The Cowboy's Virgin by Amelia Wilde

Author:Amelia Wilde [Wilde, Amelia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-08-07T18:30:00+00:00

9

Pete

What she should say is that she doesn’t have half the claim to this place that I do. My father’s been the one to work the land and keep this place going all these years, not her dad—I’ve never even heard of the guy. The only thing that keeps me from saying it is that this is what my grandfather wanted. The sheet Bob showed me was a page from his will, as official as I’ve ever seen it, and it had a photocopy within that photocopy of the original note.

It was his handwriting.

I know his handwriting.

If there’s anybody closer to me in my life, other than my parents, it was my dad’s dad. He taught me everything there is to know about growing up, including how to fish a stream and what to do if you had to disappoint your own dad by going into firefighting instead of the family business.

I thought I could do both without much trouble.

Turns out, trouble arrived looking like an angel. The breath goes out of me all over again. The thing about sleeping with an angel is that it gets burned into your brain. I’m never going to get Angie out again, no matter how this fight goes. “Let’s go inside.”

She cocks her head. “I thought you didn’t get the keys just now.”

“I already have keys.” The laugh that escapes me is half bitter, half of course this is happening. “This is Paulson. I have the keys to the house I’ve been moving into for the last week. Bob’s set is symbolic.”

“Well, good.” Her cheeks are a high pink, and she doesn’t have a jacket. I don’t have a jacket, and despite all this I want to wrap one around her shoulders. “I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

I can’t help myself—I move around her and check. “Nope. It’s still there.”

She grabs at my shoulder. “We can figure this out.”

But I saw the hope in her eyes when she said I could buy an Airstream. “We can try.”

I take her inside, to the warm bubble of the entryway and the living room. This is a classic Paulson farmhouse, with wheat-colored walls and neat white trim and original hardwood floors. It’s my house. I guess it could be half Angie’s, too. I bypass the living room and take her down to the kitchen. There’s a box full of tea in one of the cupboards. Before my mother died, she always kept a box of tea on hand in case anybody came over and needed a hot drink. I’ve done it ever since, even though she’s been gone since I was in high school. Cancer—took her by surprise. Took her all by surprise.

Angie sits at the kitchen table as easily as she walked to that bed last night and props her chin on her hands. “What are you doing?”

“Making tea.”

“You have a lot of talents, don’t you?”

“Only a few.” I can get people out of burning buildings. I can run a ranch. And I can make her come.

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