Page 13 of My Cowboy Trouble
"You okay there?"
"Do I look okay? I'm literally standing in shit!"
"Welcome to ranch life, baby."
A truck horn honks outside, and Clara Mae's voice carries through the barn: "Don't fall in, sugar! Though from here, it looks like you already did!"
Her cackle echoes as she drives away, and I know—I just know—this story will be all over town within the hour.
"I hate this place," I mutter, extracting my foot with a truly disgusting squelch sound.
"No you don't." Gavin's still grinning. "You're starting to love it. I can tell."
"How? How can you possibly tell that?"
"Because you haven't quit yet." He winks and walks away, calling over his shoulder, "But you might want to hose off that boot. And maybe burn those socks."
By the timeTrent comes to inspect my work, I'm a disaster. Hay in my hair, shit on my boots, and what I'm pretty sure is horse snot on my shirt. I smell like a barn explosion and am just generally one huge agricultural disaster.
Trent walks down the line of stalls with his clipboard—because of course he has a clipboard—making little checkmarks and humming disapprovingly.
"Stall three has wet spots in the corner."
"I cleaned stall three! I spent twenty minutes on stall three!"
"Stall five's water bucket wasn't refilled."
"You didn't say anything about water buckets!"
"Stall seven still has hay in the feeder from yesterday."
"Because the horse didn't eat it all!"
He continues like I haven't spoken. "Stall nine's gate wasn't properly latched. That's a safety hazard."
"Are you seriously?—"
"And stall twelve..." He pauses, looking into Whiskey's stall. "Is actually acceptable."
I blink. "What?"
"I said it's acceptable. Barely. But acceptable." He makes a note on his clipboard. "You can break for lunch. Be back here at one for fence repair."
He starts to walk away, then turns back. "And, Kenzie?"
"What?" I'm too exhausted to be properly defensive.
"You might want to shower first. You smell like..." He pauses, and I swear his lips twitch. "Like you're finally starting to work."
After he's gone, I stand there in the middle of the barn, covered in things I don't want to identify, muscles aching in places I didn't know I had muscles, and realize something horrible.
I'm actually proud that he said stall twelve was acceptable.
What the hell is this place doing to me?
My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number. It's a picture of me standing in the wheelbarrow, mouth open in horror, with Gavin laughing in the background. The caption reads: "City Girl's First Week: Not Going Well - Clara Mae."
Fantastic. I'm already internet famous in a town that probably doesn't even have high-speed internet.
