Page 6 of Oops I Fell For The Rancher Next Door

"The coyotes."

My gut drops. "How close?"

"Close enough to see their eyes." She says it steady. Flat. No fear in her voice, but there's a tightness in her shoulders that tells a different story.

"I'll check your fence line this afternoon."

"You don't have to do that."

"Your property borders mine. Coyotes on your land means coyotes near my calves." It's true. It's also an excuse and we both know it.

She turns from the window. Looks at me standing in her kitchen doorway with bad coffee in a thrift store mug. "You're gonna keep showing up, aren't you."

"Probably."

"Even if I tell you not to."

"Your fence needs fixing. That's just a fact."

She exhales through her nose. Sets her mug on the counter. Crosses her arms over her chest, which pulls the flannel tight enough that I notice things I've got no business noticing.

Curves. Real ones. Hips that fill out those leggings. A softness at her waist where the flannel gathers. Breasts pushing against the fabric every time she breathes. She's built solid, this woman. Built warm.

My eyes snap back to her face. If she caught me looking, she doesn't show it.

"Fine," she says. "Fix the fence. But I'm paying you."

"We can argue about that later."

"We're gonna argue about it now. I don't take charity."

"It's not charity. It's ranching." I set the mug on the counter beside hers. "Thanks for the coffee."

She follows me to the porch. Leans against the railing while I step down, avoiding the gap, and head for the truck.

"Hey."

I turn.

She pulls the bandana from her knuckle. Holds it out. "Yours."

The knuckle looks better. Scabbed over. She washed the bandana. Folded it into a neat square.

"Keep it," I say. "Case you need it again."

Her mouth opens. Closes. She stuffs the bandana into her flannel pocket without another word.

I get in the truck. Turn it around in her front yard. When I check the mirror, she's still on the porch, arms crossed, watching me leave.

The smart thing would be to fix her fence, keep my distance, and stop thinking about her hands wrapped around that mug. Her voice going soft for half a second before she catches it and pulls the edge back on. Those dark, careful eyes trying so hard to see the catch.

There's no catch. Some fences just need fixing.

But try telling her that.

Chapter Three

SHELBY