The Bachelor Cowboy Page 6

  AMY: I feel guilty, too. It’s so much money!

  BECCA: Do we need to talk? Are you mad, Layla?

  AMY: Also god, your mom is the worst.

  AMY: Can I say that? Is it mean? Because wow. SHE IS THE WORST.

  BECCA: Did I meet her?

  AMY: Count yourself lucky if you didn’t. She would smile very nicely and then just say something to cut Layla off at the knees. I can’t believe she bid on Jack even after she knew you were there to bid on him.

  BECCA: Wait, was she the one that bid on Jack before Layla?!?!

  BECCA: How the heck did I miss that?

  AMY: I told you earlier!!

  BECCA: Before or after the dog peed on my sweater?

  AMY: Might have been during. Lol.

  Seeing the perfectly normal (and, okay, completely supportive) wall of texts from her friends eased some of the tension zinging through Layla’s body. Yeah, her mother was a jerk, but no one was going to look at Layla weird for it. Her friends had her back and that was all that was important. She lifted her hand to text and Sterling immediately shoved his head into her grip, forcing her to type a response one handed while she scratched the pushy cat’s ears.

  LAYLA: Sorry I’m so late to respond, my mom was texting and I turned my phone off for a bit. I’m not mad at you guys, my savings isn’t cleaned out, and yes, my mom is a jerk.

  AMY: Your savings isn’t cleaned out? I think this means drinks are on you next time. ☺

  LAYLA: What kind of an accountant would I be if I wasn’t good with money?

  BECCA: You’re still a rock star. We owe the success of this all to you.

  BECCA: Did you really adopt a dog, too?

  LAYLA: Kinda? I didn’t mean to. Jack and I got hoodwinked by Cora.

  AMY: The sparkly woman at the table?

  BECCA: The one that kept bidding one damn dollar!!!

  LAYLA: Ha, that’s the one. Either she was a little confused or a master manipulator.

  LAYLA: She loved Oscar and so I offered to buy him for her. Turns out she lives at an assisted-living home and can’t have pets!!! So now he’s mine and Jack’s and Cora wants us to bring him to visit her on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

  LAYLA: And I’m just enough of a softy to do it.

  AMY: Omg!

  BECCA: Waaaait back this truck up.

  BECCA: You’re sharing the dog with Jack?

  BECCA: How’s that going to work out?

  LAYLA: I don’t know. He took Oscar home. I haven’t talked to him since the auction. I guess I’ll wait and see if he contacts me? If he doesn’t, that’s okay too.

  BECCA: Do you want me to have Hank make sure he contacts you?

  LAYLA: Oh god, no. If he doesn’t want to, I don’t want to force him to, you know? It’s just supposed to be lighthearted fun. It’s not lighthearted or fun if he’s being harassed.

  LAYLA: Really it’s no big deal.

  Another text came in from her mother, pinging through the stream of texts she was sending her friends.

  MOM: I know you’re ignoring me because you’re mad

  MOM: For some reason

  MOM: But please look at those papers I put in your purse and get back to me? The Realtor has a potential buyer and I want to get things moving.

  Had she taken the papers with her at the auction? Layla couldn’t remember. Frowning, she moved Sterling out of her lap and went over to her purse. Sure enough, the blue folder was in there, tucked next to some ear buds and a ball of yarn (Amy liked to joke that Layla was a pack rat). Curious now, Layla pulled the folder out and began to flip through it.

  There were lots of maps, which stymied her at first. She was an accountant. She knew balance sheets and deposit slips and quarterly tax filings. Why was she getting maps? But the more reading she did, the more it became clear.

  The land that her mother had bought was listed in a FEMA flood zone. She was requesting that a recent survey be discarded as “irregular” and wanted notarized statements confirming this. She was going to pay for a new survey “at her discretion” and attempt to get the floodplain classification overruled.

  It was absolutely a floodplain. Layla knew that like she knew water was wet and the sky was blue and Janet was selfish. All Layla had to do was notarize that Janet swore she was telling the truth on her statement, but because this was Janet, she also wanted Layla to forge her signature for her.

  Well, that sure as shit wasn’t going to happen. Layla scowled down at the offending paperwork. The sheer nerve and utter gall of her mother. Layla wasn’t her personal notary. And if she abused her notary powers, her stamp could get taken from her. It’d be damn hard to run an accounting business without being able to notarize anything. Disgusted, she tossed the folder aside. Sterling immediately moved to the paper and sat on it, then began to lick his butt.

  “There you go, buddy. Good cat.” Layla chuckled.

  She texted with Amy and Becca for a little while longer, then turned on some mindless television and worked on amending W-2s for a while.

  Her phone pinged again.

  Layla clenched her jaw and picked it up from its spot on the couch next to her. If it was her mother, she was going to block her for a week—

  It was a photo. In the photo was a long, boopable snoot and big liquid eyes on a copper-colored dog with floppy ears. Oscar, with his head down on a flannel-covered chest. It looked like he was in a bedroom.

  Jack’s bedroom.

  JACK: Your son has your eyes.

  Her belly fluttered with nervous excitement. He was contacting her already? Granted, it could be because the dog was a bit of a problem, but she hoped it was more than that. She gazed down at the picture, biting back a smile, and then finally texted him back.

  LAYLA: If I say he has your nose am I a bad parent?

  Jack’s response was almost instant, which told her that he was on his phone . . . waiting for her response. The thought made her toes curl.

  JACK: As long as you don’t tell me we have the same build, I think we’re good.

  She laughed. How could she not? Damn it, why did he get to be so good-looking and funny? Some people had all the luck. It was inconceivable that this fantastically hot man was text-flirting with her. Heck, maybe she was the lucky one.

  Then again, she’d bought that attention. It wasn’t like it was legit. That burst her bubble quickly. With a little sigh, she texted him back.

  LAYLA: How’s Oscar doing?

  JACK: I learned a few things about him today.

  LAYLA: Oh?

  JACK: He is apparently scared of cattle. And horses. And hands, but we knew that.

  LAYLA: Oh dear.

  JACK: Not to worry, he’s calm now.

  JACK: I spent most of the day holding him. Now I know how women feel when they have a purse.

  She giggled at the mental image of that, picturing the big, burly cowboy walking around the ranch with a wiener dog tucked under his arm, purse-like.

  LAYLA: I should say I’m sorry but I’m laughing too hard.

  JACK: Poor little fella. I feel bad for him. Something bad must have happened in his past life to make him so scared of everything.

  LAYLA: I appreciate you taking him for the time being. Maybe we can work with the city and see if we can foster him until we can find him a new home?

  She watched her phone, waiting for the three little dots to show that he was texting a message back, but a long moment passed with no response. Then another.

  Her phone rang, startling her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Hello?” Layla picked it up without checking the number, then inwardly winced. If it was her mother . . .

  “How dare you,” came Jack’s playful, rumbling deep voice. “We’re not rehoming our son.
A family is forever.”

  Layla broke into another fit of giggles. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure how I feel about that. Oscar’s sibling Sterling won’t be a fan, I can tell you that right now. The cat barely tolerates me as it is.”

  “I find that hard to believe. I thought you were extremely tolerable.”

  She made a little sound of derision. “I’m starting to see why you’re single.”

  He chuckled, and she heard a little growl come through the phone. “Sorry, Oscar,” Jack muttered. “Hands. I know, buddy.”

  “He’s still with you?”

  “In bed with me, actually. He’s the little spoon.”

  She laughed at that mental image and, for a wistful moment, wanted to be there. Curled up with a big, gorgeous cowboy? Yes, please. “You’re too nice, you know that? Most people wouldn’t put up with holding a dog all day long.”

  “Eh, he was so scared all day I just felt bad for him. I’d put him down and he’d start trembling like a leaf. Seemed easier to just hold him. Uncle Ennis said a ThunderShirt might help, but he didn’t have one to fit this little sausage of a hound, so he’s checking with a friend of his that has a dog-training service down the road.”

  “I have no idea what a ThunderShirt is,” she admitted. “And I still think you’re very kind.” She smiled into her empty living room. “You got a lot more than you bargained for when you signed up for this mess.”

  “Oh, I didn’t sign up. I was enlisted, remember?”

  “Me too. Becca and Amy strong-armed me.”

  He paused for a moment. “And you still shelled out that much to go out with me?”

  “Not to go out with you,” Layla admitted. “To win.”

  She heard him laugh softly. “There goes my inflated ego.”

  “I sincerely doubt that very much,” she teased. “I think it’ll take more than one reality check to get that hot-air balloon back under control.”

  “Damn, you’re cold.” She could hear the grin in his voice. “How do you know I have an ego?”

  Because you’re utterly gorgeous and you know it. But she wasn’t going to give him more fuel. “It’s in the way you walk.”

  “Bowlegged like any good cowboy?”

  Now she was the one laughing. “Sure.”

  “So . . . what are you up to on this fine Saturday night? Clearly not living it up in the Painted Barrel nightlife.”

  “I am in my pajamas, amending W-2s as I sit on my couch and watch Netflix.”

  “Is that . . . accounting dirty talk?”

  Layla snickered. “No. If you wanted to dirty talk to an accountant, you’d talk general ledger.”

  “A what?”

  “Never mind. Nerd joke.” She felt shy and curled her legs under her on the couch. “What about you? Isn’t it early to be in bed with the little spoon?”

  “Maybe.” It was quiet for a moment, and she mentally suspected he was shrugging. “Kinda used to early nights in bed. I have to get up early for work most days. Cattle aren’t big on sleeping in, you know. And when I lived in Alaska, there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot to do at night. Our cabin was kind of rough, so it wasn’t like we spent all day watching Netflix or something. We just kinda hung out with one another, played cards, shot the shit.” He chuckled. “And went to bed and got a good night’s sleep.”

  Now she felt guilty for sitting in cozy pajamas with an episode of The Office running in the background while she worked. “I think Becca mentioned Hank came from Alaska. How long have you been in Wyoming?”

  “Too long,” he muttered.

  She laughed, because she could relate. Sometimes Painted Barrel felt very small.

  “You?”

  “Me? Oh, I’m not from here. I’m from Kentucky. I moved out here after college and was originally going to settle in Casper. No state taxes here, you know. That was a big plus for me as an accountant. Less paperwork, but also less hassle.” She shrugged. “I drove around one weekend when I first got to Wyoming and just did some sightseeing, and I liked this place. Saw my office building had a vacancy and kinda saw myself in it.”

  Layla had also very specifically not seen her mother in Wyoming, especially a place as small as Painted Barrel. It had been a place to get away, to start over fresh, to start a life that didn’t involve catering to Janet Schmidt’s constant need for attention.

  How wrong she’d been. Janet had followed her out here less than six months later. Sure, she was living just outside Casper, so they weren’t completely neighbors, but it was still closer than Layla preferred.

  “You ever think about going back to Kentucky?” he asked her.

  “Never. You ever think about going back to Alaska?”

  “All the time,” he admitted, and there was a sigh in his voice. “But family’s staying here, so I guess I’m going to put down roots, too. Buy some land, make a ranch of my own.”

  “More cattle?”

  “Dunno. Maybe cutting horses.”

  “What’s a cutting horse?”

  “How is it you live in Wyoming and don’t know what a cutting horse is?” he asked, amused.

  “Uh, because I’ve never sat on a horse in my life? You are talking to one hundred percent city girl right here.”

  “Well, now, I can fix that.” His voice took on a flirty tone. “You give me half a chance, and I’ll get you all saddled up.”

  And didn’t that sound incredibly dirty. “You assume I want to be on a horse.”

  “You bought yourself a cowboy. Of course I’m gonna assume you want to be on a horse.”

  And Layla laughed again. How was it that he could make her laugh at everything? Normally she was the one that joked around. She was the “funny” friend, so it was nice to tease and have someone tease back.

  “Did you call me tonight because you wanted to talk me into riding a horse for our date?” She shut her laptop and tossed it aside. Even after this phone call was over, she suspected she wouldn’t get a thing done. She’d be too busy replaying every moment in her head to concentrate on numbers. “Or are you trying to get out of our date? Because if you are, just say so. I’m no cruel overlord to force you to go on a date with me just because I bought you.”

  “Actually, I was calling about the date.”

  Damn it. She knew it. It was always too good to be true. Fighting back disappointment, she forced a smile to her face so he could hear it in her voice. “Go on.”

  “I was wondering if you wanted to meet up tomorrow to discuss a custody agreement for our son? I was thinking a nice long walk, and by walk, I mean me holding Oscar as I walk around.”

  Layla laughed. “A custody agreement, huh?”

  “Yeah, at some point I’m actually going to have to put him down and get some work in. I was hoping we could trade off. Not that I don’t love having him bite at my hands every time I reach for something, but the other guys here on the ranch might get a little ornery if I don’t start pulling my share.”

  Her face was glowing with excitement. She could feel it . . . or maybe that was a blush. “So you’re not trying to bail out on me?”

  “Absolutely not. This is actually a shameless attempt to get to see you again before we have our official date. Is it working?”

  “It might be.”

  “So . . . does tomorrow work for you?”

  “I think I can spare a Sunday.” Because she worked for herself, she picked at tax returns, amendments, and emails all weekend long. She never really took an entire day off. Not that she needed the whole day, but getting out of the house on the weekend for fun? For a date? It felt like a treat.

  A double treat if she was going to be spending it with a hot guy.

  “Is it gonna be a problem?” he asked. “We can do another day—”

  “No, no, Sunday’s great.”

  “What is it you do again? So
mething nerdy?” He sounded like he was teasing.

  “Nerdy” wasn’t the worst thing she’d been called. “It is hella nerdy. Accounting.”

  “Right. You told me that, didn’t you?”

  “Probably. But I don’t blame you for not remembering. It’s not like I wear an accounting hat like you wear a cowboy hat.” Oh god, she was flirting back and she was so damn awkward at it. Inwardly, she cringed at her own words. Accounting hat. For fuck’s sake. Why was she saying such dumb stuff?

  “Nope, just big glasses, right?”

  “I have contacts. Just never wear ’em. None of my clients will recognize me if I wear them,” she joked.

  “I’ll recognize you.”

  That made her get all flustered all over again. “At any rate, accounting is far less exciting than being a cowboy.”

  “Sometimes being a cowboy isn’t all that exciting.” His voice sounded sleepy, or maybe just relaxed. “There’s a lot of poop, a lot of pregnant cattle, and occasionally there’s an auction.”

  “A cattle auction?”

  “No, a bachelor one. I hear that’s how you meet the prettiest girls.”

  That made her roll her eyes. “Man, you are a hard-core flirt.”

  “It’s because I can practically hear you blushing. It makes me want to flirt even more. I like it when you blush. It’s like catnip for me.”

  “And yet you’re a dog person.” Man, she really was terrible at this flirting crap.

  “I’m an everything person. I like cats and dogs. And cat people. And accountants.”

  Layla groaned. “Now I know you’re lying.”

  He laughed, the sound so full of joy that it made her feel warm. “You mean to tell me that accountants aren’t a hot commodity?”

  “Only at tax time.”

  He laughed again, and she felt warm all over. He thought she was funny. That was good, right? Unless this was going to turn into one of those “funny friend” situations, where she’d be great to drink beer with but not so great to date. Ugh. She wished she was better at this.