Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
The moment I’m on the other side of the shaky structure, I breathe a sigh of relief. Someone should tell him it’s time to update that bridge. Otherwise, it might just fall apart one day. But I’m certainly not going to be the one to have that conversation. It wouldn’t surprise me if Walker left the bridge like that just to discourage visitors. Yeah, he’s definitely not going to be joining the Courage County Welcome Committee anytime soon.
I don’t know why he’s always so grouchy or why I find it so damn hot. But there’s nothing I like more than seeing him all rumpled and out of sorts. It makes me wonder what he looks like in the bedroom.
A ranch hand waves me around to the front of the barn and I remind myself that I’m just here to unload the feed and get out. I’m not here to see the grumpy cowboy or find new fantasies to add to my naughty dreams.
I pause to greet Michael in the humid August air. He used to be at the Caldwell Farm, but I guess he’s working here now. He gives me a big grin and makes a joke about the weather while I pull down the tailgate.
As soon as he grabs a bag of feed, I heft the next one. The fifty-pound bag is far from light. But that’s the thing about growing up in a ranching community. You get used to hard work from a young age.
I’ve just stepped foot in the barn when Walker is barreling toward me with his trademark scowl. Does the man ever smile? What does it take to earn one from him? A thought of how I could earn one fills my brain and I have to push it back.
“What are you doing?” He barks.
“You ordered horse feed. I’m delivering it,” I say, working to keep my voice pleasant. He’s still a paying customer.
He reaches to take it from me, but I sidestep him and follow Michael into the tack room. I add it to the pallet. After I’m gone, the feed will be opened and stored where it will be safe from rodents.
“Thanks.” Michael claps me on the shoulder. It’s the slightest touch of his fingers against my shirt sleeve.
He passes Walker on the way out of the tack room. His boss growls something at him in a low voice. It sounds almost like he’s threatening Michael, but I don’t know what that would be about.
I give them a minute by pretending to tie my sneaker. When I stand, Walker is still standing in the doorway of the tack room. His frown deepens, something I can’t read flashing in his deep brown gaze as his eyes roam my curvy body.
I feel warm all over and glance down, seeing my shirt is tucked up and showing off my fluffy belly. After the accident, I discovered yoga. It helped with the anxiety and even made me mindful of my body, but I still don’t feel at home in my own skin.
Quickly, I yank my shirt down so he can’t see anything else. Because I like the way he looks at me. I like it so much that I want to strip off my shirt and show him everything. Then I want to do the same to him until we’re two very naked people.
He finally drops his gaze and moves over. He still blocks just enough of the doorway that when I try to leave, he’s in my personal space. For a second, I think he sniffs my hair as I pass by him then I realize it’s just my silly imagination getting away from me again.
He follows me to the truck, stomping in his big boots as he does. I don’t know why he’s so mad today. But it’s not my job to figure it out. I just have to get this feed delivered before that storm starts.
Weird, Michael isn’t back at the truck like I expected him to be and I didn’t pass him on my way out of the barn. I reach for the next bag of feed and Walker’s tone makes me pause. “Stop.”
He reaches around me and takes the feed bag. “You don’t do this shit around here.”
He doesn’t wait for me to say anything. He just hefts it up, wincing slightly as he carries it into the barn. His sexist attitude shouldn’t be surprising. This is the deep South and sometimes, men from ranching communities have different expectations when it comes to women. Still, it’s disappointing to see Walker like this.
I grab a bag and follow him. I keep my voice loud as I ask his back, “Who do you think loaded it? Women are not some delicate little flowers that have to be protected by the big, strong man. Maybe try stepping into the twenty-first century.”