Page 5 of My Cowboy Date
The drive to Albert’s cabin takes us over a rutted, rough road. After bouncing around in Wilder’s truck for the umpteenth time, he says, “Sorry. I know this isn’t comfortable. He keeps the road in this condition on purpose to discourage people randomly exploring his neck of the woods.”
We hit another dip, and my ass lifts and smacks back down on the seat. I wince. “This makes me feel like I’ve been paddled.”
“If that’s what you think, then I’d say it wasn’t done right.”
I lower the window to let the natural air in. “And you know how to do it right?”
“I’d doyouright.”
I smile and extend my hand out into the sunshine. “Some things a woman’s better off doing herself.”
He parks the truck and grins at me as he shuts off the engine. “A vibrator won’t kiss you or hold you through the night.”
“The right vibrator will make you not give a shit about either of those.” I open the door and climb out.
He comes around the truck. “Then, until me, you haven’t met the right man.”
“You think you can get me to throw away my little happy wand?”
His smile is pure temptation. “I’d have to see it in action to know if it’s worth keeping.”
Now I’m thinking of Wilder replacing my vibrator with his cock and he’s grinning at me like he knows what I’m thinking. I draw in a few deep breaths and school my features into a mask of professionalism.
If Albert signs a contract with us, not only would that stick it to Peter, but it would benefit the ranch as well.
An elderly man sitting on a wooden bench on the cabin’s porch stands when he sees us approach. His long white hair is crammed beneath a brown Stetson and his face wears a scowl above faded overalls. One of his arms is in a sling.
“What the hell do you want?” he asks.
Wilder motions to me. “This is our new ranch manager, Aspen.”
Albert grunts, then says, “Get to the point.”
I take a step forward. “I’d like to talk to you about a supply contract with the store and?—”
“If you want any of my time, you’ll give me some of yours.” He points to a portion of the ground on the side of the cabin. “That’s halfway dug up to lay some new piping. The little shit I hired to finish it never showed up.”
“How’d you hurt your arm?” Wilder asks.
“Got off the toilet to wipe my ass and fell.” Albert rubs his forehead, and I notice a bruise there.
“Albert, you fell a couple of months ago, too. Did you ever consider moving closer to town?” Wilder asks.
“Too many people. You digging or not?” Albert glares at me.
“She’s not,” Wilder says at the same time I say firmly, “I am.”
I’m agreeing because I know that this is the older man’s way of getting help without asking for it. If he’s anything like the elderly people I’ve known, not being able to physically do what he once could because of age or injuries is frustrating and discouraging. And sometimes stubborn pride is the only thing that helps them not give in to the despair.
“Shovels are in the shed,” he says and disappears back inside the cabin.
“I’ll do the digging.” Wilder puts a hand on my arm to stop me.
“I’m doing this for him because I want to,” I say, heading to the shed to take one of the shovels.
Wilder takes the other and we get started, working for hours at a steady pace.
Digging is hot, dirty, and backbreaking work. “I can think of better ways to work up a sweat,” I say, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand as I stab the shovel into the dirt for the final time.
