Page 8 of My Cowboy Trouble
"Nice rooster," she says slowly. "Good rooster. Remember me? I'm your owner now. That means you have to be nice to me."
Sir Clucks cocks his head, considers this, then charges.
Kenzie shrieks and runs behind me, using me as a human shield. "Make him stop!"
"He doesn't stop for anyone." But I grab a feed bucket and bang it against the wall. Sir Clucks pauses, gives me a look that promises retribution, then struts off to terrorize Billy and whatever early morning mayhem he's causing.
Kenzie's still pressed against my back, her hands fisted in my shirt. "That thing is a menace."
"He's just testing you." I turn around, which puts us way too close. Close enough to see the gold flecks in her brown eyes. Close enough to smell her shampoo under the barn stench. "Everything here's gonna test you, princess."
"Stop calling me princess."
"Would you prefer sweetheart? Darlin'? Sugar tits?"
She shoves me, but she's laughing. "How about Kenzie? Novel concept, I know."
"Kenzie it is." I step back before I do something stupid like kiss that smart mouth. "Better get back towork. Trent'll be back soon, and you've barely made a dent."
She looks at the stall, which still looks like a shit bomb went off, then at me. "Any tips?"
"Yeah. Don't think about what you're scooping. Maybe invest in some nose plugs. And think about cutting the fringe off those boots because they're about to be caked with all manner of nasty stuff."
An hour later,I find Kenzie at the corral, glaring at Sir Clucks-a-Lot through the fence like she's planning his demise. Naturally, she's got shit on her boots, hay in her hair, and a smudge of dirt across her cheek that shouldn't be as cute as it is.
"Plotting murder?"
She doesn't even look at me. "Plotting dinner. I'm thinking coq au vin. Or maybe just good old-fashioned fried chicken."
"Your aunt would rise from the grave if you touched her precious rooster."
"Then she should have trained him not to be an asshole." She finally turns to face me, and there's something different in her eyes. Determination, maybe. Or just pure stubbornness. "Trent says I failed the stall test."
"There's no test. He's just fucking with you."
"Yeah, well, two can play that game." She stepscloser, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off her skin. "What's your deal, anyway? Why do you care if I stay or go?"
Good question. One I don't have an answer for. So I go with what I do best—deflection and flirting.
"Maybe I like watching you walk around in those jeans." I let my eyes travel down her body, slow and deliberate. "Maybe I'm curious how long before you break. Or maybe..." I lean in, crowding her against the fence. "I just want to see what you're really made of when you stop pretending to be tougher than you are."
Her breath catches, just for a second, before her chin comes up. "I'm not pretending anything."
"No?" I'm close enough now that she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. Close enough to kiss her if I wanted to. Which I do. "Then prove it. Last the week. Hell, last three days without running back to your fancy coffee and indoor plumbing."
"We have indoor plumbing."
"Barely."
She puts a hand on my chest, and for a second, I think she's going to push me away. Instead, she fists my shirt and pulls me even closer. "You want to know what I think?"
"Enlighten me."
"I think you're all talk. Big bad rodeo star who's probably never had a woman tell him no." Her thumb brushes over my chest, and fuck if that doesn't send heat straight to my dick. "I think you're hoping I failbecause if I don't, you might actually have to admit a city girl can handle your precious ranch."
"Yourranch. You own it, remember?"
"Right.Myranch." She smiles, slow and dangerous. "Which means you work for me now."
