Wrangled

It was Jamison and Boone who melted my butter.
Yes, Jamison and Boone.
I’d found the letter from Riley Townsend, the estate lawyer, about my inheritance after my return from Iceland. It had been at the post office with the huge pile of other mail I’d put on hold. For months. Riley had been the one I told of my plans to come to Montana, but hadn’t given a definite date or time. I’d driven across the country from North Carolina solo and at that time, had no idea how long it would take. When I finally pulled up to the main house on the ranch, I’d been met by a whole slew of guys. They must have heard me approach or seen the dust kicked up behind my car on the long, dirt driveway. Whatever the reason, my first thought when they walked up was that they were doing a cowboy calendar photo shoot because they were all denim-clad, snap shirt wearing, Stetson-hatted hotties. One after the other after the other.
But two specifically had caught my eye and stopped my heart. Jamison and Boone. Yes, they were beyond handsome, but the way they looked at me, all steely-eyed intensity as if they could see how nervous I was, how tired, excited, hopeful. They seemed to be able to see me.