridge of her nose scrunch as she considers her options. A unsteady sigh suggests she’s tipping toward my side of the fence.

“I’ll go, but it’s not a date.”

My hands lift in acceptance. “We’ll call it whatever you want.”

“Taken against my will.”

A chuckle chastises her. “I think we can do better than that.”

“The bossy Benson boy does whatever he wants.”

“That’s more like it,” I praise.

Gemma huffs and pushes past me, swinging her hips with extra attitude. I bite my knuckles. As if I’m not well aware of what I’m missing.

My boots pound the pavement as I rush to catch her, snagging the passenger door handle a second before she can. “Watch your shins.”

Her lips thin as the automatic running boards unfold. “Fancy trick.”

“Welcome to your chariot.”

She glares at the luxurious interior of my 2026 F350 Platinum as if the sight of leather seats and digital upgrades offend her. “No wonder you hate my old gal. This is excessive. Even for you.”

I follow her focus to the large touch screen display in the center of the dash. “Just wait until you see the man step on the tailgate.”

“Can’t get up on your own?” Gemma proceeds to climb into the cab with zero effort.

I chuckle at her sass. “Just say the word and we’ll put my stamina to the test.”

“Pass.” And then she slams the door in my face.

There’s a broad grin aimed at her while I round the hood and settle behind the wheel. “All set?”

Stiff silence greets me. Rather than let her stew in contempt, I put on the playlist created for this occasion. Gemma can’t deny Shania Twain whether she’s pissed at me or not, especially “Man! I Feel Like a Woman”. The tiny scoff she releases is just mad I can still read her like an instruction manual.