Part Time Cowboy. Maisey Yates
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gallon jugs from under the sink, he began to fill them for the woman he was trying not to picture naked.
He heard soft footsteps on the stairs and turned to see bare feet come into view. Bare feet with shocking pink nails. Followed by baggy black pants and a very soft-looking shirt, molded to breasts that he should not stare at—but did anyway—and then the rest of Sadie appeared.
Her blond hair was wet and piled on top of her head, tendrils falling down the sides of her face, her cheeks flushed from the hot water. Her makeup was gone. Lashes that had looked dark and heavy were now spiky and pale.
She looked damp and warm and he had no business wondering about her body temperature, or her level of dryness.
“Thank you,” she said, her feet hitting the floor. She walked to the kitchen counter and slung her bag, and her shoes, onto the granite surface. “I feel more like a human and less like a mole person, so that’s always good.” She was smiling now, effortless, friendly.
As if she hadn’t been pissy and sulky with him only a few minutes ago. As if they had no history between them whatsoever.
Fine, it didn’t matter to him. She was just a problem to check off his list. He was not going to waste time overthinking her. He didn’t have the time to waste.
“Shoes,” he said, the muscles in his back tensing from his belt line to his shoulders.
“What?”
“Take your shoes off my counter, please.”
“Sorry,” she said, pulling them from the surface that would now have to be disinfected.
“Yep,” he said. “I’ll grab your jugs for you.”
Her blue eyes rounded. “Oh, really?”
“What?”
“You’re going to...grab my jugs for me... I don’t... You’ve had sex before, right?”
Heat assaulted him, starting in his face and burning a line straight down his chest to his cock. “Yes. What does that have to do with anything?”
“You seem to be operating on a frequency wherein sexual innuendo doesn’t exist.”
Jugs. Suddenly an image of him putting his hands over her breasts and, well...grabbing them...flashed through his mind. “Because I’m not a fourteen-year-old boy,” he shot back. “And I don’t call women’s breasts jugs.” He said the last part through gritted teeth, trying to figure out how in the hell he’d gotten into a conversation about breasts with the woman whose breasts had been tormenting him from the moment she’d crashed back into town like a blonde tornado.
“Well, that’s mature of you. I don’t typically call them jugs, either. I prefer ‘the girls’ or ‘sweater bunnies,’ but even I went there.”
He about choked on the sip of beer he was trying to take. “Don’t you have work to do back at your place?”
“Nothing pressing,” she said.
He gritted his teeth. “Do you want a beer?” He didn’t want her to stay for a beer. Why was he so compulsively appropriate? Especially when she was standing there talking about sweater bunnies.
“Thank you,” she said, “that would be good.”
He laughed, even though he found nothing about any of this funny, and turned back to the fridge, tugging another bottle out, and opening it before sliding it across the counter toward her.
In spite of himself, he found he was curious about her plans for the Catalog House. Because maybe if he knew about the changes, they wouldn’t feel quite so invasive. A long shot, but worth a try.
And anything was better than talking about her breasts.
“What’s next on your list for the place?” he asked.
“I have to make the downstairs back bedroom livable. That’s going to be my room. It’s small, and part of an addition. So it’s a little damp and chilly, but with caulking and some oil heaters I won’t die. And since we’re headed into summer it won’t be bad at all. Then obviously I need to make sure the plumbing is better than it is. Flower beds are a priority, and linens and blinds. And after that, barring menu creation, I should be good to start advertising and getting special events scheduled.”
“Wait...special events?”
“Yes! I thought it would be fun. Ranch tours. Picnics. And I’m thinking on Independence Day a community party would be great.”
“People. Here?”
“Yes, people. I’m opening a bed-and-breakfast, for people and not, despite what you may have thought, cats. And if I want to attract people, it seems like bringing visibility to the place is the way to do it.”
“What’s the point of attracting locals?”
“Uh, locals go away on romantic weekend getaways to local places. And also, their family members come and visit. And people from surrounding areas might come to the parties and think of me. And honestly, maybe they’ll think of Garrett specifically when they go to buy beef.”
“How do you know about what we do on the ranch?”
“I Googled it. Because I am interested in helping you. And me. It’s all...symbiotic helpfulness. And what’s wrong with that?”
He felt like he was losing control. Like she had come along, grabbed his control and was running around holding it over her head, laughing maniacally as he tried to reclaim it.
“What’s wrong with that is you’re proposing to turn this place—my place—into a fun fair. We live here. We work here. This isn’t a carnival.”
“I never said it was! But what’s wrong with a few special events? It’s not like I have to take over the barns. I mean, I would, but I can keep it contained.”
“Have you run any of this past Connor?”
She shrugged. “Not...specifically, but he did agree to let me bring a certain amount of the public onto the property when I initially sent over my business plan, so I didn’t see why this would be a problem.”
“You didn’t see why it would be a problem?” he asked.
“No. I didn’t.” She took a drink of her beer. “I’m running a business, and it benefits Connor, benefits Kate and you. I have a five-year lease agreement, and it seems to me that we should all be into ideas that will make things more successful. Right?”
“Not ideas that include my ranch crawling with a bunch of random people. I don’t like that kind of disorder.”
“You are the singularly most frustrating, uptight, obtuse... No one makes me mad, Eli. No one. I am not an angry person. I like to smile. And every time I’m around you, no matter how cheerful I determine to be, I end up irritated.”
“That’s funny, Sadie, because I feel like I end up irritated every time I’m around you.”
“I just think your irritation is contagious,” she said.
“Maybe you’re so irritating you irritate yourself.”
“Oh! Bah! What are you, twelve?”
“I thought you were the one acting like an adolescent boy, not me.”
“No, I am the one acting like I have a sense of humor. Because I do. And you,” she said, drawing her beer against her chest, “are ridiculous. And humorless.”
“If you think that barb is going to wound me, you obviously don’t know me very well.”
“I don’t know you very well. And I’m content with that. I think I will spend the next five years not knowing you very well.” She grabbed her shoes from the stool and plopped onto it, bending over and fidgeting while she put them on her feet. She straightened,