Resisting The Alpha Cowboy
We’re all over the drama with her, none of us care for her.
I shut my laptop slowly, almost reverently, and push up from the table. I find Colton outside by the fence, tossing feed to the horses. He’s wearing one of his many flannel shirts, sleeves rolled up, the kind that smells like cedarwood and sun.
I lean against the post, watching him work.
“Hey, cowboy.”
He turns, brushing hair from his brow. “Hey, city girl.”
I grin. “Got some news.”
“Better be good,” he says, walking toward me with that lazy swagger I’ve come to love. “I just spent an hour fixing the damn chicken coop.”
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