Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Maurício said goodbye with a tap on his hat and left, leaving Dolores alone in the kitchen.

She let out a sigh, grabbed the aluminum mug again, and filled it at the faucet. The fresh water flowed freely, unlike anything she was used to drinking.

“At least the water is good,” she muttered, taking another sip.

Suddenly, she heard a low sound behind her. Light steps. It didn’t sound like a person. Dolores froze. She turned slowly, and her eyes widened.

There, standing in the doorway, was a tall creature with golden fur and black spots, pointed ears, and an alert gaze.

Dolores’s heart almost stopped.

“M-my God… a leopard!” she exclaimed, stepping back and spilling water on the floor.

Nyra tilted her head, curious, as if amused by the visitor’s fear. She walked up to Dolores and sniffed the hem of her pants. Dolores held her breath, completely still.

“Zacky…” she whispered, her voice coming out thinner than she intended.

A low chuckle came from the door.

“Oh, you’ve already met Nyra.” Zacky leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed, an amused glint in his eyes. “She only bites when she doesn’t like the visitor.”

Dolores shot him an angry look.

“You could’ve warned me you had a pet jaguar!”

“Serval,” he corrected, smiling. “I’ve raised her since she was a cub. She’s tame… most of the time.”

Nyra approached him and brushed her body against his leg, purring like a giant cat.

Dolores kept her distance, her heart pounding.

“Tame. Of course. I bet she even knows how to cuddle with her claws out.”

Zacky laughed.

“Relax, city girl. If she likes you, you’re already ahead.”

Dolores stared at Nyra, who now watched her with gleaming amber eyes.

“Maybe,” she thought, “that animal was just like its owner: beautiful, wild, and completely unpredictable.”

Nyra stretched lazily on the cold kitchen floor, letting out a long yawn before dozing off right in the middle of the passage, as if the place belonged to her.

“I checked your car,” Zacky said, still leaning on the doorframe with that relaxed, provocative posture. “You’ll need a mechanic. And from what I saw, it’s automatic.”

“And now… what am I supposed to drive?” she asked, distressed.

“You can use any truck on the ranch,” he replied with a half-smile.

She blushed before mumbling:

“I only know how to drive automatic.”

He raised one eyebrow, amused.

“Oh, I get it… you don’t know how to drive.”

“Of course I do!” she shot back, offended.

Zacky crossed his arms and took a slow step toward her, his teasing gaze never leaving her face.

“A real driver can handle any car, sweetheart.”

She glared at him, furious, but he only laughed and left the kitchen as if he’d won another round.

“He’s unbearable!” Dolores fumed silently, watching the cowboy stroll away with his usual arrogance. Then she looked at Nyra, sprawled across the kitchen floor like the queen of the house—elegant, huge, and dangerously calm.

Dolores swallowed hard.

She wasn’t sure what was worse: following the ill-tempered cowboy, or staying alone with the “giant cat.”

“Something tells me she’s not that sweet…” she whispered.

As if she understood perfectly, Nyra opened one eye slowly—an intense yellow eye that seemed to peer straight into anyone’s soul. She stared at Dolores silently, with feline superiority, as if judging the woman’s courage.

Then, with zero concern, Nyra dropped her head back down and made a low sound—something between a growl and a grunt, like a: Hmm!

And went right back to sleep.

Dolores widened her eyes and grabbed her pants.

“See? She even grumbles!” she whispered, tiptoeing through the kitchen as if passing a live bomb.

She finally gathered enough courage—more out of desperation than bravery—and followed the cowboy. She kept glancing back to make sure Nyra wasn’t coming after her, which almost caused her to bump into a ceramic pot. God knows where that came from.

Dolores froze and stared ahead.

Zacky stood with his back to her, taking off his sweaty flannel shirt. The movement was slow enough for her to see every inch of that broad, defined back, muscles shifting from his shoulders to the curve of his waist.

Heat rushed to her face long before she realized she was staring.

And staring a lot.

He glanced over his shoulder and caught her red-handed.

“Lose something?” he asked with a cocky smile, clearly enjoying himself.

Dolores blinked rapidly, opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. Nothing came out.

Zacky lifted an eyebrow, teasing, “Or were you just enjoying the view?”

She nearly choked on air.

“I—I just… I came… um… to follow you.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” He tossed the shirt onto the truck seat and turned his back again, which definitely didn’t help her situation.

Dolores jerked her head away so fast her neck almost cracked.

“I wasn’t looking!” she lied, blushing all the way to her ears.

“Uh-huh. Don’t worry. Next time I’ll warn you before I take my shirt off—so you can prepare.”

She nearly dropped dead on the spot.

He leaned into her car, resting a hand on the roof as if he had all the time in the world.

“Call your fancy assistant,” he said in that annoyingly calm tone. “Tell him to come pick you up. And let him know you didn’t get what you wanted.”

Dolores felt her stomach drop.

“You’re not even going to hear my proposal?”

Zacky let out a short, humorless laugh and shut the car door.

“Sweetheart…” He stepped closer, looking down at her like she was harmless. “I don’t need your money.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he continued:

“In fact, I have way more than you could ever spend… even if you were my wife.”

That struck right at her pride.

Dolores swallowed hard but lifted her chin.

“Arrogant.”

He gave her a crooked, provocative smile.

“Realistic.”

She was so nervous that she stepped back, her heel sinking into the dirt until—crack—it snapped. Dolores froze.

Zacky raised a brow, giving her a look that clearly said: I told you so.

Dolores inhaled sharply, crouched down, and removed her shoes, now barefoot. He didn’t look away. His eyes followed her feet—small, delicate, nails perfectly done.

“Come with me,” he said, voice low and steady, far too calm for someone irritated by her presence. “I’ll get a room ready for you. I’m guessing you’ll want to freshen up before dinner.”

She hesitated, clutching the broken shoes.

“Am I welcome at dinner?” she asked, her pride already bruised.

Zacky let out a short, humorless laugh.

“I never said you were welcome,” he replied. “I just don’t want you fainting from hunger—or heat stroke—on my property.”

He turned and walked away, expecting her to follow.

Dolores pressed her lips together, indignation burning in her chest… but she followed anyway.

Because, whether she liked it or not, that infuriating cowboy was the only person who could lead her to what she wanted most.