Page 11 of Big Burly Foreman

Is that what she wants for me too?

“What if Joseph isn’t my type?”

“Type? Nonsense. He is a charming young man with a wealth of experience. You come from similar backgrounds. Albeit, his family’s wealth is not as old as ours, but they are every bit as successful. And you did not see the way he was looking at you last night.”

No, I did not, because my eyes were on someone else instead.

“If he and I can’t connect, you won’t force me to marry him just because his family is wealthy, right?”

“I have no doubt that the two of you will get along,” she says, getting up, and I can tell that she is done with the conversation. “Now get ready and come down for breakfast, and I’ll tell you all about the Berkleys and how your father met Mr. Berkley on the golf course last month. It really is a funny story.”

I nod as a sense of helplessness overwhelms me. Most people think arranged marriages are a thing of the past, but they’d be surprised just how often it happens among the wealthy elite. My mother says it is the only way to know someone likes you for who you are and not for your wealth. She makes it sound like our social class is filled with saints looking to make a genuine connection and not use each other for power and influence. But in reality, that’s all anyone cares about. It’s why I don’t have friends and I’ve never dated.

You don’t need to worry about that. I’ll take care of everything.

Logan’s voice telling me not to worry is the only reason I find the strength to move my feet. He asked me to trust him, and I will. Something about the way he said it made it sound like he knew what he was talking about.

I clean up and get dressed in record time, not bothering to put on makeup. In this heat, it’ll probably melt off my face anyway.

My heart falls when I find Joseph already at our dining table with my parents, but I manage to school my face into not showing how I am feeling.

“Look, dear, Joseph showed up earlier than expected,” Mom exclaims when she sees me. The green gunk is gone, and her face glows in the soft morning light. Whatever sorcery she uses on her skin must work because she looks at least a decade younger than her forty-five.

I walk over to greet Joseph, wincing at the large smile on his face. He does look genuinely happy to see me, which in turn sends a twinge of guilt rocking through my chest. It isn’t his fault I don’t want him.

That guilt lasts all of a few minutes before I want to be as far away from him as possible as he starts his monologue about his adventures, pausing only briefly to swallow his food.

“Did you know, they have a tropical climate in Laos? The entire time I was there, I was shirtless and spent most of my days fishing and surfing with the locals.”

“Hmm,” I mutter, swirling the eggs on my plate.

“You have to visit that part of the world, especially the countryside. Indonesia was my personal favorite; the Sumatran tiger is a thing of beauty, not to mention the local food. I would have gained at least a hundred pounds if I wasn’t constantly helping the locals with their rice farms.”

I nod companionably. I can admire a man with passion, and Joseph, well, he has loads of it. What he is bad at, however, is reading the room.

“Ashley, why don’t you show Joseph around, and he can tell you more about his adventures?”

I glare in my mother’s direction and silently question if she ever loved me in the first place. We could all sit here and listen to his stories just fine, but the fact that she’s sending me off into the scorching heat with him leaves me to question her love for me. I wonder idly if the heat or boredom will drive me mad first.

“I would love to see the ranch, and especially the barn. Last night, when I went looking for Ashley, I heard some strange noise coming from—”

“Sure, I’ll show you around,” I say quickly, cutting him off and standing up so fast, I almost tip the chair back. All eyes in the room turn to me, but I don’t stick around for them to question my weird behavior.

I hurry out, ready to escape the house. I am not paying attention to where I am going until I’ve run smack into someone.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say on a gasp, looking up in apology, but my words trail off when I am met by familiar blue eyes. “Logan . . .”

He is half-naked. This early in the morning, and he is shirtless, his blue jeans coated with dust, and it’s clear he’s been working for hours already. I stare at his sexy body, the rippling muscles, the sleeve tattoo glistening in the sun, and I gasp when I notice the tiny tiara on his shoulder.

I haven’t been close enough to him to really study his tattoos. Well, not in decent lighting anyway, but something tells me that this tattoo is a fresh one—at least, the latest of his collection. I want to trace my fingers over it. I’m curious but afraid to ask if it has anything to do with me. I am nearly desperate to touch it, though.

Lord, it’s dangerous, but I am tempted to jump into his arms, run my tongue over those beautiful muscles, and . . .

“Careful, princess,” he whispers, a warning dancing in his eyes, and I notice for the first time that he is not alone. There are a bunch of other ranch hands watching us curiously, and I imagine they’ve all just come from having breakfast.

My blood pumps faster, even as my face heats from mortification. It’s quite obvious that I was ogling Logan, and to have an audience while I did it is just reckless.

“Oh, uhm, thanks.” I stammer out the words, and humor floats in his eyes, but it quickly fades into a blank stare when someone steps up behind me.

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