Cash (Lucky River Ranch, #1)

by Jessica Peterson

Is he going to push me? That’s my first thought as I peer over the edge of the cliff. My second: Should I push him first?

Lol

Something that’s not quite as picturesque? The look on Cash’s face. Forget manslaughter. The angry, liquid gleam in his eyes, the hard set of his scruffy jaw—that’s pure murder right there. Even now, a handful of minutes after I accidentally let Maria loose, I wince at my stupidity. Cash is so cool and calm and, yeah, fucking hot doing cowboy-type things. Meanwhile, I’m a hot freaking mess. Literally. I think I’ve sweated through every article of clothing on my body. Socks and bra included. I know Maria getting loose is not my fault. Not really. I didn’t know to hold her reins. But I’m mortified nonetheless. Cash has spent the last few minutes hollering into that walkie-talkie, clearly stressed.

Taking a deep breath, I move closer to the edge. Try to think about Dad instead of the idiot mistake I just made. But my relationship with Dad—wasn’t that another idiot mistake of mine? “Too close,” Cash barks, making me startle. “So help me God, if I have to go down there after you⁠—” “Sorry, sorry.” I step back, arms crossed. “This is beautiful. I get why Dad liked it out here.” That makes Cash’s expression soften ever so slightly. “The water comes down from the mountains, so it’s cold. He liked to fish after the day was done. Great way to cool down. Get your head screwed on straight.”

“Goody just called in.” The voice sounds like it belongs to Sally. “She’s got Maria, and everyone is peachy keen. But she had something come up at work, so she had to run. Y’all are gonna have to get back on your own.” Cash’s head falls back, baring the thick sinews of his neck. His Adam’s apple bobs on a swallow.

After a beat, he lifts his head and brings the walkie-talkie to his mouth. “No one can come get us?” “We’re tied up. Ella refused to nap, so Sawyer had to go back to the house. We’re one cowboy short and can’t spare another.” Cash shakes his head. “Of course we are. All right, we’ll head back now.”

Cash shoves the walkie-talkie back into his saddlebag. Then he checks the thick leather strap that goes around the horse’s belly. My stomach flips again. Oh, no. No-no-no. “Tour’s cut short,” he says. “With two of us on one horse, it’s gonna take us a while to get back. Let’s go.” My heart pings around my chest like a panicked pinball. “The horse can carry both of us?” Cash isn’t wearing sunglasses, so I can see the skin crinkle at the edges of his eyes when he squints at me and says, “He don’t have much choice, does he?” “I’ll walk.” “You won’t make it a quarter mile in those boots.” He holds out a hand. “Don’t forget the snakes.” “Exactly how many fanged animals are out here? How are any of y’all still alive?”

“Decades of experience. Dumb luck. Let’s go.” Turning my head, I get one last glimpse of the river. Dad, if you’re out there, please help me survive this. I take a deep breath and head for Cash and his waiting horse. “You pick a black horse to match your soul?” “You wanna know if I ride like the devil?” He shifts, angling his hips toward me. “Get in the saddle and find out. Grab the reins in your left hand, then put that hand on the pommel.” “I don’t have much choice, do I?” Rolling my eyes, I do as he tells me. “Something tells me Satan’s got nothing on you.” “Aren’t you lucky, then? Now put your other hand on the back of the saddle and bend your left knee.” Cash squats and grabs my leg, one hand on my knee, the other on my ankle. I’m suddenly aware of my body, how hot I am, the bloom of electricity inside my skin. His grip is gentle but firm. Confident. “I’m gonna give you a leg up. When I lift you, swing your other leg over the saddle. I got the rest. On the count of three, I’ll lift.”

Cash’s hand is on my calf now, guiding my boot into the stirrup with brute efficiency. I’m on fire. Help. “You can’t manhandle me like this.” “Watch me, City Girl. Scoot forward. Even more. Jesus, Mollie.” He puts his hands on my hips and yanks me toward the pommel. “There.” Then he’s somehow climbing onto the horse behind me without any assistance at all. He doesn’t even use a stirrup. Only when he lands on the horse’s back behind the saddle do I realize just how close we’re going to be on this ride. Very, very close. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. I can only feel the press of his chest against my back. His thighs bracket mine, my backside tucked neatly into the cradle of his pelvis. He wraps his arms around me, reins in hand. Cash is literally plastered against me from shoulders to shoes.

It does not help that the center seam of my pants presses against the pommel with the horse’s every step, hitting me right where I don’t want it to.

“You gotta move with the horse.” Cash nudges my backside with his pelvis. “Otherwise, you’re gonna end up getting hurt.” It’s all I can do not to sputter as he rolls his hips, urging me to roll mine too. My scalp prickles as a wave of unwelcome desire moves through me. “Um. Ahem. I…feel like I’m humping the horse while you’re humping me.” “No humping. Only riding.” I hear the smirk in his voice. He rolls his hips again. I roll mine, too, if only to lessen the intensity of the contact. “You know you’re a walking, talking sexual harassment suit.” “I’m the guy keeping you in the saddle. Best mind your mouth.” He clicks his tongue again, and the horse picks up pace. I don’t know who I’m riding anymore—the horse or the cowboy. “You’d better mind your…your…” “My what, City Girl?” “Don’t call me—oooh!”

“Hold on tight. Tighter. Both hands. Squeeze, Mollie. Come on.” “Do you not hear yourself?” I’m starting to panic. We’re moving so fast, and I’m so uncomfortably hot and flustered, I’m worried I really will faint. “You’re not gonna fall.” “Famous last words.” Cash pulls on the reins, and the horse slows. “You all right?” “Nope.” I swallow. “But this is better.” “That’s because you’re doing better. Look, you’re moving with the horse now.”

“Maybe you are Garrett’s daughter after all,” Cash says with a chuckle. “Man could ride like nobody’s business.”

I’m undulating in time to Cash’s body too. Maybe that’s why, desperate for a distraction, I blurt, “Y’all were close. You and my dad.” “We were.” “Twelve years y’all worked together?” “Yes.” “What was that like?”

“Garrett was a great boss. Great friend. Treated us fairly and with more kindness than we deserved. Most of what I know, I learned from him.”

“How’d you end up on Lucky Ranch anyway?” I ask. Another inhale. “After my parents died, we didn’t have the money to maintain Rivers Ranch. I was nineteen with four brothers to look after. Garrett took us under his wing, offered us jobs and a place to stay so we could rent out the house on my family’s land for extra income. Been here ever since.” “Wow.” I swallow again, my eyes burning. “That must’ve been a lot for you.” “Wasn’t fun. My parents were hell-bent on me being the first Rivers to go to college, but I had to drop out my sophomore year.” My chest clenches. “That sucks.” “We made out all right.”

“Your dad”—Cash urges the horse into a trot—“he was a huge help. The five of us kept him busy.” Too busy to take an interest in his daughter? I blink, hard, and look out over the hills. The light has taken on an orange tinge. Nighttime, and the cooler temperatures it brings, is blessedly within sight. This has been the longest day ever.

“That’s why he’d theoretically leave you the ranch.” Anger feels safe. These mushy things do not. “Because you were like a son to him.” Cash goes rigid behind me. “I don’t know what I was to Garrett. But he was a father figure to me. Showed up when I really needed one.” A pause. “I loved him.” More anger. The burn in my eyes becomes unbearable. “I loved him too.”

“Losing a parent—I think that’s the suckiest thing of all the sucky shit I’ve been through.” Cash would know. If what he’s saying is true, he’s lost every parent he’s ever known.

“It is pretty sucky, yeah.” I lift my shoulder to wipe my eyes on my shirt. “To be fair, I don’t have any siblings to worry about.” “I wish I could say it got better. The grief.” I laugh, the sound mirthless. “Aren’t you a barrel of monkeys.” “You want me to lie to you?” “No. Well, maybe. I don’t know.” I look down at his feet, my chest clenching. “Those are Dad’s boots, aren’t they?” “How’d you know?” “I remember them. He kept his things forever.” And Cash is forever wearing these boots. Does he wear them to honor Dad? Keep his memory alive? If I’m being honest, I don’t hate either of those ideas. Cash chuckles. “Never met someone who hated shopping more.” “No wonder he and my mom didn’t make it.”

“Garrett gave the boots to me for my thirtieth birthday. Said they were a present from your mom for his thirtieth,” Cash says after several uncomfortable beats of silence. “That’s something she’d buy him, yeah.” “Relationships ain’t easy. Your dad—he had a lot of regrets.”

“And he shared those regrets with you?” “Sometimes. Days are long on the ranch. Gets lonely. As I got older, Garrett opened up. You and your mama, y’all were a big part of his story.” I scoff, mostly because I’m worried I’ll burst into tears if I don’t. “Didn’t feel that way to me.” “He talked about you.” Cash shifts in the saddle. “A lot.” “Now you’re lying.” “I’m many things, City Girl, but a liar ain’t one of ’em.” “Stop with the City Girl.” “Then stop with the City Girl bullshit. You wanna be a rancher, act like one.”

“I don’t want to be a rancher. This life—it was never ever on my radar. I’m just here⁠—” “For the money.” His blue eyes bore into mine. It takes every ounce of self-possession I have not to look away, our faces inches apart. “Now tell me I’m lying.”

“The money’s part of it, yeah. But since you’re all about honesty, tell me I’m lying when I say that’s why you want the ranch too. For the money.”

Shes not wrong!

“You not listen to what I just told you?” He’s staring me down again. “All the shit I had to give up? Of course I want the money. I want the money because I’m going to make Rivers Ranch look like this.” He tips his chin at the land around us. “Bringing my family’s land back to life has always been the goal. Your daddy knew that.”

“I didn’t know that,” I say at last. His jaw tics. “You would’ve if you’d asked.” “Like you’ve asked a damn question about me.” “Me, me, me. That’s you in a nutshell, isn’t it?” I narrow my eyes. “You know, I was just starting to feel sorry for you.” “I don’t need your sympathy.” “I don’t need your judgment.”

“Why would Dad tell you the ranch was yours, but not change it in his will?” I ask. I feel Cash shrug. The motion has him pressing his belly flush against my back. My pulse spikes. I ignore it. “I don’t know.” “But you said he and Goody worked closely together? Wouldn’t she have urged him to put that in the will?” “Goody was always at the ranch, yeah. Why do you think she was able to tack up a horse so quickly? She’s ridden that filly so often, it’s practically hers at this point.” “Ah. Right.” “But, yeah, I imagine he thought he’d get around to changing the will, and then…who plans to drop dead at fifty-six?”

“He was always in such great shape.” “You have to be if you wanna keep cowboyin’,” Cash replies. I scoff. “I think my dad loved being a cowboy more than he loved anything else.” “That’s not true.” “You don’t know that,” I snap. Cash yanks on the reins, pulling the horse to a stop. I turn my head a little so I can just glimpse Cash in my peripheral vision. I furrow my brow. “What?” “You resent me for knowing him better than you did, don’t you, City Girl?”

“I do, yeah.” I wipe my eyes with my sleeve. “Maybe that makes me petty, but whatever. Dad was so good to y’all…goddamn, I wish he’d been that good to me.” Cash is quiet for a beat. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” “I couldn’t care less about your intentions. Take me back to the house, Cash.” “Mollie—” “This conversation is over.”

Oh no!!

I can’t sleep. Usually, it’s because a wave of grief hits me, and I’m unable to turn off my mind. Tonight, it’s because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Mollie, even though it’s been three fucking days since I saw her last. I made her cry. Took it way too far and made the daughter of the man I respected more than anyone else in the world fucking cry.

This is exactly what I wanted—to put Mollie on the run. But my victory doesn’t feel nearly as satisfying as I’d hoped. In fact, it feels pretty fucking awful. Lying awake in bed, I stare at the ceiling as the drone of the air conditioner outside my window fills the silence. Like her father, maybe Mollie has regrets too. Things she wishes she’d said or done differently. Maybe she isn’t as careless or self-centered as I thought. The look in her eyes when she’d turned her head to meet my gaze—the vulnerability I saw there, the flicker of intelligence, interest⁠— She’s a fucking stunner. Decent on horseback too. Pickleball must actually be a good workout—you gotta have strong legs and a decent amount of stamina to stay in the saddle that long, even with me behind her. We were both sweating, but it just made her prettier. Her skin glowed in the afternoon sun. And the way she moved on the horse with me, hesitant at first but more confident as time went on, makes me think she’d be a good rider if she put her mind to it. That tight little body of hers is surprisingly limber. I wince when the sheets catch on my dick as I kick them to the bottom of my bed. I’m sweating. The half chub I’ve had all night is suddenly rock hard. Reaching down, I suck in a breath. I’m already leaking. Jesus Christ. I need to masturbate while thinking about City Girl like I need a goddamn hole in my head.

I fist my dick in a tight grip and pull. Tell myself I’m only taking care of it because I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t. Tell myself I’m only this hard, this needy, because it’s been too long since I got laid. The whole thing is ugly and quick. Hard pulls. Images of Mollie bent over a fence. Bent over a chair. Bent over the edge of my bed. I fuck her with the greediness I saw in her the other day. But she takes it. Lord, she takes. I’m shoving inside her mouth now. She plays with herself as she sucks my dick. I try to slap away her hand, but she ignores me, running the pads of her fingers over her clit again and again and again. Her playfulness, her refusal to be pushed around, has me coming in hard, hot spurts into my hand.

At four, I’m at the house. Through the open window above the sink, I can see Patsy is already in the kitchen, the velvety smell of coffee filling my head as I step up to the door. I draw up short when I see Mollie standing at the stove. Wait a second. Wait. She’s finally showing her face? What’s changed? I’m shocked—relieved—to see her. I’m also shocked she’s up this early. But the most shocking thing of all? She appears to be actively helping Patsy cook breakfast, stirring something in a pan while our chef chops some veggies by the sink. “I went on this stupid diet once where all I could have was egg whites, green peppers, and mezcal,” Mollie tells Patsy as she sips a mug of coffee.

Patsy laughs. “What kind of diet was that?” “I get really bad stomachaches all the time. No one can really figure out what the problem is, so I’ve been put on all these different diets to see if anything makes me feel better.” “Have you had any luck?” Mollie shrugs. “Not yet.” She gets stomachaches? Is that why she only ate green beans the other day?

Sweet Jesus, why does she have to look so damn cute so early in the morning? My eyes rove up her legs and back. For the first time, she’s wearing something semi-normal: a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail. She’s also wearing glasses. I step closer to the entrance and peer through the open screen door. Fuck, since when am I attracted to girls who wear glasses? “I’m so glad you decided to join us today,” Patsy says. “I hope you’re feeling better?” Mollie is quiet for a beat. “I am. I think I needed a little time to…process. Work’s also been crazy, so that didn’t help. I’ve been chained to my laptop all day, every day.” “But I hope exciting things are in store?” Mollie smiles. “I hope so, yes. Would you like hot sauce on your omelet?”

“I’d love some, thanks. I keep it there in that cabinet to the right of the range. We go through it like you wouldn’t believe—the cowboys dowse everything in Texas Pete.” Mollie reaches up, her shirt lifting to reveal a tanned slice of stomach and side. That’s when I see the words, embroidered in sequins because of course, on the front of her shirt: I AM A LUXURY. I don’t wanna smile, but I do. Shirt’s ridiculous, but I’m starting to wonder if that’s the point when it comes to Mollie’s clothes. “I don’t see the hot sauce,” Mollie says. Patsy straightens. “We must’ve run out again. There’s a few more bottles on the top shelf there, I think. Here, I’ll get the step stool…” I open the door. “I got it.” The women whip around at the sound of my voice. Mollie’s hand immediately flies to her glasses. “Jesus, Cash.” “Good mornin’ to you too.” “Shoulda known you were coming. Always the first up.” Patsy crosses the kitchen to press a kiss to my cheek. “Sleep okay?” “Not really. You?” “I did all right.”

Mollie moves out of the way, her hand still on her glasses. She embarrassed about them? “How many bottles of hot sauce do you want?” I ask. Mollie clears her throat. She’s barefoot, and I tower over her. “Just one.”

“Thanks.” “Want me to open it?” “I got it.” She takes the bottle. “Smells good. Whatcha making?” Mollie peels off the green plastic sleeve that covers the bottle cap. “Egg white omelets. I’d offer you one, but you’re kind of a dick, so no.” Laughter rumbles in my chest. “I was a dick the other day. I’m sorry.” “You should be.” “Y’all need a minute?” Patsy asks. “No,” Mollie replies. I smile at Patsy. “That’d be great, Patsy, thank you.” “I’ll be in the pantry. Holler if you need me.” Mollie twists the cap off the Texas Pete. Tries to, anyway. “You always up this early?” I ask. She doesn’t look up when she replies, “Sometimes, when I have a lot to do.” I nod at the Texas Pete. “Can I help you with that?” “No.” “I really am sorry.” “I really don’t care.” “Let me make it up to you.”

“I’d rather you not.” “We had a new foal hit the ground last week. Ella’s preschool class is coming to the ranch to see it today. The baby goats, too.” That gets Mollie’s attention. She looks at me. “Y’all have baby goats?” “Of course we have baby goats. They eat the stuff on the ground cows won’t, so we use the pastures more efficiently. Sally’s also got a side gig, making goat cheese.” “Freaking yum.” “It’s delicious. Can I count you in? Ella seemed to take a shine to you the other day.”

“Maybe. If I have time.” “I hope you do. Jesus, Mollie, give me that.” I grab the bottle and crack it open. “See? Easier when you let people help you.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Why do I get the feeling you need to take your own advice?” “That’s my business. Speaking of business, you said you had a lot to do today.” “Goody is coming over to walk me through a bunch of nuts-and-bolts stuff this morning. I have a few calls to make for Bellamy Brooks after that.” “Bellamy Brooks?” “My company.” “Ah. Right.”

“Patsy!” Mollie turns off the burner. “Omelets are ready.” I put a hand on the counter. “We’re meeting at ten o’clock at the barn. I hope to see you there.” “I hope you get bitten by a snake.” “Well!” Patsy claps her hands. “That seemed to go…well.”

“Patsy, you’re a saint for not poisoning him.” “Aw, he’s a good man underneath all that gruffness.” Patsy eyes me. “Although I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to knock some sense into that thick skull of his sometimes.” I shrug. “I’ve been knocked around plenty. Three concussions. Three that were diagnosed, anyway.” “Really?” Mollie scrunches her brow. “Occupational hazard?” Patsy laughs. “Two of them were. The third he got when he fell on a dance floor, trying to do the Cotton Eye Joe.” Mollie blinks. “You dance?” “Used to, until the concussion.”

“Made a rookie mistake and wore new boots to The Rattler. Hadn’t scuffed up the soles enough to get traction.” Patsy’s face lights up. “Oh! Speaking of The Rattler! We’re playing there tomorrow night. Mollie, you have to come. We’re pretty darn awesome, if I do say so myself.” “You’re playing?” Mollie scrunches her brow. “Are you a guitarist or…” “Patsy and Sally are in a band called Frisky Whiskey,” I explain. “And they are really, really good.” Mollie smiles at Patsy. “As if I couldn’t adore you more. How cool! I’ll be there.” She looks at me. “As long as you’re not going.” Patsy gently elbows me. “Cash hasn’t been to The Rattler in a while.” “Don’t mean I ain’t itchin’ to go back.”

“Hmm.” Mollie taps a finger against her chin. “Maybe I’ll pass, then.” I hold up my hands. “Then I won’t go.” Mollie grins. I’m gripped by the urge to grab her face and⁠— Hell no. No more fantasies about Mollie’s mouth. No more fantasies about Mollie, period. “Then I will,” she says. “I love live music. Thanks for the invite, Patsy.” Jesus, Mollie is such a brat. I wish I hated that about her as much as I did three days ago.

Whole thing was my idea anyway. Ella comes home every day from school chatting about the animals they’ve learned about. Last week, it was polar bears. The week before, it was butterflies. I figured why not make this week about horses and visit some real ones while we’re at it? Sawyer reached out to Ella’s teachers, and they were thrilled by the idea. Not exactly novel, considering we’re in small-town Texas. Classes visit ranches all the time. But with the new foal’s arrival, this feels special.

Thats so sweet!!