Alive and Wells (Wells Ranch, #1)

by Bailey Hannah

For the city girls in their cowboy romance era.

Hell, I have an IUD and can’t remember the last time I had a real period, but he doesn’t even know I’m on birth control.

Somebody in the world knows I left.

The sound of all four doors locking simultaneously is deafening in the otherwise silent environment. Even the cowboy notices, his lip turning up at the noise. “Gonna have to unlock the trunk if you want me to change your tire, darlin’.”

You’d have to be dead not to take notice of him. And I will be dead if my husband finds out I’m noticing a handsome cowboy.

I’ll grieve whatever I need to, but only for as long as these lilacs stay in bloom.

Her face doesn’t hide the long hours spent in the sun, or the hard life she had before coming to Wells Ranch, but her eyes and smile radiate pure joy. What I would give to look peaceful and happy like her.

“I’m not a cowboy, darlin’.”

“No? Sorry. I guess the cowboy hat, boots, too-tight Wranglers, and compensator truck gave me that impression, for some reason.”

“Rancher—not cowboy. I own the land, the cattle, the horses. I keep the cowboys employed.” He scratches at the thick, dark stubble lining his jaw. “You’ll learn the difference if you stick ’round here long enough.”

If my mom were still alive, she would slap me upside the head for ignoring a woman in need of help.

Speaking of her face. There’s the other issue I don’t dare mention to Beryl or Kate because, admittedly, it would make me sound like a misogynistic pig. And maybe I am—fuck it. She’s hot.

“Why did nobody tell me we had a pretty girl on the property?”

Red goes so far as to kiss her on the back of the hand during his introduction, earning a blushing smile from her. My stomach drops. She needs to leave. Yesterday.

And right now, I need the driveway in my sight line. I’ve never noticed how many vehicles come and go from the ranch before every set of tires crunching on the compact gravel made me look up.

The melody’s familiar, but I have to strain my ears to hear the words. Strawberry Wine. I wouldn’t have expected a girl from the big city to know so many classic country songs, but anytime she’s focused on her work, she’s humming or singing one. Normally, I tune out her voice because I hate the way it scatters goosebumps across my arms, and fills my chest with an uncomfortable fluttering.

I’m too lost in a daydream about her voice—her lips—to remind myself that I don’t enjoy having her here. I definitely shouldn’t be finding comfort in listening to her singing in the garden. That’s the sure-fire path to future heartache.

“Was that… a joke? From Austin Wells?”

“You know, it’s rude to make fun of me while you’re eating cookies I made. They’re good though, aren’t they?”

She’s not winning me over with pretty looks, cute singing, and incredible baking.

He grunts. God, he’s such a jerk. “Good morning, City Girl. You look beautiful, by the way.” I do a terrible impression of his gruff voice, eliciting a nostril flare and the slimmest smile, which he’s quick to hide away behind his coffee mug. “I know you spend most of your time around cattle. But humans generally communicate using words.”

What his rough hands might feel like on my skin, whether his truck really is compensating for something, and what his lips taste like. When was the last time I wanted a man to touch me?

Worn leather chaps—a cowboy clothing staple I didn’t know I needed in my life, before coming here

Turning his attention away from the branding action, he casually spits on the ground and an aching takes up residence in the spot behind my hip bones. Clearly, it’s been too long since I’ve craved a man if this kind of thing turns me on.

“Oh, yeah? You’ve been castrated then?” “No.” He pulls a face. Even under the shade from his wide-brim hat, there’s no denying his face has a fuchsia hue. “I thought you meant branding.” “I did. And I forgot you speak cow. Did they tell you it doesn’t hurt in a series of moos?” I quip. “First-hand experience, actually.”

Now I’m watching for purely selfish reasons, ignoring the voice telling me I shouldn’t. I’m nothing if not a simple man, no better than the rest.

Quit staring at her, idiot. I can’t. Or maybe I don’t want to.

A smile slips across her face that feels meant for me alone, and it’s so contagious, I can’t help but return it.

give a sullen nod, despite this being exactly the show-off, horny cowboy shit I’m concerned about.

“Hell yeah,” Red shouts. “Just you wait, Cecily. Maybe the old boss man here will even show you how he used to do it back in his rodeo days.” “Oh yeah? Here I thought you definitely weren’t a cowboy?” She smiles over at me. “I’m not,” I shoot a sideways glance at Red, “and I will not.”

“Oh, let’s do a calf-tying competition. Whoever has the fastest time tying gets a case of beer tomorrow—Austin’s buying.”

“Sounds like fun. Can I try? If somebody shows me how to tie.” Cecily turns to me with a raised eyebrow. Daring me to say no. Focusing on keeping my face flat, I stare straight back. “Don’t sue me when you get hurt, darlin’.”

With that, the guys finish their lunch in record time, and are eager to display their calf-tying skills for the pretty girl. And, boy, do they ever show off.

Knowing her ass is parked on the fence and her eyes are on me is almost enough to make me walk out to the pasture, grab my retired roping horse, and show her how a real cowboy does things.

I’m no better than the other men, busting my ass to keep her gaze firmly on me.

Every time I have a shadow of doubt, she makes me feel like an idiot for expecting so little from her.

Embarrassingly, I hate knowing Cecily didn’t need my help even more.

There’s dirt smudged on her jaw, and I can’t help but envision how soft her skin might be under my calloused thumb. It would be so easy to reach over and rub the dirt away. “Glad you didn’t fire me yet?”

“He’s mad that a girl can do a better job than half his guys.” Kate jabs me in the rib with her sharp elbow. “Careful, Austin, your misogyny is showing.”

“It’s okay to admit you’re so impressed by my work ethic you can’t think of a good enough apology—or maybe admit you liked watching. No shame in either.”

I did like it. Too damn much for somebody not looking to have his heart broken again.

“I know I liked watching.”

AHHHHHH

She’s always unusually happy for five in the morning and, to my horror, I’ve grown to enjoy the cheeriness.

“Where’s the city girl?” I finally can’t stop myself from asking. She busted her ass during the last eight days of branding, and I have a right to know if my employee’s sick or injured. Nothing more.

“We’re up to our elbows in bread dough. Man up and ask her yourself, honey. I haven’t seen her leave yet.” Fuck. I swear even Odessa stops mid-bite to give me a look about how pathetic I am.

The thought of her having a hidden spot somewhere on my ranch, where she’s suntanning naked, consumes me.

“I don’t detest you.” “Well, you definitely don’t like me.” I can see why she’d think that, but it still sends my stomach turning.

“Please.” My voice strains. Admittedly, I’ve thought about wanting to do bad things to her in a few moments of weakness, but the good things she’s making me do are terrifying.

Driving with her as a distraction is likely as dangerous as driving drunk.

It’s because of the dress. You’re being bamboozled by a short summer dress and tanned legs.