Page 7 of Unexpected Sweetheart
There’s obviously something horribly wrong with me. But I don’t have time to unpack that before his rumbly voice sluices into my consciousness. “Get your coat and meet me at the barn.”
“OK,” I say, pushing back from the table and racing upstairs. He’s probably going to mock my choice of coat as well, but there’s not a lot I can do about that right now. I wasn't exactly thinking practically when I went on a shopping spree to prepare for this place. As with all things, my father told me what was happening, and I responded by spending a ludicrous amount of money. I found the most expensive ranch wear I could and had it all shipped to me in the fastest way possible.
It’s the one thing I’ve always enjoyed about being me. The power to have whatever I want, whenever I want it. One of my favorite pastimes is shopping. I love walking into a high-end retailer and knowing I can buy the entire store. I love that when sales staff see me, they fall all over themselves trying to be the one to claim that big fat commission check. That kind of power is intoxicating, but I was never naïve enough to think that it meant anyone liked me. No way. I’ve always been keenly aware that the smiles and adulation from those around me were a result of my surname and the color of the credit card I held in my hands. Friends aren’t easy to come by at the top. And it isn’t easy to trust there either.
I guess that’s what I like about Ryan. He took one look at me, and all the things people normally fawn over, were the exact things he found distasteful. He’s unimpressed by my wealth and status. And instead of telling me whatever I want to hear, he’s calling me a spoiled brat. And you know what? He’s right. I just didn’t know how badly I needed to hear it.
By the time I make it over to the barn, he’s already there, pulling out bags of feed and stacking them against the wooden fence. “Grab a bag and sling it over your shoulder,” he instructs, his eyes moving over the soft suede of my jacket. I see a slight smirk there, but he says nothing. Just watches as I try to wrap my long-nailed fingers about the big bag and heft it as he instructed.
“I don't think I’m built for this,” I say as my foot hits a divot in the ground and I wobble on my boots.
“Nonsense. We’re all built for hard work. I’ll bet you carry shopping bags around just fine.”
I smirk slightly as he helps me lift the bag and position it on my shoulder. “I have people to do that.”
“Of course, you do,” he says, grabbing a bag with only one strong hand and tucking it under his arm. “This way.”
He moves along the small paddock’s fence line beside the barn and pauses at the gate, waiting for me to struggle my way up to him.Is that amusement I see in his eyes?
“I need you to be as quiet and undisruptive as possible in here.I’ve got five pregnant heifers who need as little excitement as possible. We go in there, fill the feed troughs, top up the water, and get out of there. Understood?”
I nod. “What’s a heifer?”
“A female who hasn’t born a calf yet.”
“Oh. And what are they after they’ve had a calf?”
“Cows,” he says simply, unlatching the gate and gesturing for me to go in.
A couple of the cows—I mean,heifers—moo. But they seem more interested in the food than they are in me. I drop the bag of feed into the trough then struggle and succeed in tearing the bag open. One of the heifers practically shoves me aside to get to it. I guess growing baby calves is hungry work.
After that, we run the water to fill their drinking trough then he leads me over to the stables where four horses eagerly poke their heads out to see who’s there. They let out a whinny as soon as they see us. A beautiful big fawn colored one with a blonde main is shaking her head like Ryan is her favorite person in the world.Glad to see I’m not the only female he has this effect on, I think as I smile to myself.
“You’ll be on Shadow,” Ryan says as he rubs the cheek of the blond girl with curled fingers. She nuzzles him and moves about, her feet tapping the ground in her eagerness to be let out of her quarters.
“Why is she called Shadow?” I ask. That’s the last name I would have thought for her.
Ryan frowns as he glances at me. “No. This is Comet. She’s my horse. Shadow is the black gelding sticking his head out and nodding at us. He’s gentle and calm, so he’s perfect for your first time.” My cheeks heat as I take in the double meaning to those words and can’t help the response that jumps out of my mouth.
“What if I don’t want my first time to be gentle and calm?”
We lock eyes. And there’s something there, I know there is. But Ryan just smirks then looks away, deciding to ignore my comment over addressing it. “I’ll introduce you. Show you how to saddle him up so you can do it yourself tomorrow.”
“Sure,” I say, swallowing that nervous lump in my throat as I follow behind, checking out Ryan’s jean-clad ass with every step.
By the time both horses are saddled and the others have been let out into the corral, the sun is coming up and my night of sleeplessness is really starting to get to me.
“Do you think we can have a break sometime soon?” I ask as I’m rocked from side to side, sitting on the back of Shadow as Ryan leads us by a rope from atop of his horse Comet.
“When the work is done,” he says over his shoulder before turning his face forward again and leading us to wherever we’re going this time.
By the time the sun is fully up, we’ve checked on all the cows, spread hay out over the snowy paddock, and checked the fence line. Then we’ve gone back to a supply shed, loaded Comet up with some more cow food and some fencing supplies and headedbackto the main paddock to give the cows this stuff he’s calling ‘cake’ before moving to repair the fence while the cows are occupied with the food.
“Rock it from side to side then use your thighs to lift it out of the ground,” he instructs as I grunt and whine and hiss over this stupid immovable post.
“Can’tyoujust do this?” I complain, feeling close to tears because this whole ranch thing is harder than that time I tried to do spin class at the gym. I’m not turned on anymore. I’m tired. I have blisters. And I’m close to wanting Ryan dead more than I want to jump into bed with him. The novelty of being the slave to the rancher hasdefinitelyworn off.
“I could,” he says, standing back with his hands on his perfectly narrow hips. “But where would be the lesson in that?”
