Roping the Cowboy Page 3

  Not that I was watching, because I don’t care what he does. Or who.

  The moment Braxton got in Sean’s face, I thought for sure someone would get arrested. After some pushing and shoving, Braxton punched him in the face, and Sean went down for good. By that point, my heart was racing, and my blood was boiling at the whole stupid situation.

  I rushed out, needing to get away, but of course Braxton followed me. I’m not sure what came over me, but I was so annoyed with what happened that I took it out on him and told him to mind his own business. Though I feel bad for how I reacted, I’m not some pathetic damsel in distress, and I hate when people treat me like I’m fragile glass. And as the only child of wealthy parents, it’s happened my whole life. Everyone thinks I’ll break, but I’m as strong as diamonds.

  By the next morning, I’m calm and collected. I have a job to get back to, and I won’t allow a shitty night to ruin my week. For the first day of my weekly special, I have the pumpkin-caramel cheesecake muffins, and they smell too good for me to be in a sour mood.

  I open at eight on Sunday so the churchgoers can grab theirs before service. I don’t deliver to the B&B on Sundays, which is a nice break from getting up at four. When I hear the bells echo off the door, I look up with a smile to greet my customer, but it quickly dissipates when I see a certain cowboy hat and smug smirk.

  “You must be sleepwalkin’,” I deadpan with my hands on my hips.

  “Good mornin’, ma’am.” He tilts his hat at me as if this is the first time we’re meeting. “I need a variety of muffins and pastries. Three dozen, please.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, wondering if he’s still drunk from the night before. “For what? Did ya host an orgy last night?”

  “Why do you care, Kat? Jealous?” He arches a brow and flashes a conniving grin. God, I want to smack that look right off his stupid, charming face.

  “Please.” I snort. “I have standards.”

  “Not very high if you ask me.”

  I reach for a muffin and aggressively place it in the box. “Well, I didn’t.”

  Braxton watches me as I load up a second box. “Relax, Kat. Didn’t realize you gluten-free eaters were so damn sensitive.”

  “Seriously?” I snap, my voice going up an octave. “Why the hell are you even here besides to ruin my day?”

  “John asked me to pick up more pastries. Apparently, the customers were asking for more since they ran out.” His jaw tightens as if the words of praise physically hurt to say.

  “Well, would you look at that. People who know how to appreciate delicious food.” I stack the three boxes and place them on the counter between us.

  “Those old ladies are like a hundred. They probably lost their taste buds thirty years ago.”

  “Wow…” I drag out with faux amusement. “Rude and condescending. You’re the full package.”

  He reaches for the boxes and shoots me a wink. “You should know, babe.”

  I pretend to as I wave my hand and shoo him away. I’ll put this on John’s tab, so I don’t have to spend an extra second near Braxton. “You have a fan-fucking-tastic day now, sir.”

  “You keep that delicious mouth of yours shut, and I will.”

  I spin on my heels and walk to the kitchen. Thoughts of how much I hate him fill my head, and when I reach for a pan of muffins, I forget I don’t have an oven mitt on, and the heat instantly burns my hand.

  “Shit!” I scream, immediately cradling my hand to my chest. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter between gritted teeth as I rush toward the sink. Just as I turn on the faucet, Braxton is at my side and reaching for me.

  “What happened?” He takes my hand and holds it under the cold water. The concern in his voice is evident, and for a moment, I wonder how Braxton can go from the biggest asshole in the world to this—sweet, tender, caring.

  Must be some kinda talent of his.

  “Nothing. I’m fine.” I pull my hand away, but he’s not having any of it and maintains his secure grip around me.

  “Kat.” His tone is a warning. “How badly are you burned?”

  “Well, I just took the pan out right before you walked in. So it was still pretty hot, but I have some cream I can put on it once the stinging stops.”

  “Why would you grab it if it had just come out?” he asks, but it’s not a tone of judgment, which I appreciate at a time like this.

  “Because my mind was preoccupied,” I admit, grinding out my words. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  He faces me and gazes into my eyes before dropping them down to our hands. “Where’s your first-aid kit?”

  “In the office,” I tell him, and then he holds his finger up for me to stay while he goes searching for it.

  He returns moments later and opens it. “I’ll wrap it up for you as long as you don’t deck me for trying to help.”

  I release a breath through my nose, holding back my laughter. “No promises.” Considering his snarky comment about gluten-intolerant eaters being sensitive, I should do more than deck his smart mouth.

  After he dries my hand, he finds the right cream and carefully rubs it over my palm and fingers. He’s being so tender and delicate that I nearly forget about the pain. After wrapping my hand in gauze and taping it, he brings my hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss on my knuckles.

  “There. All better now.” Braxton looks at me so sweetly that it nearly takes my breath away. How is this the same douchebag guy from less than twelve hours ago?

  I blink, trying to swallow the knife in my throat, and look at him as if he’s grown a third eye.

  “Thank you,” I finally say.

  “You’re most welcome.” Braxton releases my hand, and I immediately miss his touch. “But next time, try using a mitt, okay?” He flashes a wink, and then he’s out the door with the boxes of goodies.

  I stand in the middle of the kitchen, looking around and wondering if all that just happened. Perhaps I’m daydreaming, or the liquor from last night is still flowing through my veins. When I feel the tightness of the gauze around my hand, I know it wasn’t a dream at all. It still burns a little, but it’s nothing compared to the ache I feel in my chest.

  Chapter Six

  Braxton

  I haven’t been able to get Kat off my mind since yesterday, and every time I think about her, I become more frustrated. She’s hot, then cold, and I don’t know which Kat I’m going to get at any given time. I like to think I can read any woman, but she’s the exception who doesn’t come with a rule book. It’s like she’s written in a completely different language. Maybe that’s why she’s so damn frustrating to me. We have so much to discuss, but I don’t even know where to start. I feel as if I’m going crazy and she’s to blame.

  My stomach growls, pulling me away from my thoughts, so I hop in my truck and go over to the B&B to grab a quick bite to eat. Looking at the clock on the dashboard, I see it’s half past six, which means it’s a flip of a coin whether we’ll run into each other. The part of me addicted to her pulls me forward. I’ve never been weak for a woman like this.

  As soon as I’m at the B&B, I don’t see her car anywhere, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I park by the barn, get out, and see Colton walking with buckets.

  “Breakfast?” I ask.

  “Nah, Presley and I ate already.” He smirks.

  “The look on your face tells me she was breakfast.”

  He shrugs and grins as he sets the buckets down and pulls off his leather gloves.

  “I’m going to throw up in my mouth.” I chuckle and head down the path that leads to the back porch. When I walk in, the smell of the coffee and fresh food surrounds me, making me even more hungry. I grab a plate, quickly load up on eggs and meat, then take a seat to dig in.

  The front door closes, and I spot Kat, but I remain focused on my food. Out of sight, out of mind, right? But I can’t deny the way she forces my blood to rush through my body.

  I hear her talking to John, laughing, and then the conversation ends. Is
it possible she didn’t see me, and she’ll just leave? When I take another bite, I hear the chair in front of me being pulled out. I look up and see her sweet smile and sparkling blue eyes.

  “Hi,” she says.

  I narrow my eyes at her. “Um. Hi.”

  Kat studies my face, but the smile on hers doesn’t fade. “I made you something.”

  I clear my throat. “Why?”

  “Because I feel bad for what happened on Saturday and how I reacted.” She scoots a pastry box forward with a blue bow tied around it. I see the gauze on her hand, and it brings me back to yesterday morning when we shared a moment. For just a second, her guard was down, and I was able to see the real her—the her I met at the bar six months ago.

  Before I can say a word, she speaks up. “Don’t worry. It’s got tons of real sugar and juicy fat and loads of gluten.”

  “Really?” I untie the bow and open the box. Inside is a fluffy muffin with chocolate chips galore. “I don’t trust you.” I scoot the box back toward her.

  “Why?” She actually looks hurt.

  “You take the first bite.” I take it out and inspect it.

  She laughs. “Gluten makes me sick. I thought you knew that’s why I opened the bakery. I was one of those kids who couldn’t eat all the delicious sweets or birthday cakes because of my intolerance. So if you want me to be sick for the rest of the day, then I’ll take a bite. That’s usually all it takes.”

  I kinda feel bad for giving her shit about her pastries now. I really had no idea. So instead of being a complete ass, I give in and take a bite. The bread is soft and warm, and the chocolate chips melt in my mouth.

  “You like it?” She grins, watching me chew.

  “Yeah, it’s delicious.” I take another bite.

  “Well, just know that one was made especially for you. But anyway, I’ve gotta go. Have some banana nut bread to deliver across town. Have a great day, Braxton.”

  I nod at her as she stands. “You too,” I say around a mouthful of muffin.

  She laughs as she stands. Her pants are so damn tight that they look painted on, and I enjoy the view as she walks away.

  After I finish eating the muffin, I pick up my mess, top off my coffee, and head to my truck. I drive across the property to pick up some extra material and then meet Alex Bishop and a team of ranch hands who are building a new shelter for the cattle. Just as I park and walk to the back of the truck, my stomach twists in knots. I swallow hard, trying to ignore it as I lower the tailgate and pull out the supplies. A pain rushes through me, and I feel as if I’m going to shit my pants. I drop the wood on the ground and double over, sweat covering my face.

  “Hey, you okay?” I look up and see my roommate, Jake. My stomach is so angry; I can't even form words, so all I do is nod.

  Alex rushes over. “You look terrible, Brax. You need to go home.”

  “Nah. I’m fine,” I argue, knowing damn well I’m not. But instead of being my usual hardheaded self, I decide to go after all.

  “There’s a stomach bug goin’ around. Hope you didn’t catch it,” Alex tells me as I slowly walk to my truck, hoping I can make it home without an accident. I get out of there as quickly as I can. Never have I driven fifty on a dirt road until today. As soon as I pull up to the house, I rush inside and barely make it to the bathroom. What happens next is horrific.

  As I’m experiencing the worst damn time of my life, I try to think back to what I ate that could’ve done this, and that fucking muffin comes to mind. I text Colton and demand him to send me Kat’s number, which he stupidly does. I feel horrible, but I’m beyond pissed right now because I know she’s behind this somehow. After I get off the porcelain throne, I slowly make it to my bed and lie there, hoping this feeling will go away after a couple of hours, but it doesn’t. While my stomach continues to roil, I send the culprit a text.

  Braxton: WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!

  I’m being as subtle as a freight train, but damn.

  Kat: Who is this?

  Braxton: You know who the hell this is. What the hell did you put in that goddamn muffin?

  Kat: Oh! Braxton. Hi. It was made with sugar. Butter. Gluten-filled flour. Why?

  Her coyness only angers me further.

  Braxton: Because my stomach hurts so goddamn bad that I had to leave work. I might have to go to the ER for dehydration. I can’t keep anything down.

  Kat: Are you sure you don’t have a sensitivity? That’s exactly what happens to me when I eat gluten. And also, don’t be so dramatic.

  Dramatic? I should send her pictures of my next “sensitivity.”

  Braxton: This isn’t funny. I’m not fuckin’ gluten intolerant.

  Kat: Well, a few chocolate laxatives might’ve fallen into the mixture. Payback’s a bitch. ;)

  I’m fuming.

  I knew I shouldn’t have trusted her.

  My gut told me so, and now my gut is paying for it.

  Braxton: ARE YOU INSANE?! SERIOUSLY? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?

  Kat: You’ll be fine within 48-72 hours. Trust me.

  Braxton: 2-3 days? Are you CRAZY?

  Kat: *Rolls eyes* Stop being a wuss.

  Braxton: A wuss? Really?! WTF did I do to deserve this?

  If I didn’t feel like crap right now, I’d drive down to her bakery and curse her out. This is childish. Ridiculous. The stupidest prank ever, and I don’t think it’s cute, at all.

  Kat: You should know...calling gluten-intolerant eaters sensitive amongst the MANY other comments you threw at me about my pastries. Enough was enough, cowboy.

  Braxton: Not sure if you realize this or not, but some people have to work for their money, Kat. We can’t be as spoiled as you and get everything handed to us. I can’t be out of work for days at a time. This is absolute bullshit.

  I lash out at her, and when it takes her a while to respond, I almost apologize for that last text, but eventually, she does.

  Kat: Okay, I’m really sorry.

  Braxton: A little too late. But let me give you a warning…this isn’t over. Not in the least. You have no idea what you started because I don’t get back, Kat. I get even, and what’s going to happen to you will be next level. That’s a promise, sweetheart.

  After I press send, I turn off my phone and am forced to rush to the bathroom. Again.

  Chapter Seven

  Kat

  It’s been three days since Braxton last texted me, and I feel horrible about the whole situation. I knew it was stupid, but I wanted him to understand what gluten does to some people, which is exactly that. The prank came to me on a whim after he made a gluten-free joke about being sensitive, plus he’s been a grade A asshole to me for a while. I didn’t realize it’d make him that sick, or I wouldn’t have done it in the first place.

  After I pour some homemade chicken noodle soup in a big Tupperware container, I call Mila.

  “Hey, babe!” she answers, excitedly.

  “Hey. So. Um. I have a question.”

  I can hear the TV on in the background, and she mutes it. “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “Do you know where Braxton lives?” I ask.

  It’s quiet for what feels like an eternity even though only a few seconds pass. "Yeah, over by the Millers', just a few houses down. Jake built a farmhouse a few years ago on his parents’ property; you can’t miss it once you turn off 2129. Why?”

  I knew she’d ask.

  “Well…” I cringe as I tell her. “I made Braxton a muffin with laxatives, and he’s been sick for three days straight and—”

  “You did what?” Her voice rises before she begins laughing.

  “I know. I feel terrible about it, so I made him some soup. I want to call a truce.”

  Mila is still laughing. “I don’t think there’s gonna be a truce, Kat. You’re screwed.”

  “I know. But at least I can say I’m sorry in person.”

  “So is this how the kids flirt these days?” she asks, and I can tell she’s still smiling.

  I
groan loudly. “It wasn’t flirting.”

  “Oh, okay. Whatever you say. Hey, you wanna come over Saturday night? The boys are going out, and I wanna catch up.” She interrupts herself before I can respond. “John’s callin’, gotta go.”

  “Yes, I’ll come over. And fine! Bye!” I tell her, and the call ends. She and John have one of those marriages people dream about, and I’m super happy for her, even after all these years.

  Once I lock the bakery, I head toward Braxton’s house. I sent Presley a text earlier to see if he was back to work, and she told me no, so I know he’s home.

  In his previous messages, he insinuated I don’t work for my money, which hurt, but I know it came from a place of anger. Just because my parents are well off doesn’t mean I’m handed everything, regardless of what people think. Instead of apologizing through a text again, the least I can do is bring him some hot soup and explain to him how sorry I am, though I’m willing to bet he’d throw it back at me.

  As I drive there, my nerves are in overdrive, and all I can think about is my conversation with Mila. This is definitely not flirting. No. It was just a prank, and that’s all. Though when I think about him, my heart flutters, and that scares the shit outta me.

  I turn off the highway and make my way down the gravel road, and as soon as the farmhouse comes into view, I know this is it. I park next to his truck and try to steady my breathing. I’m nervous because I’m not sure how he’ll react to me being here.