by Ali Parker
I started with the high-priority duties around the ranch like feeding the animals and getting them fresh water. From there, I brushed down the horses, checked their hooves, put their masks on to protect their eyes from the flies, and sent them out into the small field behind the barn for them to enjoy the morning sun as it broke over the treeline toward the east.
It was six in the morning when I started mucking out the stables, and Boone and Dodge rolled into the barn to start their shifts.
“Hey, boss,” Boone said, grabbing a shovel and sliding into the stable beside the one I was working in to shovel horse shit into a wheel barrel.
“Morning,” I said, pausing to wipe beads of sweat from my brow with the back of my hand.
Dodge took the last stable. “How was your romantic evening last night? I tried to mind my own business, but I saw the table you set. So cute. Didn’t know you had it in you.”
I rested my hands on the end of my shovel. “It went well.”
Boone’s brow furrowed. “That’s all we get? It went well?”
I chuckled and went back to shoveling. “It’s private.”
“Is it?” Dodge asked skeptically.
“Get your own dates if you’re so curious,” I said.
Boone laughed. “Have you seen the dating pool around these parts, boss? It’s depressing to say the least.”
Dodge nodded his agreement. “What he said.”
I rolled my eyes as I finished mucking out Duke’s stable. “All right. Fine. We talked about her family and growing up in New York City. But that’s her personal business, and I’m not spreading it around. Got it?”
“Got it,” they said in unison.
“Good,” I said, stepping out of the stable and closing the wooden gate behind me.
They exchanged a look, and then Dodge said, “We like her.”
“Yeah, boss,” Boone said. “She’s pretty cool. And definitely not what we expected.”
“What did you expect?” I asked.
Dodge shrugged. “I dunno. Someone a little prissier. Someone with fake nails and an ankle bracelet.”
I chuckled. “Wow. You two gave this a lot of thought, huh?”
Boone finished his stable and joined me as we put our shovels back. “We were just talking about what sorts of qualities we expected a woman to have in this particular scenario.”
I couldn’t fault them for that. Piper was definitely a standout amongst the other women who had been contending for her position. Hell, she was their opposite in almost every way. Fair skin. Brown eyes. Bold features. Casual dresser.
Her competition had been more aligned with what Boone and Dodge were probably expecting. Fake tans and nails and boobs and eyelashes and personalities.
I was grateful the other men had seen Piper for the gem she was and elected her over the other women.
“Just be careful, boss,” Dodge said as he finished his stable.
I arched an eyebrow.
Dodge put his shovel beside ours against the wall. “There are other guys in this thing against you. And even though Boone and I think you’re a catch, it’s easy to get caught up in these things and let your heart get away from you. Just don’t get too ahead of yourself.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Did you just say ‘let your heart get away from you’?”
Dodge shrugged. “Yeah. So?”
I laughed. “You’re a poet, Dodge. A real wordsmith. Don’t worry about me. I will make sure my heart stays right here.” I patted my chest before walking around him and clapping him on the shoulder. “You two see to the cattle. I’m going to walk the perimeter and make sure the fence line doesn’t need any maintenance.”
Dodge grumbled.
Boone chuckled. “Sounds good, boss. If Piper comes looking for you, we’ll send her your way.”
“Appreciated,” I said, waving over my shoulder as I stepped out of the barn and into the morning sun to set a course down the drive to the gate, where I started walking my route along the property line.
* * *
The sun had crept higher in the sky when Piper found me out in the east field checking fence posts. She crossed the field, the grass reaching halfway up her shins, and shielded her eyes from the sun when she reached me.
“Do you need help?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Nope. Just about finished. Besides, I got an early start so I could take you somewhere this afternoon.”
“Oh?”
I wiped my hands on the kerchief in my back pocket. “We can walk there now if you’re ready.”
She looked down at her outfit. The jeans she had on were tight and hugged her curves wonderfully, as did the white V-neck she had on. Her white sneakers were a little dusty. I was going to have to get her a pair of boots so she didn’t ruin those shoes. They wouldn’t cut it for a whole month on a ranch.
“Should I change?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No, you look great.”
She licked her lips. “Thank you.”
“Come on,” I said, nodding toward the driveway and Cherry Road. “Let’s go.”
We walked out to the drive and through the wrought-iron gates before hooking a left on the road to head toward one of the neighboring ranches. Piper glanced over at me. “I hope you’re not stretching yourself too thin just because I’m here. I don’t want you to neglect your duties because of me.”
“I’m not neglecting anything. I promise. Saturdays are usually half days for me anyway.”
“Oh. Well. Good.” She hooked her thumbs in the belt loops of her jeans. “So where are we going?”
“The ranch next to mine hosts a farmers’ market every Saturday. Other ranchers and farmers in the area bring produce and baked goods. Some of them bring other things like homemade knickknacks and jewelry and that sort of thing. It’s fun to wander around. There are activities for kids and refreshments for the adults to help them deal with said kids.”
Piper giggled, and I decided that I was going to commit my energy to doing everything I could in order to hear that sound over the course of the day. “Not a fan of children?”
“No, no,” I said. “I like kids. Don’t get me wrong. And I want some of my own one day. But it’s other people’s kids that rub me the wrong way, you know?”
She giggled again.
Yes.
Piper shook her head at me. “You are not the only one who feels that way.”
“You too?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “It’s hit or miss. Some kids are great. Others make you want to blow your brains out. But I think it all comes down to the parents. Not that I’m one to talk. I have no idea how hard it is raising a child.”
“Right. So we’re in the same boat. We have to perpetually keep our mouths shut about it.”
“Unless you want to be spit roasted by fuming mothers? Yes, we do.”
That time, I chuckled.
It was only a ten-minute walk down Cherry Road to the Clementine Ranch where the weekly farmers’ market was held. The white gates at the end of the property were open, and the hand-painted sign that one of their daughters had painted on a wood pallet was resting against the fence line, directing visitors up the driveway they’d had paved last summer toward the barn on the left side of the property.
I led Piper up the drive toward the barn, which was currently a mini petting zoo for the children, and then I brought her out back where there were tables and displays set up all over the place.
Like every weekend, it was all organized chaos. Children ran around the tables which formed a ring for shoppers to walk a lap around. There were fresh vegetables and fruits, cuts of meat, home-baked bread and pastries and muffins and cakes and loaves, eggs, flowers, spices, jams, soups in mason jars, and dozens of other things.
Piper was in awe of it all. “This is so much better than a supermarket.”
We stopped at a stand serving fresh lemonade, and I ordered one for each of us. Piper pursed her lips around the straw and sipped the sweet, cheek-
puckering concoction as we explored the tables that were not in the inner circle that sold more random and indulgent items like jewelry, crystals, paintings, handmade notebooks, bags, clothes, quilts, and soaps.
Piper stopped to admire a handmade leather bag and ran her thumbs over it. The woman manning the table was named Clarice Cole. She was in her mid sixties and wore a blue dress and two loose sweaters. She bustled around the table to tell Piper about the bag she was admiring.
“My son made this one.” Clarice smiled, and her eyes flicked toward me. “How are you doing, Wyatt? It’s been a while.”
“I’m well, Mrs. Cole. And you?”
Clarice smiled. “Very good, dear. Very good. And who might your friend be?”
Piper held out her hand. “I’m Piper James.”
Clarice shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, Miss James.”
“Oh, please, Piper is fine.”
“Piper.” Clarice smiled, rolling her name over her tongue. “You know, Wyatt has done a lot of favors for me and my family over the years. If you like that bag, it’s yours.”
Piper’s eyes widened. “I couldn’t. No. Thank you. But that’s too much.”
Piper’s panicked stuttering seemed to amuse Clarice, who picked the bag up from her table and pushed it into Piper’s hands. “It’s genuine leather. Oil it to keep it from drying out and cracking, and it will last forever. The leather will soften over time, and the color will fade, but the design will remain.”
Piper stared at the shoulder bag in her hands. “This…” She paused and shook her head. Then she looked up at Clarice. “It’s absolutely beautiful. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome dear,” Clarice said, patting Piper’s hand. The older woman looked up at me and smiled. “Anything for our Wyatt.”
Chapter 8
Piper
The afternoon was significantly warmer than the morning, and by the time three o’clock rolled around, I found myself wishing I’d worn shorts or, at the very least, didn’t have a tank top on under my T-shirt.
We found a patch of shade, and I pulled my new bag down from my shoulder to admire it for the hundredth time. The leather was worn around the edges and pressed with a swirling, almost floral pattern along the zipper and on the front pocket. The zipper was gold, which complemented the warm brown leather nicely, and there were several pouches inside for me to better organize my things.
“Her son is really skilled,” I said, swinging the empty bag back over my shoulder. “You never see things like this in the city. Everything is mass produced in factories in China, and it always falls apart in a couple months. Of course, you can find high quality items, but you have to pay an arm and a leg for them.”
And I don’t have any money to spend frivolously on things I think are pretty.
“I’m glad you like it,” Wyatt says. “Clarice’s son made my wallet for me. Been using it for almost twenty years.”
I blinked.
He chuckled. “Have I revealed my old age?”
“No,” I said, but even I could hear how unsure I was. I was tempted to ask how old he was.
Luckily, I didn’t have to. He offered the information. “I’m thirty-four.”
I swallowed. That was more than a little age gap. Did it matter? Should it matter? It certainly didn’t feel like there was a thirteen-year difference between our ages.
Wyatt nudged me gently with his elbow in the side of my upper arm. “And you?”
“Twenty-one,” I said hesitantly.
His eyebrows crept up about half a centimeter, and then they returned to their normal place on his forehead, and he smiled. “That’s not so bad. My father was sixteen years older than my mother. And you’re a wise soul. It doesn’t feel to me like there are that many years between us.”
Having him validate my thoughts back to me was reassuring. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”
Wyatt slid his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. He cast his gaze around the farmers’ market, smiling and nodding at everyone he knew—which was everyone—and I took the moment to admire him up close without him noticing.
At least, I hoped he didn’t notice. Because I was ogling him without shame.
He’d unbuttoned three buttons of his shirt since arriving at the market with the increasing temperature. It was tucked into his jeans, which were an immaculate fit and showed off his rather scrumptious rear end. His belt was a rich brown to match his cowboy boots, and the brass buckle flashed under his messily tucked shirt.
And then there was the rest of him. The muscled, tanned forearms with prominent veins on the inside. The broad, swollen shoulders, built from years of hard physical work. His hairline, dark and a little wild, and how it melted into his facial hair. The tendons in his neck. The way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he said hello to a stranger passing by. And then his dark, unflinching gaze, which was locked onto mine.
My cheeks burned, and I hurried to think of something to say to rush him past the fact that I’d been mercilessly checking him out. “Um. How do you feel about doing one more lap with me? I’d like to pick up some things to cook dinner for you tonight. You know, to thank you for all the effort you went to last night and for putting me up in such a nice room?”
His eyebrows did that cute thing where they inched upward again. “I haven’t had someone cook me a meal in years.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “Yes. Probably since, well, my ex. And that was years ago.”
“Well let’s change that, shall we?”
“Lead the way,” he said, gesturing for me to walk ahead of him and along the rows of tables.
I started with produce and picked up yams, beets, lettuce, cucumbers, carrots, and Brussel sprouts. As we walked around the rest of the market, I collected several other items, including chicken and homemade goat cheese.
By the time I had a bag full of items, my mouth was already watering at the thought of the meal I was going to prepare.
Wyatt took the bag from me and hooked it over his shoulder. “You ready to head home?”
“Yes, thanks for indulging me.”
“What man would say no to a woman offering to cook him a meal?”
I grinned. “A foolish one?”
“Right you are.” He chuckled.
He paused to say goodbye to a few people, who all offered me warm and friendly smiles, and then we made our way back down toward Cherry Road as the sun drew lower on the horizon.
I slid my hands into my pockets. “So.”
“So.”
“This ex of yours,” I said.
Wyatt nodded knowingly. “Ahh, yes. Shannon.”
“How long ago were you together?”
“Six years.”
I blinked. “You haven’t been in a relationship for six years?”
He smiled and kicked loose pebbles on the road with the toe of his boot. “Nope. And it’s not because I haven’t wanted to. I assure you, I’ve moved on.”
“Right,” I said, nodding along as he spoke.
“There just aren’t many options around these parts. Or women who are interested in the ranch life. Ladies tend to prefer a more—what’s the word—sophisticated lifestyle.”
I shrugged. “Some of them, sure. Not all of them.”
“No. Not all of them.”
“Did you love her?” I asked.
Wyatt didn’t answer at first. He kept his eyes ahead on the road and its invisible end. “Yes, I did. More than I’ve ever loved anyone before. But there were plenty of red flags that I should have paid attention to. It wasn’t meant to be, her and me. There was a lot stacked against us.”
“She didn’t like ranching?”
He laughed. It didn’t sound like his other laughs. This was bitter. Cold. “Oh, she likes ranching all right. Shannon was a fine woman to have on the ranch. She was a hard worker and good at what she did. She never took risks. Never jeopardized her safety or the safety of others or the animals on the property.”
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. “May I ask what happened?”
He nodded. “Of course. She left me for another man.”
“I’m sorry,” I said softly.
He waved his hand at me, casually dismissing my sympathy. “Don’t be. It was for the best.”
“How so?”
He shrugged. “The man she ran to isn’t a good guy. Hell. He’s the opposite of good. He’s mean, and if that’s who she’s drawn to, then her and I never had a shot to begin with, and I am constantly grateful that I dodged that bullet.”
I believed him. “So you miss having someone, but not having her?” I asked.
He stopped walking and so did I. He grinned. “I’ve never heard someone sum it up so perfectly.”
I blushed.
Wyatt fell back into step beside me. We walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes. In the time it took for us to cover the half a mile or so between Wyatt’s ranch and the Clementine ranch, no cars passed us by. This country paradise was a constant, peaceful hum of the sounds of nature, grass rustling in the breeze, goats and sheep calling, and cows mooing softly in the distance.
We slipped in through the gate and made our way up to the main house.
“What about you?” Wyatt asked.
It had been a good five or so minutes since we last spoke. “What about me?”
“Any ex-boyfriends to write home about?”
I shook my head. “Nope. None.”
“How is that possible?”
“Are you surprised?”
He shrugged, took the steps up the back porch two at a time, and then opened the slider for me. I stepped through, and he followed me inside. “Well, pardon my forwardness, but a girl who looks like you is bound to attract plenty of male attention.”
I kept my head down and followed him into the kitchen, where he set the bags of produce and meat on the counter. “No attention I’ve wanted.”
He started unpacking the bags, and I helped. “Fair enough,” he said.
“Not to mention I haven’t had time to see anyone seriously. If I’m being perfectly honest, I hadn’t been on a real date in over a year before starting this whole process.”
