by Sasha Gold
“Bury the hatchet?” His mouth quirks. “I never heard it called that before.”
I turn away and cross the barn, heading for the door. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I can’t have Ben living here for a week, checking out my family’s ranch and my ass at the same time. He looks strong and able, but there’s no way he’s the manual labor type. Or he’s not the type looking to do manual labor for $700 a week.
“I don’t think this is going to work, Ben. I don’t think you’re right for the job. No offense.”
“Damn,” he mutters. “I’m trying to help you out and you’re still playing hard to get. I don’t even want the money, sweetheart. I’ve got plenty of my own.”
“And plenty of ulterior motives, too.”
I pull the door open as he comes up behind me. I’m aware of him drawing near, but that’s not what has my attention. The yearlings aren’t in the corral. Clyde is grazing in Gran’s garden and Bonnie trots by the ranch house, giving a sassy flick of her tail as she disappears around the corner.
“Oh, no,” I whisper. “Not today.”
Ben nudges me aside. “I’ll get them.”
Chapter Two
Ben
Grace Hopkins is officially the most aggravating woman I’ve ever met. What she has against me, I’d like to know. Or why it is that I can’t get her out of my mind. She’s beautiful. I’ll give her that. Gorgeous, in a natural, no-makeup, not trying, cowgirl sort of way, but usually I like a woman to be sweet and agreeable.
Not contrary and mouthy.
I grab my lasso from the cab and head toward the horse grazing in the garden. He’s having a fine time, tearing carrot greens up and what not. It looks like he’s done some damage to the lettuce too. He lifts his head and gives me an innocent look that makes me smile.
“You’re a rascal, aren’t you?”
He eyes me with a complete lack of concern, a tiny carrot dangling from his mouth on the end of a green stem. Some horses recognize a lasso and know that they’re about to get roped. I’m pretty sure this boy’s never seen one before. That makes my job easier.
A moment later, I’ve got him roped. I walk toward him, looping the rope around my arm to keep it taut. I pat his neck and admire the pretty bay. He’s got a deep chest and a powerful build already, even though he’s still a lanky youngster.
“Playtime’s over, buddy.”
He blinks with surprise, but follows me back to the corral.
The gate is open. I’m pretty sure the one that finagled the latch is the other one playing hide and seek right now with Grace.
I put the colt into the pen and shut the gate. Coming up behind Grace, I take in the view. Her chestnut hair hangs down her back, drawing my eye to the way her jeans fit. They’re snug and show off her curves. Her ass is a perfect peach, and peaches are my favorite.
I brush the thought away. I’m here with a plan and that plan doesn’t include eyeing Grace Hopkins’s ass or imagining what she’d look like lying beneath me, her long hair framing her pretty face. She’s made it real clear that she wants no part of that. I vow for the hundredth time not to think about her. This time I’m sure I’m done with her. Who needs to get shot down every single time? I’ll build the damned fence. In a week, I’ll be done with her.
Her needing a fence built is just an excuse for me to have a place for my horses. And a roof over my head. I’ve stayed at the San Felipe Motel and I’m not interested in doing that again. I’m not even going to do the fence building. I have workers coming for that.
Grace has got a bucket of grain and stalks across the barnyard, talking gently, trying to convince the filly that it’s all good, but I can tell the filly’s not having any of it.
The filly’s nostrils flare as she prances away. Grace mutters a few choice words, but continues walking toward the horse. With a halter and lead line slung over her shoulder, she shakes the bucket of grain to entice the filly.
I can tell right now, this won’t work. The filly’s not going to let Grace put a halter on her. Not only that, the filly’s going to have a little fun along the way.
“Come on, Bonnie,” Grace coos.
She moves stealthily, but the filly keeps her distance.
Grace mutters as the filly sidesteps past her and gallops off.
I can’t help but laugh. “She’s messing with you.”
“I can see that.”
“Let me get her, Grace.”
“I’m fine,” she snaps. “I know what I’m doing.”
I resist the urge to say anything. The horse trots through the garden and I imagine her hooves pulverizing what’s left of the lettuce. We walk side-by-side, easing up to the filly. She’s onto us. She’s a smart one and now I’m positive she’s the one opening the gate. As we get closer, she nibbles a carrot, pretending to ignore us. I’m certain she’s keeping a wary eye on us.
“I worked so hard on that garden.”
“I’ll help you fix it up, if you like.”
“I don’t think so.” She cuts me an irritated look. “I need a fence builder. Not someone who’s checking out my ranch.”
I’m checking out a lot more than that, darlin’.
Probably be best that I keep it to myself. Something tells me this isn’t the right time to tell her how cute she is in her lace-trimmed western shirt, fancy boots, and ass-hugging jeans. “Course, any gardening I have to do will cost extra.”
She ignores me and tries with the bucket again. The filly flicks her tail to show just how much she doesn’t want any of the grain.
“I’d be happy to negotiate something, though.” I’m not flirting. Really, I’m not. I’m just punishing her a little for her rejection.
“Ugh, gross,” she mutters.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking of, but I was imagining dinner. I’m not big on cooking and if I’m out in the field all day, I don’t want to cook.”
She stops in her tracks, her eyes blazing. “I’m not cooking for you, because I’m not hiring you.”
“All right. I’ll tell Janet it didn’t work out, and you’re probably not going to get your broodmares after all. Or open your barn for boarding.”
Her expression softens, and we begin walking again, trying to approach the filly.
“What did Janet tell you?”
“Not much more than what I’ve already said. You have horses coming and no place to graze them. It looks like you have stalls, but those girls aren’t going to like to be penned up. And your yearlings aren’t going to want to share that dusty corral.”
Her eyes light with anger again. “It’s not dusty.”
“I don’t know what’s got you so fired up, but the way I see it is we can help each other out. I’ll stay here, fix your fence, maybe plant a carrot or two, and in the evenings, I’ll check out land that’s for sale.”
Something about that makes her more mad. She presses her lips together and shakes her head.
The sound of a delivery truck coming down the driveway catches my attention.
“Great. That’s the supplies for the fencing.” She gives me a sheepish look. “I took a leap of faith when Janet called and ordered what I needed.”
“I can start tomorrow.”
“Pfft. Nope.”
“What do you mean nope?”
But she doesn’t reply. The filly trots to the other end of the garden. If a horse could smile, this one would be grinning. I’ve had about as much fun as I want today. Between Grace and the filly, I’ve had enough of difficult females. I grip my lasso in one hand and swing the noose with the other. The loop whistles through the air. The noose lands on the filly’s head and slips to her neck. It takes her a moment to realize what’s happened. She bolts, but stops almost immediately when the noose tightens.
“That’s right, girlie,” I mutter. “I’m all done playing games.”
She gives a little jerk of her head. Then comes the usual short spell of rearing back followed by a few bucks. I coil the rope around my hand and
anchor the rest of the lasso behind my back. She won’t get away, even though she’ll try like hell. Her song and dance take me back to my roping days. I haven’t done any serious roping in a few years. Lately it’s been all about the bulls, but still, I feel the old satisfaction when she yanks the rope tight.
Grace stares at me. “I can’t believe she let you do that.”
I give her a polite nod. “I know how to handle pesky girls. A little finesse, and a little rope.”
She rolls her eyes. “You need to hold on to Bonnie. She hates big trucks.”
“I got her. I can wait. She’s still pulling pretty good.”
Grace frowns. “I need to move your truck. You’re blocking the delivery guy.”
I make a face, like she just snatched away my favorite toy. “My truck? My baby?”
“You got a problem with that?”
It’s wrong that the sassy challenge in her voice hits me along the length of my cock, right? I should not imagine my hand coming down on her ass or pinning her to the bed while I do a thousand dirty things to her. For some reason, this girl hates me. This is novel. I’m used to fighting them off, not trying to charm them.
“No, you can drive Big Bertha.”
“Big Bertha.” She snorts. “You just made that up.”
Actually, I did just make that up. The filly hops around a few more times, like she’s going to escape my lasso. That’s not happening. I keep my gaze fixed on Grace while I reel in the length of rope. The filly fights me every step, snorting just like Grace, only not as cute, obviously.
“Do you know how to drive a stick?”
She stiffens. Her eyes dart to the road behind me. The truck is getting close. The hydraulics blast as it stops at the cattle guard.
Gracie waves them on. “It’s fine.” The truck driver nods and eases over the cattle guard.
“I’ve driven a tractor.” She licks her lips.
I watch the way her tongue slides over her lips. She better quit that right now. My blood is moving through my veins like molten fire. I can’t believe how much I want a little taste of that full and sassy mouth. I’d like to feel her soften beneath my kiss. To submit to my touch.
I tug the lasso to draw the yearling to my side.
“If you think you can handle it.” The filly steps close and I loop my arm over her neck. She might be full of piss and vinegar, but when I get a hold of her, she’s as docile as a kitten. “Move my truck. Let the delivery guy pass and I’ll bring this little troublemaker back to dust town. Keys are in the ignition.”
She narrows her eyes and storms off.
I tug my hat down to avoid the sun’s glare and take in the view. Grace is a sight. It’s been ten years since I spent my days stringing barbed wire or setting fence posts. For the last decade, I’ve been living the very sweet life of a rodeo king. I set out on that journey right around the time when this little girl was in elementary school, I’ll bet. She’s too young for me, but that won’t stop me from messing with her, just a little, or admiring her.
I’m not the only one checking her out. The delivery boys are gawking too.
“Fuck that shit,” I mutter under my breath.
The filly nuzzles me and plays with the edge of my jacket.
Grace climbs into my truck, stepping on the running board first, because she’s so short. My eyes move to the delivery guys and sure enough, they’re watching her get into the cab. Bastards. Grace starts the dually and almost immediately grinds the gears.
“That’s a new truck,” I tell the filly. “Your mama doesn’t know shit about how to handle a stick.”
Grace lowers the window. “Sorry!”
I shrug.
She pulls the truck forward to the edge of the barnyard. The delivery truck rolls up to a shed beside the corral. The men get out.
“Ready to go, sweetheart?” I say to the filly. “They turned off the big scary truck.”
I tug on the rope and she follows me to the corral. I let her go. The gate is going to need some work so my escape artist can’t make a run for it. For now, I secure the gate with my lasso.
Standing by the truck, Grace is arguing with the lead delivery guy. “I’m not signing this. They told me they’d waive the delivery fee.”
The delivery guy crosses his arms over his barrel chest. His nametag says Billy. “Guess I’m not unloading then.”
“Call your manager. I talked to Harold first thing this morning.”
“Harold got shit-canned.”
I like this guy’s tone, or his cussing. “Hey, buddy,” I say. “Watch your mouth.”
Billy turns his attention to me, but his sneer fades. He squints. “Aren’t you Ben Calhoun?”
“I am.”
The other delivery guy, leaning against the truck, straightens and stares too. Grace heaves a sigh. My status as a rodeo star means nothing to her.
“This is your place?” Billy asks.
“It’s my place.” Grace glares at the men.
“I didn’t know you lived in San Felipe.” Billy’s all smiles now and offers a meaty hand.
“He doesn’t live here,” Grace insists. “I hired him to build my fences.”
Both delivery men laugh heartily at this.
“What can you do for Miss Hopkins about that delivery charge?” I ask.
Billy scratches his jaw and frowns at his clipboard. “I’ve never had anyone ask me that.”
He glances back and forth between me and the paper in his hand. I narrow my eyes to make it clear I expect him to take off that extra charge. The four of us stand there, waiting for the gears behind Billy’s mouth to engage with the better part of his brain. Grace glances at me, but I just shake my head. It’s best to wait out a deal, and give the other guy a chance to come around. I pause, expecting Billy so say something conciliatory.
But it’s the other guy who breaks the silence when he looks away and mutters. “Aw shit, that ain’t good.”
I follow his gaze to the source of his alarm. My truck, parked at the edge of the barnyard, inches along the driveway. It takes me a fraction of a second to understand. Grace might know how to drive a stick, but she left my truck in neutral. On the side of a hill.
I shake my head and sigh. That’s too bad.
She lets out a soft whimper and claps her hand over her mouth.
My brand-new truck picks up speed on the downward slant, heading straight toward a small clapboard house at the bottom of the hill.
“Oh, that’s bad,” Grace murmurs. “So, so… bad.”
I could try to chase it, but there’s no way I could catch the runaway vehicle. By the time it reaches the bottom of the hill, it’s going about thirty miles an hour, and in the next instant crashes through the middle of the house. The building explodes. The truck vanishes amidst a shower of splinters and shattered glass.
The noise makes the yearlings squeal. I’m vaguely aware of them cantering to the far side of the corral. I can hear one of them snorting with alarm.
A moment ago, there’d been a small, freshly painted house at the bottom of the gravel driveway, pretty as a picture. Now it looks like news footage from a tornado or some other natural disaster.
The breeze blows. Dust from the corral wafts into the air. A curtain flutters through a broken window. The front door falls, crashing on what’s left of the wraparound porch. When the roof lurches to one side, a ceiling fan spins lazily.
Grace turns to me, her eyes wide with horror. The blood has drained from her face. She looks like she’s a few seconds from seriously losing her shit. And I’m a bastard, because instead of saying something helpful, I grab my chance to give her a bad time.
“Did I mention that was a new truck, Gracie?”
A tiny sound escapes her lips. It sounds like something a sad kitten would make.
A crash comes from the house. The chimney has fallen and lies on the ground, the bricks heaped next to what looks like the contents of a bookshelf.
“You know what?” Billy scratches a
note on the bill. “I reckon I’ll go ahead and waive that delivery fee.”
Chapter Three
Grace
The afternoon has gone from pretty effing bad to worse. The truck has been towed away. I don’t know much about bodywork, but I guess when they said they’d have to make a second trip to pick up the engine, the truck is totaled. The house looks like it got hit by an F5 tornado. I wanted to go look through the wreckage, but Ben won’t let me.
Won’t. Let. Me.
Those were his words. Now he’s sitting on my porch, sprawled on a chair, talking to the dealership in Abilene. He’s ordering a whole new truck. Just like that. His luggage, two suitcases, sit in the hallway. He managed to get them out of the wreckage and, without asking permission, plunked them down in the hallway. He acts like he’s staying. I’d like to know for how long, but I haven’t built up the nerve. I’m not sure how to kick him out after I wrecked his vehicle.
For the last hour, I’ve been on the phone with my insurance company.
“I’m afraid your homeowner policy won’t cover that, Miss Hopkins.”
A small whimper threads the length of my throat. “Holy shit.”
“I didn’t catch that, hon.”
“Is there some way to appeal, or something?”
“I can pass this on to my supervisor, but the review process takes four to six weeks.”
“Okay. I mean… let’s do that.”
“Is there anything else I can do for you today?”
Her chirpy voice grates on my frayed nerves, but I’m too stunned to say much. “No, thank you.”
“We have a small survey for our customers. Would you like to participate?”
“A survey?”
“Yes, a customer satisfaction survey. It only takes ten minutes.”
Normally, I’d have some smart-ass reply, but not today. “I don’t think so.”
“All right, Miss Hopkins. From our family here at Morris-Rigley Insurance to your family in…Texas, we thank you for your business.”
I end the call just as a text message comes in. It’s Vivian, telling me she and Jeffrey are driving up for the weekend. She’d wanted to surprise me but decided that might be a bad idea. She wants to meet with a realtor just to talk. The message ends with LOLs and xoxox.
