by Sierra Hill
Definitely not a cowboy’s room.
My editor, Gabe, chuckles on the other end of the line, his face taking up most of the Skype screen. “Well, yeah. We’ve known each other for years. Cutter’s a good man and comes from a well-respected family.”
I roll my eyes for dramatic effect, scooting my butt back until I hit the cushiony pillows and prop myself against them. While the bedding is soft, my body is still rigid from that extremely awkward and rude encounter with Cutter as we left the bar and drove the twenty miles to the long dirt road that led to the Longhorn Ranch.
It was there that he pulled up to a small cabin-like structure up along a hillside, put the truck in park and looked at me expectantly.
“You can get out now. This is the guest cabin where you’ll be staying. The front door’s open and there’s fresh linens and towels and everything you should need. I’ll be here at five a.m. tomorrow to pick you up. Don’t make me wait.”
I was still too in shock to have any decent rebuttal, so I simply opened the door, jumped down, gathered my things, and slammed the door hard behind me with a satisfying grunt.
As soon as I unpacked my laptop, I called Gabe, who I knew would still be in the office. I take stock of my appearance through the small video window, my cheeks still flushed in an angry red, illuminating my high cheekbones and calling attention to the stark contrast of the blue of my irises and the deep black ring around them.
“Gabe, you know me. I’ve had to deal with some pretty egotistical assholes in my time. It comes with the territory. Politicians, bankers, financiers, criminals. But your friend, Cutter? He has got to be the king of assholes. I’ve never been treated more rudely than I was tonight.”
Gabe shakes his head incredulously, his brows creasing in the center of his forehead. “I don’t understand it. I mean, sure, Cutter is under a lot of stress taking over the ranching business, but the last I spoke with him, he was the same Cutter he’s always been. He was voted the class clown for pity’s sake.”
And then Gabe tilts his head. “Did you say or do anything that would get him riled up? Mention something you shouldn’t have?”
My mouth drops open. “What the hell, Gabe? What are you implying? That in the 10 minutes I’ve known him I’ve done something to get him angry with me? Whose side are you on here?”
I’m disgusted with his lack of trust in me right now, but I also realize there was a time in the not so distant past when I deserved his cynicism. I’ve come a long way since I began as a young journalist who’d stick my foot in my mouth at inopportune times. But I’ve matured since then and gained a ton of experience through it all, proving myself to be reliable, intuitive and a damn good investigative reporter.
Gabe lets out a sigh, tapping a finger on his screen as if pointing at me. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m on your side, Avery. But you have a history of rubbing people the wrong way with things you say and how you say them. Not intentionally, of course.”
“Thanks for the words of encouragement, Mr. Farley. What on Earth would I ever do without such a supportive boss like you?” I lift my middle finger to punctuate my sarcasm as Gabe laughs a deep belly laugh, making me feel a little lighter.
“Listen, I’ll give Cutter a courtesy call. Pretend I’m just checking up on you and see if I can figure out what’s going on. Maybe he’s just had a really bad day, ya know? He’s only human. And if we’re being honest here, nobody ever likes having a reporter hanging around and asking questions, even if you’re there to help.”
I scoff. “Well, if Cutter doesn’t want me here, he should’ve said so. He doesn’t have to be such a prick to me. It’s not like I went all diva on him. I was plenty cordial and polite.”
“I’m sure you were. I’ll take care of it. In the meantime, just do the work I know you’re good at. He’ll come around, I’m certain of it. Night, Avery.”
“Night Gabe. And thanks.”
As I brush my teeth in front of the small sink in the bathroom, I stare into the mirror and wonder what a man like Cutter Lambert would see in me that would piss him off so much.
I don’t think I come across as high-and-mighty or pretend to be better than anyone else. I’m just me. I may be the daughter of a Montana State Senator, but that has never been used to my advantageous. In fact, most times, it’s been a disadvantage to me, and I’ve had to work twice as hard to make a name for myself.
I spent most of my childhood in Helena, attended college in Missoula and moved to Billings right after graduation where I began as an intern. Over the last five years, I’ve worked my way up through the various segments and sections until finally being named lead reporter. I’ve never had anything handed to me on a silver-platter, and therefore, I don’t understand what could have possibly made Cutter so adamantly opposed to my arrival.
Spitting the last mouthful of toothpaste in the sink, I decide that I am going to have it out with Cutter tomorrow morning before we go any further. If there’s something I can do about it, I will. But if not, he’ll just need to get over it and deal with me for the next week. Because like it or not, I’m here for the duration.
I climb into bed and set my alarm for four thirty a.m. so I can get up and get ready for the day. And Cutter better be ready for me and my interview questions because I don’t back down easy.
And I’m certainly not going to let a little bark from a handsome rancher get my goat.
Although, I do like challenges.
Cutter
A five-a.m. wake-up call isn’t typically difficult for me. I’ve been waking before the crack of dawn since I was old enough to tie my own shoes and take care of the horses.
But this morning is unlike any other day it. Today I awake grumpy from lack of sleep due to the long night I laid awake stewing over my houseguest. The guest that somehow in a matter of minutes had me strung tighter than a lasso around calf’s neck and who made me horny and hard all night.
It still has me seeing red that I’m playing tour guide with Avery and my father made the decision without consulting me first. While it’s not that much of a hardship, it will disrupt my duties this week. Having someone undertow, even someone as beautiful as Avery, will be a nuisance. On top of that, she has a sharp, sassy mouth. And an equally spankable ass which will distract me further.
Sass and ass. There’s nothing I like more on a woman.
Taking a quick and very cold shower, I dress in my typical attire – faded jeans, T-shirt and lightweight denim button-down, adding last my boots and Stetson. As I loop my belt and clasp the buckle, I imagine what it would be like to have Avery’s fingers tracing over the silver and nickel handmade plate before dipping into my waistband and finding my…
Ah shit. I need to stop fantasizing over a woman who is nothing more a thorn in my side already.
Brushing my hand through my wavy-sandy-brown hair, I place the hat on my head and walk out the door.
And come up short when I notice Avery already waiting for me on the small bunkhouse porch, bent over petting one of the barn cats. Her ass faces me and let me tell you, that view is better than any Montana sunrise I’ve ever seen.
I clear my throat. “Mornin.’”
When she stands, the cat scurries away and she lifts her chin in greeting, a snarl of a smile edging at the corners of her mouth.
“Good morning, Cutter,” she says, her voice a little huskier from sleep than it was last night. And then with a sweep of her hand, she says. “Is this prepared enough for you?”
I’m caught off guard as I follow the path her hand takes down the length of her body, hypnotizing me as it does. I notice the long-sleeved denim shirt, unbuttoned at the top to accentuate those perfectly shaped tits hidden under a white tank, and a scarf tied loosely around her neck. My gaze drops lower past the swell of her breasts to the hour-glass indent of her narrow waist and the full curve of her hips, the jeans pulled snugly around her shapely thighs. Her legs look amazing wrapped in the tight jeans that fit inside the bedazzled boots she’s wearing.
&
nbsp; I laugh, the mocking tone clearly recognizable. “Buy those on Etsy, darlin’?”
She casts a glance down at her feet, wiggling them in the air one at a time. When her soft brown eyes return to mine, they hold a coy smile.
“Don’t be knocking the boots. I think they’re fabulous and comfortable. Plus, I figured by day’s end I may end up smelling like a horse, but I can still look like a lady.”
Ain’t that the truth.
Avery jumps off the porch in a short leap and breezes by me, carrying with her the scent of light fruit and jasmine. It nearly pulls me off my feet as if I’ve been roped around my ankles and drug across the corral.
“There ain’t no disguising the fact that you are a lady,” I mumble quietly but loud enough to earn an eyebrow raise over her shoulder. “Let’s go grab some coffee and breakfast up at the main ranch house and then we’ll head to the stables to saddle up.”
As we hop in my truck, I can’t help but breathe her in deeply, the soft, female scent sending my pheromones kicking into high gear like the Teaser Stallion does for the mare in heat.
Avery hangs her arm out window, glancing out at the rolling hills of the ranch.
“You choose to live out here and not in the main house?” She turns her head to look at my profile.
Lifting my brows, I give her a tilt of my head. “Would you want to live in your parents’ house when you’re thirty?”
She lets out a genuine laugh, shaking her head. “Nah, probably not. I had to move across the state to get away from mine. But you’re still in their backyard.”
I shrug a shoulder. “I have all the space I need. They stay out of my business. Usually.”
That’s a lie. My parents are always inserting themselves in my life. My father critical of my business decisions and my mother nosing around all the time about my personal life.
And then as if she read my thoughts, Avery states, “You’re not married. Why not?”
“Well, shit, darlin’. Don’t go holding back on any personal questions.”
The drive isn’t far from my small cabin up the hill to the main house, as I bring the truck to a stop and put it in park, turning off the ignition before turning to face her. She’s not wearing a lick of make-up this morning, her soft sunflower blonde hair framing her face like a loose curtain. She has a trail of freckles on the bridge of her sleek nose and a mole at the corner of her brown sugar eyes. It’s then that I notice a small dot of white cream on her cheekbone, near the shell of her ear.
I lift my hand, reaching out to gently skim my thumb over the soft surface. She flinches slightly, but her eyes don’t leave mine as I work the lotion into her skin.
“You missed some,” I croak, as if I’m parched from the range all day without water.
Her lips part, the tip of her tongue licking at her bottom lip before she sucks in a breath.
“Thanks.”
I rear back as the jolt of electricity, as sharp as the crack of the reins, accelerates up my arm and down my spine. Realizing I need to get out of here and fast, I open the car door and finally answer her question as I jump out.
“Never had the time for relationships or marriage. Now let’s go get some chow.”
“Miss Boone, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” my father says in his most welcoming voice after I introduce him to Avery. “How was your first night on the ranch?”
I ignore the way she shifts her eyes toward me in a snarky leer and pile my plate with a smorgasbord of breakfast items that Camilla has prepared. She’s been our housekeeper and cook for going on twenty years and never fails to offer a hearty breakfast morning after morning.
My father’s gaze bounces between me and Avery and as if reading my thoughts through my silence, makes a comment that only a father and a boss could get away with.
“Don’t let Cutter’s snarly behavior get in the way of enjoying yourself while you’re here this week, Miss Boone. Keep in mind, he’s spent the majority of his life out in the pastures with cattle. He’s not much for polite conversation.”
I glare at him as I take a seat at the table, pouring myself a generous cup of coffee. Avery smiles graciously, setting down her plate and sitting between my father and me.
“Thank you so much for your hospitality, Mr. Lambert. I’m thrilled to have this opportunity to research and write this article. People need to hear what’s happening out here in our state,” she muses, reaching for the cream at the same time as I do, our fingers tangling and dueling for possession.
Trying to prove that I can be a gentleman, I offer it up to her first, a smirk lifting at the corners of her lips, a mischievous glint in her maple-colored eyes.
“And Cutter here has been nothing if not accommodating.”
I cough and roll my eyes.
My father stands, folds his paper in half and looks between us, curious about the strange exchanges between us. I don’t blame him for his cynicism, since even I don’t understand the storm simmering between me and Avery. I haven’t spent more than an hour with her since our introduction last night, but the intensity of my reaction is obviously contributing to my discourteous behavior.
I hadn’t expected to be attracted to the journalist.
And because of that, I now seem to have only two options to get through the week.
I can either ignore Avery and pawn her off on one of ranch hands who can show her around.
But that means they’d get all her attention. And my mind and body revolts at that thought because I want it on me.
Option B appears to be the only viable solution, then.
I fuck her.
There is definitely a connection between us – some strong energy pulling us together by centrifugal force. The more I oppose, the stronger it gets.
I peer at Avery over the top of my coffee mug as she works at devouring the food on her plate, taking gigantic bites and wolfing it down, unconcerned with anything I’m doing or thinking.
I wash down the last of my eggs with the bitter remnants of my coffee and return my dirty dishes to the sink, hoping to simultaneously scrub away my dirty thoughts from my mind. Turning back around, I watch as Avery stands and moves toward me.
Edging in next to me to set her plate in the sink, her hips bump against mine as I intentionally take up most of her space. She juts out her chin defiantly.
“Are you like this with everyone, Cutter? Or do you reserve your special charm just for me?”
I give her meaningful look, raising my brows with a shrug. “Just you, darlin’.”
Two long strides get me back to the table where I swipe up my hat and grab the lunch sack from the counter.
“Let’s get a move on. The day waits for no one.”
I stifle the chuckle when I hear her mutter behind me, “Neither do you.”
Yeah, I like this woman.
But I’m not going to tell her that.
I’m going to coax it out of her.
Avery
Why does this man detest me this much?
I can’t imagine what I said or did in the past twenty-four hours that would have rankled him so badly that he’s making me shovel shit.
Literally.
As I hustled to catch up to him as he left the house and headed off toward the stables, he grunted that I would be given the task of mucking the stalls. When I pushed back (because, duh, it’s horse shit!) and asked him why he didn’t have staff to do that, he responded like I figured he would.
Like a dickhead.
“Oh, I do. But it’ll be your job while you’re here. But to show you I’m not such a horrible guy, I’ll let you borrow the stable galoshes, so you don’t get your pretty boots dirty.”
He has the audacity to wink at me before handing me the shovel and the wheelbarrow and walking away.
As I watch Cutter’s ass swagger out of the stable, he points to show me where to deposit the horse manure I collect when I’m done.
I have a mind to shovel it into his truck.
It takes me all
of ten seconds to gather my wits and realize I’m not here to take this shit (or shovel it) from him, and I throw the shovel down with a loud thwack, and head off after him, capturing the curious gazes of several of the ranch hands milling about the stable and horse enclosures. One of them tips his hat at me as I pass him.
Cutter’s throwing some hay into a trough when I step up behind him.
“Excuse me, Cutter. I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but I did not come all this way to Longhorn Ranch to be treated with such disrespect. If you’re trying to prove a point – although I can’t for the life of me figure out what it is – let’s just say you’ve proved it. Need I remind you that I am here to write an article on your business that will potentially benefit you and your cattle ranching operation? I should think you’d have the human decency to at least treat me with some respect.”
When Cutter turns around, I can only describe his smile as triumphant. As if he just won the lottery, while I stand here trembling with pent-up rage.
He nods with a smile at the cowboy sauntering up behind me leading a beautiful young mare by her reins, her buckskin coat a silky cover underneath the saddle. The man stops a few feet me, tipping his hat with a slight nod to his head, and then hands a dollar to Cutter, who accepts it with a delighted snort.
“Told ya she wouldn’t do it.” Cutter lets out a bark of laughter, stuffing the bill in the front of his jeans pocket, the tan chaps he put on shifting across his muscular thighs.
My mouth falls open and my face blanches as my head ping-pongs between Cutter and the other man. “What the hell? Did you bet on whether I would comply with your shit-shoveling demands?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I blink, the tears of indignation forming at the corners of my eyes which I will not let fall. I’ve dealt with men like him my entire life. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
Cutter hands me the reins and cups his hands together in a lift to assist me up in the saddle. I have a right mind to kick Cutter in the ass instead. But seeing as the horse is rather large, and I’m barely five-three, I accept his offer of help on as he scoops me up and over. My feet slide in the loops of the stirrups and I grip the horn of the saddle in my left hand, grasping the leather reins in the other as Cutter cinches up the rigging to fit me more comfortably.
