by Em Petrova
Arms too tired to go on, she leaned on her own pitchfork and listened. After a minute or two, he looked up at her over the stall. A deep crease between his brows told her he didn’t approve of her taking a break.
“You’re a slave driver, you know,” she said.
His hum cut off abruptly. “That so?”
“Yes. I’m hungry and tired.”
“Lots more to do before dark.”
“I’ll work till dark tomorrow.”
He leaned his pitchfork against the stall and eyed her. A quiver took up residence in her stomach as he rounded the stall and came to hers. “All right then. Come up to the house for a bite.”
Her gaze flicked over his muscled body. A bite of what? She could go for a bite of man flesh.
Lordy, her brain must be deprived of nutrients to think that way. She’d never thrown herself at a man let alone entertained such dirty thoughts of him.
All. Day. Long.
When he’d bent over, she found herself staring at the hard planes of his backside. Each time he tugged off his gloves, the manly action had captured her attention and sent her mind shooting to what all the love scenes on the set of Redemption Falls were lacking.
She followed him to the house, feeling the exhaustion weighing her down with each step. When she reached the porch, she said, “I don’t know if I can go much farther. I’ll just collapse in this chair.”
He gave her a long look that made her think of the one time she’d heard him laugh. The sound had shocked her from such a tough guy. It had also sent her libido spinning out of control.
Pushing open the door, he said, “Suit yourself. But I’m going inside.”
Somehow, she managed to heave herself over the threshold and inside the cabin. The entryway was a mess of mud and dusty boots. Some horse tack—she knew that much about horses at least—hung on a hook on the wall beside a heavy canvas jacket.
“Don’t bother with your boots,” he said, stepping into a living space.
Looking around, she was shocked by the homey touches. At the same time, a hollow opened up inside her.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
He looked at her. “No. Why do you ask?”
She waved a hand at plaid pillows on the sofa and family photos on the walls. “I just thought a woman must live here.”
“Ah. You don’t think a man can decorate?” He threw a glance over his shoulder as he walked through the living room.
She followed, taking in the lived-in, cozy atmosphere that made her home in Hollywood look cold. And her trailer on set look far from home.
“I didn’t mean to insult you,” she said, coming to a stop behind him as the living room spilled into the kitchen where they’d shared toast.
Oak cabinets and butcherblock countertops lent themselves to the rough-hewn décor. On the range was a pot that still had some dried-on food. Now that was more like what she’d expected from a bachelor and man who came in at dark every day of his life.
He tossed her a smile, and she came to a dead stop. Damn. She got the feeling his smiles were pretty rare. But when King smiled, she bet the whole world stopped moving for a moment just to look.
He opened the fridge and peered inside. “Got water, sweet tea and beer.”
“Water please.”
He eyed her as he passed her a bottle. “Shoulda guessed.”
She uncapped it and sucked down half the bottle in one long gulp. “Why’s that?” she asked.
“Actors are always on a diet.”
“Or we just want to be healthy.”
As if to show he was the polar opposite of her, he took out a beer and twisted the cap off. Watching his throat work with each swallow shouldn’t excite her so much.
But it did.
They stood in silence, drinking. Finally, he lowered his beer and said, “Now what to feed you.”
“You make me sound like I require gourmet foods all the time.”
“Oh, gourmet I can handle.” He turned and opened the freezer door to show neatly stacked frozen meals. He pulled out a handful and pointed out the word gourmet on the package.
She giggled. “Fine. I’ll have the chicken marsala.”
“Good choice.” He pulled back the lid and popped it in the microwave, which she guessed by the state of his freezer got the most use.
“Want another drink?”
“Sure,” she said.
He got her one and pulled out another for himself.
“You must be watching your waistline too,” she said.
There it was—a quirk of his lips that had her body plugged into some invisible electric outlet again.
“Hard work keeps it off easy enough.”
“I’m sorry I kept you from completing your chores today.”
He scuffed a boot on the tile floor. “Pretty sure it’s going to happen a lot in the next few weeks. Between film crews being in my way and you.”
Her spirits fell. She had looked forward to coming here and getting some hints on how to make her performance better. But now she realized she was just a pain in his very hard, hunky backside.
To cover her disappointment, she crossed the room to a shelf where several photographs in matching barnwood frames sat. “Who’s this?” She pointed to a faded color photo of a woman seated atop a tractor.
“My mother.” He drifted to her side to look at it.
“She looks tough.”
“She was. Toughest ranch wife you ever would meet. People in these parts joked that it was really her ranch and not my father’s. It was true, she made a lot of the decisions.”
Bellarose smiled and ran a fingertip over the frame. “You don’t look like her.”
“No, I resemble my father.”
“And this. Is it her when she was younger?” She looked to the second frame.
“That’s my sister Rachel.”
In the photo, the young girl was on horseback.
“Does she live around here?” she asked, unsure why she was prying into his life. Maybe to cover the fact that he was standing so close and she was getting turned on just by the feel of his body heat washing over her side.
“Twenty minutes up the road.”
The microwave beeped and he went to take out the small plastic tray. He got her a fork and just then there was a rap on the door.
“Guess your ride’s here. You’re saved from eating this disgusting microwave meal.”
She laughed and pulled the hat from her head, which she’d forgotten she was still wearing. She set it on the table and gave him a direct look. That crease was between his brows again, cutting deep and making him look stern.
But what she was learning of King was he had some soft spots too. The way he spoke of his family photographs was testimony.
Another knock came and he pushed past her to answer the door. A driver stood there. Usually he waited in the car, but when she hadn’t come out right away, he’d come to the house to find her.
“I’m here to pick up Bellarose Abbott.”
King eyed the guy until he shifted from foot to foot on the doorstep. “What’s your name?”
“Uh, Rob, sir.”
“You know how to drive in Washington, Rob?”
Bellarose focused on King’s face. Was he being serious? He sounded like a concerned father drilling her date.
The young man nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ve been her driver for days now.”
“It’s getting dark. Watch out for animals on the road.”
It was time to break up this awkward moment. “All right. Thank you, King. I will see you tomorrow, I think.”
“That’s the plan.” He didn’t look at her but at the driver. The guy wasn’t much younger than she was but definitely wasn’t holding up well beneath the harsh stare of the rancher.
“All right, goodbye then.” She hurried out and the driver practically leaped the steps to get away.
“It’s Saturday. Be here at sunup,” King called out.
Good God. Sunup? She�
�d be lucky to work the kinks out of her muscles before she was working hard another day and put more in.
She waved and got into the car. In the side mirror, she saw that King didn’t shut his front door until she was halfway down the drive.
* * * * *
King was dragging ass today. Up well before dawn to catch up on the chores that had been piling up while working with Miss Abbott. Bellarose. He wasn’t sure what to call her so he hadn’t called her anything.
In his mind, though, she was Bellarose. Not Bella, like the vampire-loving girl. Whatever that meant. He’d have to ask his sister.
With two hot microwave breakfast biscuits in his stomach, he had the energy to get through the morning at least. If only he’d gotten enough rest. Last night he’d tossed and turned instead of passing out per usual. Then after sleeping only a few hours, he’d woken, thinking he heard someone call out to him.
A female voice that sounded suspiciously like Bellarose’s whispery, throaty tone.
Figuring he’d dreamed it didn’t ease his mind, though. Far from it. The last thing he needed was to start dreaming about the woman. It was bad enough he’d been sporting a boner all damn day.
Besides being stunning and hard to look away from, he’d found her a hard worker. Sure, she’d had some impatient moments but that came with ranch work. And she’d surprised him by pushing past her limits and thinking outside the box.
His cell buzzed with a text and he took a moment to pull it out. Dickson. We need to get a move on, get her ready to ride. Set crew will be up for preliminary checks today.
“Fantastic,” King muttered.
He didn’t bother to reply, just pocketed the phone and went into the barn. Early summers in Washington were still cool, and he stood the collar of his coat up around his neck to keep the chill off.
The horses whickered at his presence, and one smacked his rump against the stall.
“I’m comin’, Buffalo.” His niece had named the steed, saying it looked like a buffalo, and he couldn’t argue much. The horse was fifteen hands tall with a thick neck and the color of a buffalo.
He fiddled with the tack, untangling two halters. When he gave a gentle tug, one broke.
He tossed it onto a crude shelf for later attention and grabbed another. Then he went to Buffalo’s stall first and greeted the horse.
The animal nudged at his coat. “If you’re lookin’ for an apple, I don’t have any. You’ll have to settle for this.” He pulled out a carrot and the horse's teeth clamped on it before he had the vegetable held under his nose.
King gave him a pat on the neck as he chewed. With the horse more amenable, he was able to tack him up for riding and lead him from the barn.
After tying the horse to the fence post, he went in to retrieve a second horse, a mare that was much smaller and calmer than Buffalo. If Dickson wanted Bellarose on horseback, then he’d do his job. After all, he had to earn the sum he was being paid.
The breeze turned more brisk with a sharp tang to it. A front coming in, cold and rainy most likely. He hoped Bellarose dressed for the weather. And brought her own hat.
Maybe tied her hair back off her face.
Though he liked the way the red strands danced around her jawline in the breeze.
He had to quit thinking of her this way. She was his charge and nothing more. Besides, she was out of his reach.
And not his type.
At least not when it came to her ambitions. She wanted to learn ranch life in order to nail a role. If he ever found himself a woman, she’d want this life because she adored it, just like him.
He tied the mare up too and stood against the fence a minute watching the pair. The mare nosed Buffalo’s neck. He gave her a playful shake of his head in return.
Flirtin’.
Though Buffalo had long ago been gelded to calm him down and make him a good work horse, he was obviously a ladies’ man. He loved all the mares King had brought in over the past few years.
The pair stood side by side to crop grass. King walked away. The sun hadn’t yet stretched upward into the sky but the purple light gave him enough to see by. He hopped in his truck and backed it up to the mixer. He was halfway through the chore of mixing the feed when the sound of an engine met his ears.
He raised his head. Dammit, what was his heart doing, beating away so fast all of a sudden?
If she was more of a pain in the ass, it would help him quit thinking of her. No man wanted to bed a stuck-up know-it-all.
Even if she was a beautiful stuck-up know-it-all.
He tossed in the barrel of grain and then walked around the house to meet Bellarose. She was just climbing from the same car she’d left in the previous evening. He tried to see the driver but couldn’t behind the glare on the windshield. He still didn’t know why he’d goaded the driver, other than he’d sensed a real need to protect Bellarose.
Which was ridiculous. She wasn’t his.
She closed the door and looked around. King started toward her.
“Hello, King,” she said in her smooth-as-whiskey voice. “Am I early enough?”
“I’ve been at it a while, but you’re fine.” He shot another look at the driver. “Why doesn’t he open your door for you?”
Her features pinched into a confused look. “Why are you asking?”
“I figured all celebrities get their doors opened for them everywhere they go.”
“Oh. Well, not this celebrity. I asked Rob not to get out, that I’d get my own door.”
They eyed each other. King was five degrees too warm, and if he wasn’t in the company of a sexy-as-sin woman he was far too attracted to, he’d think he had a fever.
He twitched his head. “C’mon. I’m mixin’ feed.”
She followed him, keeping up with long strides. Today she wore a ski-type jacket that probably cost as much as his entire wardrobe. Her hat was brand-spankin’ new, a deep brown that brought out the color of her eyes and complemented her hair.
Hell, when did he become the authority on women’s fashion?
He waved at the mixer. “You know what to do.”
She let out a sigh. “I’m a bit sore today.”
He grunted, trying not to think of all the other sore spots he’d like to give her. “Figured you’d be fit, with all those trainers you must have.”
She chuckled. “Yes, but Pilates class doesn’t really prepare you for shoveling.”
She picked up the shovel and began to work. He tossed in the hay between her scoops of the corn. The work went quicker and soon they had the feed loaded in the truck.
“Get in,” he said.
“You’re not even going to offer to open my door for me?” A teasing glint hit her eyes.
His lips twitched. “No.”
He got behind the wheel and she sat in the passenger’s seat. It’d been a hell of a long time since he’d had a female in his truck besides his sister or niece. As they bounced across the field, he tried not to notice her thighs clad in tight denim. When they reached the gate, he said, “Go on and open that gate. Push it back far enough for me to drive through.”
Without complaint, she did. When she walked up to the steel gate, he noted how she walked a little more stiffly than the days before. He smiled. Work was catching up to her.
He drove through and she closed the gate behind him. He rolled down the window to call out that she needed to shut it tight. In his side mirror, he watched her.
At the sound of the truck, the herd started his way, associating the noise of the engine with them getting full bellies.
The feeder was awkward to maneuver but he had a system to slide it down a ramp made of two boards and to the ground.
“Get back in the truck,” he said to her. “You don’t want to have the cattle to close in around you.”
She darted a look at the beasts lumbering quickly their way and hopped in the truck again. He let out a shrill whistle to alert any cattle that hadn’t heard the engine to come ’n get it. Then he heft
ed the empty feeder from the day before into the back of the truck again.
Inside, he found Bellarose had turned on the heater.
“Too cold for ya?” he asked, bumping back to the gate.
“A little. I’m a California girl, remember.”
“I’ll get the gate then.” He started to get out and had an idea. “You drive.”
“Me?”
“Have you ever driven a truck?”
“No, but it can’t be much different from driving a car.”
He didn’t ask when the last time she’d done that might have been. He had a feeling she was shuttled everywhere.
As he moved to get the gate, she circled the truck and got behind the wheel. She wouldn’t be as long-legged as he was but seemed to manage well enough as she rolled past him. He shut the gate and got into the passenger seat.
She was scooted all the way to the edge of the seat to reach the pedals.
“You can adjust the controls on the side. Make yourself comfortable.”
She shot him a look of surprise, and damn if he didn’t notice the dark fringe of her lashes when her eyes opened wide. “Am I driving back to the house?”
He gave a nod. “Now take it easy. It’s bumpy. I’ll tell you what parts of the field to avoid. Don’t want to get bogged down.” Then again, wouldn’t that be a good learning moment?
Still, he didn’t feel like winching a truck out of the mud today so he guided her in all the driest spots.
When she rolled up behind the barn again, she let out a laugh. So musical, so feminine that his gut clenched in need.
“I did it.”
“You did.”
Her smile was 1000 kilowatts as she beamed at him.
“Got another task for ya,” he said, thinking of the halter.
“I’m ready.”
He took her into the barn and pointed at the broken leather. “Take it apart and use some of those other parts hanging on the nail there to make one whole one.”
“Okay,” she said slowly, staring at the leather bits. “How do I take them apart?”
“Tools are there.” He pointed to a box on the shelf.
Without more instruction, he went out to tend to more of his chores. Every so often, he’d pass the barn and catch her muttering to herself. Once she cried out and he heard a clatter like a tool dropped.
