by Rye Hart
Stone called it my ‘get ‘im smile.’ It showed people who was in charge. I leaned in real close to her ear. I felt her turn her head slightly, so her eyes never left my face.
“You work for me now,” I said. “And when I’m not on tour, I’m a rancher.”
I stood back up as her eyes followed me, big and bright as I turned on my heels. I could feel her eyes on my back as I opened the door, walking back into the house.
Then I turned my lips over my shoulder as I grabbed the flask from my pocket.
“You might wanna hurry up. We’re burnin’ daylight.”
CHAPTER 6
Delia
“Pompous ass.”
I watched as he turned back around and made his way to the house. I rushed to catch up with him, pissed at the game he was playing. I’d dealt with enough manipulative men during my short career as a personal assistant to recognize what he was doing. He was trying to establish his dominance over me in order to prove a point. He didn’t want anyone changing him, and he thrived on people following him around, obeying his every order while making sure they understood he was not to be controlled.
Soon, I found Drake thrusting a massive shovel into my hand.
“Get in there and dig it out,” he said.
I looked at the horse stall and sighed at the sheer amount of shit in it. Surely this wasn’t what Hank had in mind. I was a P.A., not a ranch hand. But I refused to show any sort of weakness, so I stepped into the stall and began shoveling the horse shit, tossing it out into the main hallway of the barn since I’d been given nothing to put it in. It wasn’t that I didn’t know how to do the work. I was very familiar with it, despite how people thought I was raised. But I was supposed to be handling this man’s addiction and his fucking schedule.Not doing his fucking job. However, if I wanted him to know he couldn’t scare me off, this was the game I needed to play. For now.
“I need a horse.”
I saw a man running into the stall, huffing, and puffing as Drake turned his head.
“What’s up, Paul?”
“One of the calves got loose,” Paul said.
“Fuck. Seriously? Did you not drink your coffee this morning?” Drake asked.
I looked out the window to the pasture and saw the calf stumbling toward the broken fence line near the woods. By the time those two idiots were done arguing over what had happened, that calf was gonna kill itself wandering over to the woods, where animals of prey were typically lying in wait. I dropped my shit scooper and took off, my boots carrying me as fast as I could across the field as I tried to get to the calf that was wandering to its death.
I kept my breathing under control as I ran after the animal. The stumbling thing didn’t look to be any older than a few weeks, far away from the comfort of its mother. How the hell it got out of the grasp of someone like Paul was beyond me.
I huffed and puffed, wrangling the calf in and getting it moving back in the right direction. This was not what I signed up for. This was not what I was being paid to do. I turned toward the barn and set off, moving toward the herd of cows as the men stood at the horse barn. Their arms were crossed across their chests, and I could see the sly grins on their faces.
Holy fuck. I’d been set up.
I watched the calf rejoin with the herd as I shook my head. This was not going to happen much longer. So long as I was around, things were going to go differently.
At least, that was what I told myself as I handed Drake and Paul tools half an hour later.
“Ever been around a tractor?” Paul asked.
I stayed silent, leaning against the toolbox as I stared off into the horizon.
“Earth to city girl, hello?” Paul asked.
“Yes. I’ve been around a tractor,” I said.
“Did ya think it was sexy?” Drake asked.
“Shitty song reference, but thanks for trying,” I said.
“That hurt. That song’s a classic,” Paul said. “Could you hand me a bigger wrench? This ain’t doin’ it.”
I took the wrench Paul was holding up to me as I traded it for one a few sizes up.
“You looked good wranglin’ that calf,” Paul said. “Took off pretty quick.”
“Because you were too busy whining about needing a horse while that poor thing wandered toward wildcat territory,” I said.
“Man, she’s a spitfire, ain’t she?” Paul asked.
“Told you,” Drake said. “Pass me the pliers, would ya?”
I grabbed the pliers and tossed them at Drake, watching as he caught them expertly in the palm of his hand.
Pity. I was hoping they’d smack him right in his smug face.
The entire day went like that. I didn’t get one solid break to call Hank at all, and something told me Drake had planned the day that way. I was really going to hate this fucking job. If Drake wasn’t bossing me around like some fucking ranch hand on his farm, he was drinking from the flask he thought he was hiding. I saw him tip it back at least twice before he went back up to the house unannounced.
If I had to venture a guess, I would say he had been filling the damn thing back up.
That was probably how he had worked all day without stopping to eat. He drank water and booze like a fucking camel, but shit like that suppressed the appetite. And depending on the concentration of the alcohol he was consuming, that was probably how he stayed so fit. Farm life like this, plus not eating the calories he needed to keep up with the energy he exerted, resulted in the sinewy body plastered on the few magazine covers he had done over the course of his career. Though nothing could hide the bags under his eyes.
I guess dehydrated alcoholic was the new sexy.
As the sun started to set, my shirt was plastered to me. I was soaked to the bone with sweat as I stumbled to my truck. I flung the door open and dug through my truck, finding a box of granola bars I’d tossed in there. I unwrapped three of them and scarfed them down, trying to get my stomach to stop growling long enough for me to wrap my head around things. I found a bottle of lukewarm water tumbling around in the back, so I grabbed it and twisted the top off.
I threw it back, chugging it down as sweat dripped down my neck.
I was exhausted. My feet hurt, my back hurt, and my stomach was still growling. My head was dizzy from the lack of food, and my throat was still burning for more water. I leaned against my truck, polishing off the water bottle as I heard footsteps approaching me.
I didn’t have to look over to know who it was.
I tossed the empty bottle into the bed of the truck and turned my eyes toward Drake. I wiped the sweat off my brow as the sun continued to sink below the trees. Night time was coming, blanketing the whole of Nashville in a cool evening breeze. At any other time, I would’ve tilted my head toward the sky and counted the stars starting to pop up overheard. I would’ve tried to find my favorite constellations and recall the stories my father used to tell me about them.
I shook my head, shoving the painful memories to the back of my mind.
Drake crouched down beside me, knocking his knuckles up against the tires of my truck. He looked up at me, an impressed little grin on his face. I wanted to stick my muddy boot right in his ass.
The breeze was blowing, making me cold as fuck, and his grin morphed from impressed to devious as I bit the inside of my cheek.
I wasn’t a violent person, but I considered it with him.
“Well you weren’t totally useless today,” he said, as he stood up.
His gaze fell over my chest for the briefest of moments.
“Do you make a habit of that?” I asked.
“Of what?”
“Staring at women’s tits?” I asked.
“They’re pretty obvious right now.”
“So is the limp in your left leg, but you don’t see me staring at you when you walk.”
I saw a wall come down in front of his face. His eyes whipped up toward mine, and his smile turned from playful to dark. His eyes clouded with a fury that seemed un
characteristically like him.
And yet, it didn’t.
I’d hit a sore spot, and I was glad. If he thought I wasn’t watching him, then he had another thing coming. If he didn’t think I saw his faults, he was wrong. He wasn’t some swoon-worthy country gentleman that any woman would be proud to settle down with.
He was a miserable, cynical drunk.
“Same time tomorrow,” Drake said, as he turned and left.
I watched him walk into his house, the screen door slamming behind him. The sun had fallen, and my legs were still weak. I needed a meal, a shower, and two gallons of water poured down my throat. I got inside my truck, slamming the door shut as I dug for my keys. I pulled my seat mirror down and took a look at myself, my face flushed with effort and my neck tanned from the sun.
“It’s good money, Delia. It’s very fucking good money. It’ll set you up. It’ll pay off your degree. It’ll give you the perfect reference for any job you want.”
Drawing in a deep breath, I flipped the mirror up and jammed my keys into the ignition.
I didn’t want to come back tomorrow. I wasn’t going to lie to myself. He was a miserable man who was determined to walk all over me just to prove a point. Whether it was control at this point or whether he was just pissed at my existence, I hadn’t quite figured out yet. But if I did the job I came here to do correctly, it would get me into whatever facility I wanted to work in until I’d established enough experience to open my own practice.
It was only a bit of hard work. one more semester’s worth of pushing through to get to where I was going. I’d done it all my life. This was no different. Dealing with this asshole was no different than dealing with any other asshole that had stood in my way.
If he wasn’t going to recognize my authority, then I had another trick up my sleeve.
I could stand toe-to-toe with his antics, if only to show him that however far he could dig his boots in, I could dig mine farther.
This wasn’t my first rodeo.
Chapter 7
Drake
“What?” I asked with a groan.
“You’ve got a performance today. Get up and get going,” Hank said.
“I don’t have anything like that on my calendar,” I said. “The fuck gives?”
“Shouldn’t you be up anyway? You know, doing ranch stuff? It’s an impromptu concert you’ve been invited to.”
“I don’t do those.”
“It’s an open-air thing, and you do it now.”
“I’m goin’ the fuck back to bed.”
“It’s for a good charity,” he said.
“Then just write them a check,” I said.
“It’s an acoustic set. Real mellow stuff.”
“I don’t do mellow.”
“Will you do it for Autism Speaks?”
Raking my hand across my face, I slung my legs over the edge of the bed. I had a soft spot for that charity, for the awareness they put out and the educational materials they had for people. My sister was the light of my life, but I’d watched my parents struggle most of their final years trying to understand how my sister worked. Elsie could operate in public for the most part. She held down her own part-time job and everything. But she had her moments, and they were rough.
Nonetheless, that girl was everything to me. And anything I could do for people who spread awareness about autism, I was more than willing to do.
“Why the fuck didn’t you lead off with that, Hank?”
“Should I have to?” he asked.
“When you’re calling at five in the morning, yes.”
“I’ll remember that for next time,” Hank said.
“There better not be a next time. When’s the concert?”
“It’s a morning thing. You go on stage at eight fifteen. I can’t get your P.A. on the phone. Fill her in when she gets to you if she hasn’t already quit yet. I’m sending the address to your phone and hers.”
Sighing, I hung up the phone, waiting for the message to come through.
I dragged myself to the bathroom and cleaned myself up. I showered, shaved, and put on the nicest boots and bucket hat I owned. If I was going to make an appearance at something like this, then I wanted to make it a good one. The understanding I had of my sister and her condition was a direct result of charities like Autism Speaks.
I walked downstairs and headed for the door just as I heard the sound.
Delia’s truck drove up the driveway, and I shook my head. Fuck, the woman was persistent. I had thrown her one of the tougher days on the farm, so she’d go running to the hills and quit like I wanted her to. But it didn’t work. She was driving up my driveway in that rust bucket she owned, ready for another day’s work.
Even after mucking out horse stalls.
Sleeping had been hard last night. Seeing her sweat drenched face chugging that water as it dripped down her neck, falling onto those sweat-soaked tits with nipples that were poking against her bra. Her white shirt clung to her as she tipped that bottle back, chugging it without taking even one breath. It had set my groin pumping for her. That's the last thing I needed too.
And that angry look in her eye. Shit. That was the icing on the cake. It was a good thing she didn’t have any romantic interest in me. Otherwise, we’d be in deep shit.
Today was her lucky day. Even though she was dressed for another day on the ranch, we had to leave for my performance. I went into the kitchen and drew out my flask, tipping it back and draining it so I could fill it up again. I didn’t have enough time for coffee, but this would warm me up just fine.
I screwed the cap on tight, took another swig from the bottle, and headed for my truck.
“We’re leaving,” I said, as I stepped back inside and grabbed my guitar.
“What? Where are we headed?” Delia asked as she rushed up to me.
“Pick up your phone, and you’d know,” I said.
“That still doesn’t answer my question,” she said.
“We’re heading to an impromptu concert. I’m due on stage at eight fifteen.”
“Is the band meeting you there?”
“No, just me and my guitar this morning. Come on, we’re taking my truck.”
I walked over to my blacked-out truck, a present to myself after my second hit single.
I pulled open my truck door and tossed my guitar in, but I noticed Delia wasn’t getting in. She was standing against her truck, her arms crossed as she studied me closely. I didn’t have time for this shit. We had to get going.
“You coming? Or is this you quitting?” I asked.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Just answer me one question.”
She walked over to me, her hips swaying as her tits jostled with her movements.
“Have you been drinking already this morning?” Delia asked.
Her eyes were holding mine as her hands rested on her hips. She was eyeing me up and down. Sizing me the fuck up at seven in the damn morning. I sighed as I closed my eyes, knowing it did me no good to lie to this woman.
I nodded, hearing her let out a deep sigh.
“I’m driving,” Delia said.
“I’m fine.”
“I’m driving.”
“I’m not even drunk.”
“I’m driving. Now get in,” she said. “You'd think you, of all people, would know better than to get behind the wheel when you've been drinking.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“You know what I mean,” she said. “Now get in the fucking car. I'm driving.”
She had a fucking point, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. I wasn’t drunk, but I still had a drink that morning.
I watched her open her truck door and hop in, sitting there as she waited for me to join her .I ripped my guitar from my truck and slammed the door, gritting my teeth in the process.
I slid into her truck, my guitar sitting between my legs as we pulled out.
“I got the address of the place,” I said.
“You told Hank I’d been drinking, didn’t you?” I asked.
“Yep,” she said.
