To All the Cowboys I’ve Loved Before: The Hottest Western Romance of 2019!. D. Graham R.

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      I stand to slide over a chair from the table next to us and offer her mine. “Della, that’s BJ,” I say. “This is Chuck.” I shoot them both glares, intended to warn them to be on their best behavior, which they both ignore.

      “Ah, Della,” Chuck says. “We’ve heard all about you. Welcome to Stanford. Have a seat.”

      She sits cautiously and places the tray with the fresh salad and milk on the table. “Hi. Nice to meet you both.” She glances at me and presses her lips together as if she’s forcing herself not to say more.

      “If you need help with anything, I’m happy to show you around,” BJ offers before he raises his eyebrows at me.

      “Thank you,” she says quietly.

      With all of us watching, she takes a sip of milk. She doesn’t touch the salad, though, as if she’s uncomfortable eating in front of people. Maybe I should get the key back from her. If I don’t, I’ll be leading a lamb to the wolves.

      BJ leans back in his chair, sipping his milkshake, sizing her up, and literally licking his chops. “You have an interesting accent, Della. Where you from?”

      “Vancouver, but I was born in Russia. We moved to Canada when I was eight. Then I moved to California yesterday, so here I am. How about you guys? I know Easton is from here. Where are you both from?”

      “Chuckie’s from Oregon. I’m a Texan born and raised.” BJ watches as she finally picks up her fork and eats a small bite of lettuce.

      “Do you prefer to be called Bailey and Taylor or BJ and Chuck?” she asks.

      “Doesn’t matter to me,” BJ says. “Rodeo nickname. Real name. I answer to both.”

      She nods and glances at Chuck, waiting for him to answer.

      With a straight face he says, “You can call me Big Poppa.”

      Her eyebrows angle together as she attempts to read him. I’m pretty sure he’s joking, but honestly, it’s not always easy to tell with Chuck. Either way, I shake my head to let her know that she shouldn’t take him seriously.

      “Are you going to eat this pickle?” He asks me after he’s already taken it off my plate and bitten into it. “You know anything about Rodeo, Della?”

      Her head swivels side to side. “No. Only that there are bulls and horses. And animal rights activists who claim it’s cruel.” She opens the package of salad dressing and it squirts onto the table. “Shoot,” she mutters under her breath as she wipes it up.

      BJ sits forward, defensive. “You think the animals are mistreated?”

      “Oh. No. I don’t know.” Her cheeks flush from his confrontational tone. “I don’t know anything about it. I’ve never even been to a rodeo.” She clenches her eyes shut for a second as if she’s trying to reset the conversation, then she glances at Chuck’s wrapped shoulder and BJ’s swollen eye. “It does appear to be cruel to cowboys, though.”

      I laugh. Chuck nods to agree and BJ relaxes back in his seat.

      I like her. I don’t know why. She’s not the type I normally go for—awkward, eyes that are so innocent it makes me worry about her safety in the world, and really conservative. We probably have nothing in common. Then again, dating woman I have a lot in common with hasn’t really worked out for me so far.

      BJ pokes Della’s arm to tease her. “Is shoot the worst cuss word you’ve ever said?”

      She frowns and glances at me before she answers him. “I guess. Why?”

      “Do you drink?”

      “Like alcohol?” She immediately cringes and points at the milk carton as if she can’t believe she didn’t realize that was implied. “Obviously that’s what you meant. Everyone drinks. Liquids. Milk. Water. I’ve had a glass of champagne. Once.”

      Chuck and BJ both laugh at her lack of experience. This is bad. She’s a lamb. A cute, defenseless little lamb. They’re going to eat her alive. And we definitely have nothing in common.

      “Why’d you choose engineering?” I ask to prevent them from grilling her on anything that might embarrass her.

      She pauses mid-bite and retracts the fork. “Um, honestly?”

      I nod.

      “Because my dad thinks women aren’t smart enough to be engineers. I’m here to prove him wrong.”

      “Good on ya,” Chuck says and gives her a fist bump.

      “Hell yeah,” BJ adds.

      I nod again. Okay. I definitely have a thing for her. She can’t live with us. I don’t have an extra thousand dollars to give the guys.

       Chapter 3

      Della

      Ew. What was that? Something just crawled across my face. I reach over and flip the lamp on. It’s a cockroach. On my pillow. Gah! Disgusting. Get it off. No, no. They’re everywhere. I hop up to stand on the mattress as a wave of giant shells scurry, like an insect army, across the floor to the bathroom and closet where it’s dark.

      And I’m done sleeping. Maybe forever.

      Yuck. The hotel manager moved me to this room after I mentioned that last night’s room didn’t have hot water. Cold water is better than bugs. Why am I so itchy? I rub my palms over my arms vigorously. Do cockroaches bite? Do they carry disease? I’m going to catch the plague. Maybe I should call my dad and ask him what to do. No. Don’t be a baby. Figure it out. Think. Well, one thing I know for sure, I can’t stay at this disgusting motel. What time is it? Four in the morning. I don’t care. I would rather be a homeless person.

      I jump off the bed to zip up my suitcases and don’t even bother to change out of my pajama shorts or brush my teeth, which would horrify my mother. She doesn’t even come downstairs for breakfast until she is fully showered and dressed for the day. I don’t care right now. Well, maybe a little. It only takes a second to throw a sweatshirt over my tank-top before I leave.

      My car is parked right in front of the door, so I toss my luggage into the trunk and pop the hood. I don’t know anything about car engines. My dad always serviced it for me. But I’m going to be an engineer. I should be able to figure out why it wouldn’t start yesterday. The engine wouldn’t turn over at all, so that must be the battery, right? It might be a little tricky to get a new battery at four o’clock in the morning, if that’s even what the problem is.

      I could sleep in the car. Slightly uncomfortable, but infestation-free. Or, maybe that’s not a good idea. The woman on the sidewalk who looks like a prostitute—not judging—is talking to a guy who could be a drug dealer—not judging. I sort of am judging. My guess is that this is not the safest place in the world for sleeping in a disabled vehicle.

      I still have the key to the Palo Alto house. Easton said they’d be out of town for two days. I could maybe stay there and find СКАЧАТЬ