To All the Cowboys I’ve Loved Before. D. R. Graham

early. Long story. I should have called, but I thought you were supposed to be out of town.”

      “I didn’t go. My dad’s not feeling that well after his last chemotherapy treatment, so I’m driving out there today to visit him.”

      “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” I rub my knee where it’s already starting to grow a lump and wonder if he witnessed me fall. “Do you think it’s serious? Your dad?”

      He shrugs and leans against the wall with his arms crossed. “Probably. He’s a tough son-of-a-bitch, so if he’s showing pain it’s not a good sign.” He glances at me and his eyes search my face as if he’s trying to read my expression. “Sorry for cursing.”

      “Oh, no. Don’t apologize.” I wave my hands in an attempt to ease his unnecessary repentance. “You don’t have to change who you are for me. I’m not a total prude.” Except that I kind of am. Or, always have been. I guess I don’t have to be.

      He glances at the alarm panel. “You cracked the code?”

      “Yeah. Eventually.” I can’t help but grin at my own cleverness.

      “There you go. Women are smart enough to be engineers.” He turns and walks down the hall towards the kitchen. “Since we’re both up, you want some breakfast? I can make us an omelet.”

      Hmm. Yeah, breakfast with Easton would be good. But I was only planning on crashing here and then leaving. Sneak in a shower, maybe a dip in the pool. Make one of those smoothies. And then gone. That was the plan. Easton being here is definitely not part of the plan. My reaction to Easton calling me smart is also unexpected. He has some sort of magic effect on me. Everyone probably feels that way around him. That’s why Stuart photographs him. He’s got that something special. It. He’s got it. Whatever it is. I like it. Which is why I am going to join him for breakfast in this very big, very empty house. Just the two of us. Alone. By ourselves.

      Oh, grow up, Della. It’s eggs with a guy, not sex.

      “So, you decided to move in,” he says as he clicks the gas element on. “I didn’t realize it would be at four-thirty in the morning.” He laughs. “Sorry I forgot to tell you the alarm code.” His hair is woven into one long braid that trails down his spine. He’s not wearing a shirt again, so every detail of his chiseled back is on display. Cooking half-nude. I guess he’s not particularly concerned about splatter burns. He probably doesn’t feel them. Like a superhero, impermeable to the injuries of mere mortals. He turns to face me with the spatula poised in the air, as if he’s waiting for something. Did I miss the question?

      “Um, sorry, what did you say?”

      “What made you decide to shack up with three men? I know it’s not because you found Chuck and BJ irresistibly charming.” He points at the fridge. “Cheese or no cheese in your omelet?”

      “Cheese is good. I like cheese.”

      He smiles and leans into the fridge to take out all the ingredients. Cheese is good. I like cheese. He must think I’m odd. I am odd. And how am I supposed to tell him that I didn’t actually decide to move in, I was just going to be a squatter for the night? He looks over at me again because, yeah that’s right, I haven’t answered the question yet. It’s so hot in here. I pull off my sweatshirt and say, “Cockroaches.”

      His eyebrows angle together as he attempts to decipher my cryptic conversation skills.

      “Cockroaches made my decision for me.”

      He places a bowl on the counter and stares at me with his mouth slightly agape. All of me. Not my face. My body. What’s he looking at? Okay, I know I’m in my pajamas, and my hair’s a mess, and my breath probably smells horrid, but I don’t think it warrants actual shock on his part.

      “What happened to your skin?”

      I glance down at my arms. They’re completely covered in red marks, like spider bites but all over in tracks. And they run along my chest. And, oh my goodness, all down my legs. What is that? I’m scarlet. It’s a cockroach disease. That’s why I’m so itchy. Even itchier now that I’ve noticed. My scalp is itchy now. I stand and jig around because it feels like insects are crawling all over me. “What is it?”

      “It looks like bed bugs got you.”

      “Bed bugs? Are they still on me?”

      He chuckles. “Probably not, but they might be on your luggage and in your clothes.”

      Yuck. Disgusting. Thank goodness I left my stuff in the trunk of my car and didn’t track them in here. “Ugh. That motel was wretched. I probably have lice and tics and scabies, too. I should go.”

      “You don’t have to go. Just have a shower. I’ll make a Mojave remedy for you. It will take away the itch. You can wear one of my T-shirts and we’ll put all your other clothes in the washing machine. The dryer should kill any that might have hitched a ride.”

      He’s sweet. And calm. I feel better already. “I’m sorry. I know you didn’t plan to rent to a dirty vagrant with communicable diseases.”

      “Chuck has worse.”

      My eyes widen and my expression makes Easton laugh.

      “I’m kidding. I think.” He laughs even harder and starts cracking the eggs, completely unfazed by my grossness.

      I slink out of the kitchen and run up to the bathroom in my room. Well, not my room. The room that’s for rent. The room that I’m currently contaminating, so probably obligated to rent even if I don’t live in it. Oh, my gosh. Maybe my dad was right. Coming to Stanford was a bad idea and this is the universe’s way of sending me the message. Hey, Della, go home. Who do you think you are? Quit.

      Only, I don’t want to quit. It’s not that bad. Sure, it’s only been two days and everything has pretty much gone wrong. It could be worse, though. In the grand scheme of things people deal with much worse hardships than broken down cars and unsanitary living conditions. But what if this is only the beginning and it does get worse? I can always drop out and go home. Think positive, Della. It could also get better.

      I undress and step into the shower. The water pressure is amazing. Perfect for rinsing conditioner out. The guys probably don’t fully appreciate this minor detail. Maybe Easton does. His hair is nicer than mine. I want to live here. And Easton is already making breakfast and a Mojave remedy. Plus, my clothes need washing. Hopefully dry-cleaning kills bed bugs too, otherwise I’m going to have to burn most of my wardrobe. Oh well, nobody dresses formally here anyways.

      You know, come to think of it, my sister lived with Alex before they were married. My parents eventually got used to it—not until they actually got married. But still. Precedence has been set. Okay, I’m staying. Until things get worse.

       Chapter 4

      Easton

      Visiting my dad at the ranch was rough. Partly for the same reasons it has always been rough between us, and partly because it’s hard to see him struggling. When he was diagnosed with cancer I started going home more often to help out, and I thought maybe spending more time together would change some things between us, but it hasn’t.

      I’m sitting in my truck in the driveway of the Palo Alto house, trying to adjust back into my life as a student. Della’s Volkswagen Bug is parked on the street, so she’s probably home. I was hoping the guys would already be back. For some reason I’m hesitant to be here alone with her. Not some reason. I know the reason. It’s because I haven’t stopped thinking about her since I left yesterday morning. Her completely natural fresh-face, her klutziness, the innocent way her cheeks flush over everything, and the sexy way she looked wearing only my T-shirt while her clothes were in the wash. That damn near killed me.

      Even my dad could tell there was something up with me. I denied