Page 66 of That Moment
I blink, a little surprised at how easily she just admitted that she wanted to see me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She tips her head, studying me. “You okay?”
I nod, then shake my head, deciding to be just as honest right back. “Better now that you’re here.”
Something flickers in her eyes, and for a second, I’m not sure what to do. Do I grab her and kiss her? Is she only here for sex?But a second later, she answered for me when she bumped my arm with her shoulder. “Good. Put me to work.”
“You serious?” She shoots me a look. “I’m just saying, I know you were raised on a ranch, but it’s been a minute since you’ve had to do chores, and your nails look new.”
“Please. My dad and uncles would disown me if I forgot which end of a pitchfork does what.” She looks down at her manicure, then smiles up at me. “And yes, they are new, thanks for noticing.”
That makes me laugh. “All right, counselor. Let’s see if you remember.”
I give her a fork and we make quick work of the first stall, her scooping, me hauling, our shoulders bumping now and then in the narrow aisle. She hums under her breath, both of us bursting into laughter every once in a while when we catch each other looking at the other.
We roll the wheelbarrow out to the pile and dump. She wasn’t lying about not forgetting how to handle a fork. She doesn’t bitch once, no complaining about the smell, no tiptoeing around the mess. Just head down, sleeves pushed to her elbows, getting shit done. Literally.
“Not bad for a big-time lawyer,” I say, wiping my forearm with the back of my hand. “You, in fact, still remember which end of the pitchfork’s up.”
“Hudson Slade would be proud.” She laughs, then points a finger at me, “And don’t forget, I can still rope better than you ever could.”
“Bullshit.”
“Want to make a bet?”
I cock a brow. “What do I get if I win?”
She pretends to think. “Bragging rights. Why, what’d you have in mind?” She gives me that look, the same one she gave me the other night that got me in trouble.
“Awfully confident for someone who choked in the breakaway finals that one year.”
She gasps and smacks my arm with the handle of her fork. “I missed by an inch, and you know it.”
“Uh-huh.” I let my grin go lazy, voice dropping to a rough whisper. “An inch is a lot, sweetheart. Thought I made that clear the other night.”
Her breath catches, just barely, but I see it. The memory hits her just like it hits me, sharp and hot, curling in the space between us. For a second, the whole barn goes still except for the pounding in my ears. Her eyes meet mine, and there’s no denying what we’re both thinking about.
“Scotty…”.
I step closer until I can feel the heat radiating off her. My fingers toy with a strand of hair at her shoulder, brushing it back so I can see her face. “You saying you forgot already?”
Her chin lifts, lips parting. “I didn’t forget,” she whispers.
That single sentence does something to me. I can almost feel the tremor that runs through her, the air thick with it. I tip my head down, close enough that my breath grazes her cheek. My hand slides to her waist, fingers flexing just enough to make her shiver.
We’re seconds away from losing whatever line we’ve been pretending exists when Priscilla slams her hoof into the stall wall and lets out a loud, impatient whinny. The sound snaps through the heat like a cold shower. Adrienne jumps back, and I have to laugh.
“Guess someone’s jealous,” I murmur, still close enough that my mouth brushes her ear.
She exhales, half-laugh, half-groan, pressing a hand to her chest. “Your timing sucks, Priscilla.”
“Can’t blame her,” I say, stepping back and reaching for the feed sack. “She’s hungry. I get it.”
Adrienne shakes her head, laughing now, cheeks flushed in the warm light. “Yeah, well, so am I.”
I damn near choke on a laugh because the way she says it doesn’t sound like she’s talking about food. “Then let’s feed the ladies before they riot.”
Priscilla dives nose-first into her bucket. Adrienne strokes her neck, smiling.
