Page 11 of My Cowboy Trouble
He goes red from his neck to the tips of his ears. "You're welcome! You look really pretty this morning! I mean, not that you don't always look pretty, but like, even with the..." He gestures vaguely at my disaster of a hairstyle. "I'm gonna go now."
He practically sprints away, leaving me with Trent, who's watching me with an expression I can't read.
"What?"
"Nothing." But his mouth twitches like he's fighting a smile. "Just wondering how long before you break the kid's heart."
"I'm not going to?—"
"Hay barn. Now." He turns and starts walking, clearly expecting me to follow like an obedient puppy.
I should tell him to fuck right off, but then Iremember there are two hundred acres of unspoiled Montana land stretching out before me, and if I can sell this baby to the highest bidder after my thirty-day test, I'll be set for life.
If that doesn't put a spring in my step, nothing will.
From the main house, Gavin's leaning against the doorframe in nothing but low-slung jeans, looking like a Ralph Lauren ad that's trying too hard. "Morning, princess," he calls out. "Love the hair. Very 'I just got fucked' chic."
"It's five in the morning, Gavin," I holler back at him, breaking into a trot to keep up with my torturer. "How are you already this annoying?"
"Natural talent." He laughs and takes a long pull from his coffee mug. "Better hurry. Trent gets cranky when you're late."
"Trent's always cranky."
"Oooh, princess is catching on," he yells after me.
Like hell.
The hay barnsmells like dust and dried grass and something else that's probably unsanitary and deadly, which I can't identify and don't want to. Trent's standing next to a stack of hay bales that reaches almost to the ceiling, and I have a sudden, horrible realization about what's coming.
It also dawns on me that if these fall, I will be dead.
"You need to move these," he says, pointing to the stack, "to there." He points to the other side of the barn.
"All of them?"
"All of them."
I look at the bales. Look at the distance. Look back at the bales. "You realize those things probably weigh more than I do, right?"
"Fifty to sixty pounds each, depending on moisture content." He says this like it's helpful information and not confirmation that he's trying to kill me. "Better get started."
He walks out, leaving me alone with my latest nemesis—a gazillion pounds of hay.
I grab the first bale by the twine and immediately realize this is going to be impossible. It's not just heavy—it's awkward and scratchy and the twine cuts into my palms like it's made of razor wire.
I manage to drag it maybe six inches before I have to stop and consider maybe the ranch and I do not have a future together.
"Need some help?"
Asher's standing in the doorway, backlit by the morning sun like the star of some kind of country music video. And unlike Gavin's in-your-face sexuality or Trent's commanding presence, Asher has this way of just... appearing. Like a sexy ninja in Wranglers and one of those ridiculous oversized belt buckles.
I have to admit I kind of want one and wonder if they're available at the local general store. The girls back home would be so jealous.
"I'm fine," I lie, grabbing the bale again and managing another inch before my body screams in protest.
"Sure you are." He walks over, slow and easy, and positions himself behind me. "Here, let me show you the trick."
His hands slide to my waist, and suddenly I forget how to breathe. He's pressed against my back, solid and warm, and he smells like something woodsy that makes me want to turn around and bury my face in his chest.
