Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“Here.” He handed it to me. “Can’t risk horse health with spiders and bugs, but the darn cobwebs are a never-ending and messy chore.”
“I told you. I don’t mind mess.” This was hardly the first duster I’d seen. I’d be fine.
“We’ve gotta get you some better clothes.” Frowning, he gestured at my hoodie under my open coat and my gray corduroy skinny jeans.
“What’s wrong with these?” I wasn’t going to take comments from him any more than I would from Reindeer.
“Too nice.” He pursed his lips before ducking into a tack room and returning with two blue-and-red bandannas. “You’ll want to cover your hair with your hoodie or a bandanna, and here’s another for covering your mouth.” He handed them over and then pointed at the duster. “Clean the duster frequently so you’re not just spreading chaff around.”
“Do I get another riding lesson if I do well?” I gave a pleading grin, complete with a chin tilt. I was determined to break through his icier-than-usual exterior. The air was chilly enough. I didn’t need Grayson adding to the freeze.
“Not today.” However, he didn’t thaw one bit in the face of my best smile. “Too much to get done.”
“Okay.” Nothing I could do other than agree and follow him to a different row of stalls from the day before.
“If you finish mucking and cobwebbing this side of the barn before lunch, you can sweep the aisles.” He gestured back toward the barn doors. “Lunch is your choice of leftovers or sandwiches. Clean up after yourself if you use the microwave.”
“Yes, sir.” I used a cheeky tone, but even that didn’t get a rise from Grayson.
Soon, I was alone with the muck cart and my cobwebbing task, which indeed turned out to be worse than mucking. A disgusting mix of spiderwebs, dust, bits of hay, flies, and other yuck rained down on me. I found the broom and dustpan on my own for cleaning up after my dusting efforts. I also made sure to do my best job on the mucking of each stall because I was certain Grayson would be checking. However, I finished the task before he returned, so I found a larger broom more suited to sweeping the wide aisles. I had my music for company again. I could have grabbed headphones, but the possibility of pissing off a certain foreman was too good to pass up.
As I threw out the last dustpan full of scraps of hay and dirt, Grayson finally showed up, scowl from earlier still in place.
“Spic and span, boss.” I was undeterred in the face of his bad mood. I followed him from stall to stall as he looked over my work. He added a small amount of bedding to two stalls, but otherwise had no commentary for me. “How’d I do?”
“It’ll pass.” He pursed his lips like actual praise might physically hurt. “You eat yet?”
“Not yet.” I couldn’t help the rising hope that maybe he’d brought me lunch again, but he merely shook his head.
“You’ll wanna do that before your next task because it’s a gut twister.”
“Oh?”
“Since you’re already all dirty from cobwebbing, gonna set you to drain cleaning.” He sounded just short of gleeful about assigning me the job, and as he showed me what I’d be doing with the floor drains, he kept glancing at me as if expecting me to bolt for the barn doors.
“I told you yesterday your plan to make me run away wouldn’t work.” I rolled my eyes at him and made my tone more bored. “You’re giving me the worst tasks to make me change my mind about being a hand.”
“You wanted ranch life. This is part of ranch life.” Instead of matching my teasing tone, he was at funeral-levels of seriousness. “We get dirty.”
“Yes, you do.” I met his gaze to remind him of exactly how dirty he’d gotten on the bank of the pond.
“Behave.” He glowered at me, not moved in the slightest. “Kat will be around if you have questions. I’ll check back later this afternoon.”
I returned to the bunkhouse to make a hasty lunch of leftovers, remembering at the last second to clean up after myself and put the plate in the dishwasher. In my little studio apartment, dishes were less of a pressing task, but this communal living was like a return to my college days. Back then, my distractibility level had been a frequent complaint from my various roommates, and I was determined to not have it be an issue here.
“Can’t believe he’s got you cleaning drains on your second day.” Kat greeted me with a pair of elbow-length rubber gloves upon my return to the barn. “This is gonna get gross, just warning you. Even the best drain covers can’t keep out all the hay, dirt, manure pieces, horse hair, mud, rocks, and other crap.”