Page 30 of My Cowboy Trouble
The way he says my name, low and rough, makes my knees weak.
"Yo! Trent! Where you at?"
Asher's voice breaks the spell. Trent steps back so fast, he almost trips over a feed bucket.
"In here," he calls, his voice admirably steady.
Asher appears in the doorway, taking in the scene with raised eyebrows. "Interrupting something?"
"No," we say in unison, which definitely doesn't sound suspicious at all.
"Right." Asher's grin says he's not buying it. "Clara Mae's here. Says she needs to talk to you about Brutus and some property damage."
"Christ." Trent runs a hand through his hair. "Tell her I'll be right there."
Asher disappears, but not before giving me a look that says we'll be talking later.
Trent starts to leave, then turns back. "We're not done discussing your shortcuts."
"Looking forward to it," I say sweetly.
He makes a frustrated noise and stalks out, leaving me alone with my stolen apple and a serious case of what-the-hell-just-happened.
I need to be more careful. Twenty-five days is a long time to be playing with fire.
Especially when part of me is starting to want to get burned.
The sun is settingby the time I finish all the tasks on Trent's impossible list. My hands are raw, my back isscreaming, and I'm pretty sure I'll never get all the dirt out from under my nails. But I did it. Every single thing on his list, plus a few extra tasks just to prove a point.
I'm in the barn, double-checking that all the stalls are latched properly—wouldn't want another Pepper incident—when Trent appears. He does a slow circuit of the barn, inspecting everything with that critical eye that usually makes me want to throw something at him.
"The water buckets are filled using the proper system," I say, not looking at him. "The hay is stacked according to your very specific requirements. All gates are latched, all feed is properly stored, and I even cleaned the tack room, which wasn't on the list but desperately needed it."
He's quiet for so long, I finally turn to look at him. He's standing by Whiskey's stall, and there's something almost like surprise on his face.
"You organized the tack room?"
"It was a disaster. How do you find anything in there?"
"We have a system."
"Chaos is not a system."
His mouth twitches. "You alphabetized the horse brushes."
"They were all mixed together! It was anarchy!"
"They're brushes, not library books."
"Everything has a proper place." I cross my arms. "Isn't that what you're always telling me? Proper procedures, proper methods, proper everything?"
He walks over to where I'm standing, and for once, he doesn't look disapproving. He looks... thoughtful.
"Not bad," he says quietly.
Two words. That's all. But from Trent, it feels like a victory parade.
"Was that a compliment? Did you just compliment me? Should I mark this date in my calendar?"
