“Come on, Rix.” It’s not begging, but more teasing encouragement because she knows she’s going to get her way. She always does, but I have to at least put up a fight to maintain appearances. And because maybe this will be the time I will get out of doing what she wants. Because the resort? Fuck that.

  Before I can say no a little more clearly, something along the lines of ‘fuck no, never gonna happen,’ Emily’s phone rings.

  “Oops, I need to take this. Back in a sec.” She’s digging her phone out of her tiny purse—what does she keep in a bag that small, anyway—as she hustles toward the breakroom, disappearing behind the door.

  Reed meets my eyes. “If you’re getting drinks tonight, I’d be happy to drive so everyone stays safe. I’ll make sure no one bothers you.” He might as well try sticking a flag in my ass, claiming me as his. Just one big problem with that . . . I’m not.

  “We’re not getting drinks, and even if we did, I don’t drink to be impaired, you know that.” I can put away my fair share of beer, having earned my alcohol tolerance the hard way . . . in the military against guys twice my height and width, with livers to match. But I’m responsible, always.

  Reed shrugs. “Offer stands anytime, Rix.”

  I smile, just a little one, because it’s hard to be mean to someone when they’re being that nice, but I also don’t want to lead Reed on. I know he’s onboard with our dads’ grand idea and is patiently waiting for me to come to my senses and marry him.

  Which isn’t going to happen. Ever.

  An old brown midsize truck pulls into the lot. “Incoming,” I warn Reed and Manuel. You never know what type of job or what type of person is going to pull up, and I love that moment before I find out. Maybe it’ll be an engine repair or something easy like an oil change? Maybe it’ll be a little old lady who needs help or an asshole I can overcharge with the ‘putting up with you’ service fee?

  The old truck has seen better days and seems to be hauling . . . a goat in the back? Not the weirdest thing I’ve seen around here, but definitely not a common sighting, either. It comes to a quiet stop, so not brakes, and the engine sounds smooth, so not that either. The passenger door opens and then slams shut on the far side.

  As the truck pulls away, I see him.

  Cowboy.

  Damned if he didn’t piss me off the other day when he brought Bessie in. I had almost taken his head off with that wrench, not just brandishing it, but a bare breath away from swinging it at him. I’m not usually that jumpy, but he’d scared the bejesus out of me by touching my shoulder. But he hadn’t been the least bit scared of me. No, I’d been holding that tool to his neck, his huge hand wrapped around my tiny wrist, and he’d almost smirked about it, his lips temptingly full in the middle of a day’s worth of scruffy beard growth. Like I’d surprised him, and more importantly, like he liked that.

  For a moment, the air had felt charged like we were unexpectedly caught in the middle of foreplay. I’d almost kissed that look right off his smug face right then and there just to shock him even more. Hell, I’d wanted to see those brown eyes open wide in surprise and then close as I kissed the shit out of him. I’ve never had that type of instant reaction to someone before, though I’d hid it pretty well with snark and venom.

  He’d pissed me off even more when we were chatting each other up. Though I’ll never admit it, later it occurred to me that he had been the highlight of my day. Sparring and glaring, neither of us backing down, had been exciting. And he’s hot, not like some cute bad boy Emily has deemed her flavor of the month but in a barely restrained, molten lava way. The fire inside Cowboy isn’t like a warm bonfire you want to snuggle up to. It’s fiery and destructive wildfire you know will scorch you to ashes, but you can’t help but want to touch it anyway.

  And don’t I sound just as FUBARed as Emily? She’d laugh her ass off at me if I admitted that, not that I plan to.

  “Hey, Cowboy, you here to get Bessie?”

  His dark eyes lock on me, freezing me in place. I watch as he boldly scans me head to toe in slow motion. Ballsy, cocky bastard. Usually, that’d be enough to have my middle finger flying his way, but this feels different somehow. Oh, he’s checking me out for sure, but there’s a hint of confusion swirling in those dark eyes.

  I don’t fit in boxes the way other women do, which confuses people. Rough, dirty, and foul-mouthed are not your typical feminine traits.

  But for some reason, I didn’t want to be confusing to him. Even though I’m filthy, sweaty, and messy, I guess I wanted him to still find me . . . interesting. I won’t admit, not even to myself, that I want him to be attracted to me. Because after our little incident the other day, I went to bed thinking about him, another thing I wouldn’t dream of admitting to anyone but George, my purple vibrator with rabbit ears. He knows things about me no one else ever will.

  “Hey, Lil Bit,” Cowboy drawls out slow and low, smiling as he says it. It makes little sun-kissed crinkles pop out next to his eyes, and I realize he’s nicknamed me too.

  I hate it.

  Okay, I don’t. But I hate that I don’t hate it.

  He’s watching for my reaction, so I give him the one he expects and scratch at my cheek with my middle finger. He chuckles and steps closer, lifting his hand slowly, the question of whether I’m going to stop him in his laser-locked gaze. I don’t say a word. Hell, I don’t think I even breathe, too curious about what he’s doing.

  “You missed it. That smudge is right here.” He cups my jaw, swiping at my cheekbone with a delicacy I wouldn’t have expected from such a rough and gruff guy. I feel singed heat in the wake of his gentle thumb, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I tilt into his touch, wanting even more of his fire.

  Our eyes meet across the distance from mine down low to his, a good foot above me. I swear I hear his chest rattling like he’s growling. No, humming. He’s humming under his breath, but it’s tuneless, just unrelated notes, and I decide that’s the sound of his hunger. Like a growling stomach tells you when it’s time to eat, this humming is Cowboy’s version of ‘it’s on like Donkey Kong.’

  He’s going to kiss me.

  I know it with every fiber of my being.

  I want him to.

  I know that just as well.

  I lick my lips in preparation, enjoying the way his eyes track the movement, and feel myself lean forward to get closer to him.

  I’m not this girl. Not by a long shot.

  I’m not the girl in a late-night romance movie who lifts to her toes to reach some guy whose real name I don’t even know, especially when I’m wearing steel-toed work boots and shapeless coveralls.

  But here I am. And here he is.

  And damned if I don’t want to kiss him stupid. That cocky confidence tells me he knows what he’s doing, and I want to treat myself to a man who knows how to work my body and his own. It’s been way too long, and I need orgasms like I need air, I decide. And while a kiss isn’t gonna get me there, it’d be a good litmus test to see if I’m right about Cowboy’s skills.

  He leans down in slow-motion, and I feel surrounded by him, engulfed not only by his size but his presence. An unsuspecting fish caught in his net.

  We’re a sliver away, so close I can taste the wet heat of his breath, feel the electricity buzzing between us, that last moment before we both succumb to the base desires running through our bloodstreams.

  A loud whirring breaks the moment, and I rock back on my heels, getting an inch of space to breathe my own oxygen instead of Cowboy’s. I look over and see that Reed and Manuel have been watching the whole show we are putting on. Not that it was a show, or at least it wasn’t yet, but it was definitely something.

  Reed’s holding an automatic drill in his hand, one he needlessly hit the trigger on to break up my moment, and his eyes are bright with fury and hurt.

  What just happened here?

  Somewhere in the deep, dark recesses of my mind, I already know that I’d be tiny beneath his wide chest, that his thick arms could hold me and toss me around in a Kama Sutra’s worth of positions, and that he’d be a good, hard fuck.

  I’m picky about who I fuck, but he’s checking off boxes left and right. The main one being that my vagina has taken up begging for a taste of his cock with a ferocity that’d embarrass me if anyone else knew how wet I am beneath these hide-everything coveralls.

  I step back, sensing that Reed and Manuel reluctantly go back to work. I change tactics with Cowboy.

  “Was that a goat?” I lift my chin toward the parking lot, where that big brown truck just pulled away.

  His eyes say that I’m not fooling him and he knows exactly what I’m doing, but he goes along with it. “Vincent van Goat. Sophie’s taking him back to his owner.”

  “Sophie?” Goddamn it. I hate that of everything he just said, the woman’s name is what I latch onto. But who names their goat after a depressed, self-mutilating artist from the 19th century?

  “She’s my sister, I guess?”

  The question mark on that statement seems odd. “Well, is she, or isn’t she? Like by marriage or something?”

  His lips quirk as he scratches at the bottom one with his thumb, the same one that swiped at my cheek. “By force, I guess. Long story. But she’s a vet, was taking care of the goat. Now he’s going home.”

  I’d bet my right pinkie finger there’s a lot more to that story, but to Cowboy, that’s enough. The bare bones.

  “She take better care of that goat than you do your truck? Boys usually take care of their toys.” If Emily said that, it’d sound flirty. When I say it, I sound like I’m giving him a hard time. I don’t know how she does that, not that I particularly care to. Or at least, I haven’t ever before.

  “Bessie’s not my truck, like I told you. Belongs to the ranch I work on, and Mark’s taken damn good care of her. She’s just had a long two decades of rough ranch work and a lot required of her. And yes, I do take care of my truck. Three-year-old Dodge Ram, silver, a good worker. Belonged to my dad before he passed. Mine now.” A shadow passes through his eyes, blacker than the darkness that naturally resides there. Oh, there’s a story there, but I don’t push.

  “You take care of your car?” he asks casually, perching on a stool uninvited. He spreads his legs, like he’s giving his dick room to breathe, and crosses his arms over his chest. He’s posing, I realize. Maybe not on purpose, but subconsciously, at least. My stone-faced cowboy isn’t unaffected by me like he wants me to believe. He’s posing for me, which gives me a little buzz of sexual giddiness.

  I don’t let him know that, though. I glare under one raised brow. “Yes, I take good care of my truck. It’s the billboard for my business.” I point out to the lot to my 2017 Ford F150. It’s not fancy. It’s meant to work, and it does, but I keep it clean and scratch-free, and it runs like a demon from all the extra guts I’ve put under the hood.

  He’s about to say something when the breakroom door opens and Emily comes in like a tornado, as always.

  “I’m telling you, Rix, I’m not taking no for an answer. We’re going to the resort bar tonight so I can find him.” It’s her sugar-sweet version of an order.

  I hold my hand up, trying to stop her rambling interruption, seeing as I’m with a customer. But there’s no stopping Emily. She can’t see Cowboy from where she’s standing and would honestly probably forget her broody asshole if she did catch sight of him. She thinks she met a bad boy to turn into her golden prince, but Cowboy’s another creature entirely. He doesn’t wear broody like a personality trait. For him, it’s just fuck off o’clock twenty-four seven. Except when he’s about to kiss me, then it’s just fuck-me time.

  Emily’s heart is fickle and flighty, but she gives it all, wide open every time. And there’s nothing she likes better than turning a bad boy good. She’s got a line of guys in her wake, each of whom would swear they’re better off for having loved her, even though they lost her. She counts her exes as friends and has even gone to some of their weddings when they’ve moved on from their post-Emily heartache.

  There’s a tiny stitch somewhere in my chest as I think about Cowboy seeing Emily, though, how he’d look from her to me and choose her. It’s happened more times than I can count. Not her fault. She’s just the easier edition of our particular model. I’m like the beta test version, with glitches and bugs and no manual.

  “He was so hot, and we had a connection, you know? He might’ve acted like he was immune to my charms, but I like a challenge.”

  I can’t help but smile at her determination. And as long as she’s focused on her mystery guy, she won’t be up in my business, which is a good thing.

  “What about the woman he left with?” I ask carefully.

  “The more I think about it, I think they really were siblings or friends or something. He didn’t light up when he looked over and saw her, you know that goofy-cute smile guys do when they see their girl? And they weren’t holding hands and didn’t kiss hello. Maybe I jumped to conclusions a little bit?” She holds her finger and thumb up an inch apart, looking sheepish.

  “Maybe.” I agree because that does sound reasonable, though I’m still not sure. Emily is a bit too trusting sometimes, so it’s possible that’s wishful thinking on her part?

  “Mark my words, Rix. We’re going to the resort bar again. I’m going to find my broody asshole and make those dark eyes really see me next time. I think I’ll wear my red dress, the strapless man-killer one. What do you think?”

  A horrible thought occurs to me. An ugly, awful one that I want to deny, but it’s sitting right in front of me.

  “Dark eyes?” I glance to my side, where Cowboy is watching my side of the exchange with an amused smirk on his face. I realize he can’t see Emily over the truck and is happily eavesdropping.

  “Yep, so dark they’re almost black. Like hot little charcoal briquets.”

  “At the resort bar a few nights ago?” Brody’s brows climb up his forehead. He’s sensing something . . . and I wonder if I’m the first in on a big joke. “Beard or clean-shaven?”

  “Neither, it was like somewhere in the middle. One of those five o’clock shadow scruffs you want to feel on your thighs.”

  Brody’s lips quirk, and Reed and Manuel stop working at that, Emily’s words painting a picture no one can ignore. But she’s long since stopped editing herself for Reed and Manuel. They’re basically family, and she spends too much time with my foul mouth as a verbal role model.

  “He didn’t happen to have on a hat, did he?” I ask slowly, not wanting to hear the answer as we dance closer to the danger line.

  “Yes! Oh, God, Rix . . . you’re so smart! Maybe I can track down the logo, like it’s where he works or something. What was on it?” She closes her eyes and rubs at her temples.

  I swear to God if she says he was wearing a black hat with a camouflage silhouette of a cow, I’m going to die. Maybe of laughter, maybe of something more sinister.

  “A cow! A camo cow . . . that’s it.”

  Brody’s eyes go so wide I can see the whites all the way around. He even pulls the hat off his head, double-checking it himself. He curls the brim, something it looks like he does often, and shoves it back on his head. I can’t help but smile at the confused look on his face.

  Emily stomps her heeled foot. “Don’t laugh at me. I’m gonna find him, claim him, spread my legs, and invite him into my life, if you know what I mean.” She teases out the last bit seductively.

  Reed raises his hand like we’re in elementary school again. “I know what you mean, Emily.”

  I sigh heavily, knowing what I have to do. I’ll step aside for her anytime. It’s what you do . . . for family.

  A painful knot in my belly whispers that he probably thinks I’m her, anyway. If they met at the resort and flirted, when he saw me here today and almost kissed me . . . he would’ve naturally assumed I was Emily. Flirty and fun and sexy . . . Emily.

  That burns hot and sour through my blood, and I’m glad we didn’t kiss. Or at least I tell myself I am.

  “Hey, Cowboy. Sounds like my sister’s a sure thing if you’re interested.” I try to sound chill and light. I fail to my ears, but no one else seems to notice.

  Emily’s nose crinkles in confusion. “What?”

  Brody stands up, pulling that hat down low over his eyes.

  “Oh, my God! It’s you!” Happy excitement sweeps her face, but then horror dawns and Emily whirls on me. “Rix! You let me say all that embarrassing stuff!”

  “I tried to stop you. A little.” I hold my greasy finger and thumb up an inch apart, the same way she did earlier.

  Cowboy is looking left and right, right and left, as the realization sinks in. “Sisters . . . twins . . . identical twins. Fuck, that explains so much! At least now I know I’m not crazy.” The words are muttered under his breath, and when he looks at me, I swear there’s something deep in the darkness of those eyes.

  Hurt, maybe? Betrayal? It’s gone too fast for me to get a read on it, but I’ve seen it before. When some guy is chasing Emily and thinks I’m her. The drop in their smiles when they realize I’m the wrong sister still hurts every time. This time, it’s a bit sharper, though. It shouldn’t be. I just met Cowboy. Hell, I don’t even know his name, but that flash in his eyes as he looked between us hurt all the same.

  This is why hearts are stupid. This is why I focus on work. I blink slowly, letting the reality of the situation sink in and forcing my heart to steady. I promise my pussy another round with George tonight, but she whines that it’s not the same and that she wants the real thing. Me too, honey.

  But family first. Always.

  “Emily, this is Cowboy. Cowboy, this is Emily. I’ll leave you to it, I guess.” Even telling her my too-obvious nickname for him seems like revealing too much, and I need to get out of here. I can’t watch him fawn all over her. Usually, I get a kick out of seeing her charm melt the coldest hearts. But this time, I can’t watch.