Shoulda Been a Cowboy. Maisey Yates

the last conversation they’d had before he’d left town. The one that had made her realize she had to tell him how she felt. She’d been tutoring him. Meeting with him twice a week after school in the library to go over math.

      She’d been the only one to volunteer for the job—at least, the only one who’d been qualified to do the job who had volunteered for it. It had been intoxicating to be near him finally. And something else entirely to actually spend time talking with him. She’d been certain that there hadn’t been more to the guy than everyone thought he was.

      Yes, he’d been into some trouble. There was no denying that, and he didn’t try to. But there was more to him than that, and she’d seen it clearly.

      It had been an unseasonably warm day in Copper Ridge. The sun taunting them as they sat inside, beneath stale fluorescent lights. But Cassie hadn’t been sad to miss it. Because looking at Jake for an hour or two during their study sessions had quickly become the highlight of her week. They had been the only two students left in the library, and she’d been able to see his stress written in every muscle, every tendon in his body.

      He’d actually been picking up on all the math really well, but that day he hadn’t been able to concentrate.

      She’d asked him what was wrong.

       Just family shit.

      He hadn’t said anything else, but she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. About him. And for a moment she’d been overcome by a sense of longing that was much stronger than fear. She put her pencil down, and her hand over his.

      That had been the first time they’d touched. The second time had been today, when she’d brushed his fingertips handing him a muffin.

      Fifteen years between those touches and both had affected her much the same. Electricity that shot straight down to her bones.

      She’d jerked her hand away then too. But she had decided that night that when she saw him again she wouldn’t pull away. Because they had a connection, she had felt it.

      She’d been an idiot, which was basically her track record with men, as she knew now. But she’d been so innocent then that she hadn’t realized she could be so wrong about another person.

      Jake had been her introduction to that. Jake should’ve served as a warning. Because the next day, Jake had been gone. And the day after that Jake had still been gone. And the day after that.

      He had never come back. Hadn’t graduated. At least not at their school. His father was still in town, but Jake was gone. The older man had never reported him missing, so she’d assumed he knew where he was.

      But she hadn’t.

      She hadn’t seen him after that day in the library until last week when he’d come riding back into town, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t thought about him in the years between.

      She’d thought about Jake Caldwell far more often than was reasonable.

      And she was still thinking of him, though it was sort of hard not to when the man was showering just on the other side of her living room wall.

      She heard another thump, followed by a very male sound, something that verged on a grunt. She froze, her wine glass touching the edge of her lip.

      She shouldn’t be listening to him. It was a violation of his privacy, and there was no excuse for her to be sitting there trying to work out exactly what was going on.

      But then, in her defense, this was sort of an invasion of her privacy too. She was a hostage to the noise. Yes, she could move further away from the wall. And yes, she did not have to lean in closer to it, or hold her breath so that she didn’t miss anything, but this was her home and if she wanted to sit at an awkward angle and listen intently to the activity happening next door, she had every right.

      She heard another sound, similar to the first and heat flooded her face as realization crept over her. She suddenly had a guess as to what exactly was happening in the shower. That realization should have sent her searching for a pair of earplugs. Instead, she set her glass of wine down on the coffee table and, biting her lip, leaned even closer to the wall.

      Unbidden, her eyes fluttered closed, images filtering through her mind. His muscular body, water sluicing over his bare skin, and his hand wrapped around his—

      She swallowed hard.

      Her heart was beating in her ears, and she willed it to slow down so that it didn’t block out any of her auditory entertainment. Guilt played companion to the tightening ball of adrenaline in her stomach. But it wasn’t enough to stop her.

      It had been a long time since she’d felt like this. A long time since she felt that sweet anticipation, that low-level hum of excitement that ran along every nerve ending, shooting sparks through every vein.

      She was unwilling to let it go. Unwilling to do anything that might break the spell she was under.

      She heard one more sound, a short, harsh groan and a curse, then the water shut off and she was left feeling unsatisfied, hollow and unsteady.

      She picked the wine glass back up and gulped the rest of the contents down. She was going to need another glass to forget the sound of Jake’s self-administered pleasure. Another glass to soften the need that was currently cutting into her like a knife.

      The temptation to take her own shower and indulge in exactly the same activity was almost overpowering. But she was going to see him tomorrow. She was going to have to look him in the eye and make his coffee, and it was already going to be nearly impossible. If she thought of him while doing...that...it would be the most terminally uncomfortable moment in the history of mankind.

      She was going to drink another glass of wine, watch reruns of Gilmore Girls and forget that this ever happened. It shouldn’t be too hard.

      She ignored the fact that the moment when she’d put her hand over his fifteen years ago remained one of her most vivid memories. Ignored the fact that that probably meant tonight would be burned into her brain forever.

      Because there was no point in dwelling on Jake Caldwell. None at all.

       Chapter Three

      JAKE WAS SO caught up in the hell that had been his day that it wasn’t until he was inside the coffee shop and in front of the counter, that he remembered.

      Then, as his eyes connected with Cassie’s, it all came flooding back.

      His shower, and exactly what had gone through his mind when he’d jerked off in what had proven to be a futile effort to get sex off his brain. All he’d wanted was a little relief, but inescapably that moment when her fingers had brushed his hand kept playing through his mind, and then he would picture her face. But not looking uneasy, or blank and carefully professional as she usually did. No, he’d imagined her brown eyes clouded with desire, her full lips pink and swollen. Her dark hair out of its usual ponytail, and spread out over his pillow.

      Yeah, he’d pictured that. And now he was standing in front of her in The Grind, those images intermingling with reality. It was official, this place regressed him. He needed to get out. If hours up to his elbows in mud and sheep shit hadn’t proven that, his reaction to her certainly did.

      He turned his head at the sound of the bell above the door. A man in a uniform whom he recognized from high school as Eli Garrett walked in. Eli was as clean-cut as ever, tall, dark-haired and smiling. Also fully able to beat the ever-loving shit out of someone should the need arise, Jake had no doubt.

      Anyone in a law-enforcement field tended to make Jake nervous. Even though he hadn’t been arrested since high school. And even then, no charges had ever been formally filed.

      He deserved it, at least in one case. Stealing money out of the register of the farm and garden where he worked had been pretty low. Especially considering how nice the owners had been. But while he’d been cuffed and taken down to the station, in the end the owners