What the hell was I doing?
That was the only thought I had as I pulled into the Turner Ranch, my Jeep tires rumbling over the gravel. I mean, obviously I didn’t want to do chores for Aunt Dolly. That part was easy to understand. But why was I going to spend all afternoon with some cocky cowboy that I couldn’t stand who’d forced a kiss on me the night previous? If anyone didn’t deserve my attention, it washim.
And yet, every time I thought of those rippling muscles, those dark eyes, the perfect stubble, or hisstupidfuckingDora the Explorername, my stomach erupted in butterflies. Which, to be honest, was the dumbest fucking reaction I could be having toward someone that annoyed the piss out of me. I’d grant he was easy on the eyes and fucking him had crossed my mind more than once. But every time he opened his mouth… ugh… I just wanted to slap him again. Nobody should be that confident.
I parked next to the main house and sat there for a moment, staring at the steering wheel. This was stupid. I should just turn around, go back to Dolly’s, and tell her I changed my mind about avoiding chores. At least cleaning tables didn’t involve spendingtime with someone who made my brain short-circuit every time he flashed that cocky grin.
But before I could chicken out completely, I spotted Diego walking toward my Jeep from the barn. He’d traded his Christmas festival clothes for worn jeans that hugged his thighs in ways that should be illegal, and a faded blue work shirt with the sleeves rolled up to show off those ridiculous forearms. His cowboy hat was tilted at that perfect angle again, like he’d practiced it in the mirror.
Fucking hell. How was anyone supposed to think clearly around that? Bastard.
“Well, look who showed up,” he said as I climbed out of my Jeep, that insufferable grin already spreading across his face. “Was startin’ to think you’d chickened out, Freckles.”
“Don’t call me that,” I said automatically, though my heart did this stupid little skip when he said it. “And I’m not late. It’s exactly eleven.”
“Never said you were late.” His eyes crinkled at the corners like he was trying not to laugh. “Just said I thought you might chicken out.”
I crossed my arms, trying to ignore how good he looked in the morning sunlight. “What makes you think I’d chicken out?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you looked like you wanted to murder me last night when you agreed to this?” He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell that clean, masculine cologne that seemed to follow him around. “Or the way you’re glarin’ at me right now like I kicked your dog.”
“I don’t have a dog,” I said flatly.
“Figure of speech, city boy.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Come on, let’s get you introduced to your horse for the day.”
“Introduced to a horse?” I scoffed. “We gonna have coffee and a chat with him or something?”
“Not quite, but you’re gonna wanna know him a little bit.” Diego gave me a wink, the kind that probably worked on most of the menhe used it on. “When you’ve got a thousand pounds of beast between your legs, you’re gonna at least want to know his name.”
Oh. My. God. This fucking guy.
I followed him toward the barn, irritated as hell already and trying not to stare at the way his jeans stretched across his ass when he walked. This was a terrible idea. I should have stayed in bed with a book and pretended the outside world didn’t exist.
The barn was cool and dim after the bright Texas sunshine, smelling like hay and leather and something indefinably horse-like. Diego led me past several stalls, each containing a horse that looked far too large and intimidating for someone who’d never been closer to one than a carousel.
“This here’s Buttercup,” Diego said, stopping at a stall containing a white mare with gentle brown eyes. “She’s as sweet as her name suggests, and she’s got the patience of a saint. Perfect for beginners.”
I stared at the horse, who stared back with what I could only describe as mild interest. She was beautiful, I had to admit, but also massive. “Are you sure she won’t throw me off?”
“Buttercup? Nah.” Diego reached out and stroked the mare’s neck, and she leaned into his touch like they were old friends. “She’s been teaching folks to ride for years. Haven’t you, girl? And she’s just been cleared for riding again by our resident horse-whisperer.”
The horse nickered softly, and I had to admit there was something calming about the sound. Still didn’t mean I trusted her not to dump me in the dirt the moment I climbed on. And a resident horse whisperer didn’t sound like the most reliable source of information.
“Alright,” Diego said, moving to grab a saddle from a nearby rack. “Let’s get her ready.”
I watched as he worked, trying not to notice how his muscles moved under his shirt as he hefted the saddle. The man made everything look effortless, from the way he slipped the metal thing into Buttercup’s mouth to how he tightened the strap doohickeys with practiced ease. It was annoying how competent he was.
“You gonna stand there gawkin’ all day, or you wanna learnsomething?” he asked without looking up, though I caught the smirk tugging at his lips.
“I wasn’t gawking,” I lied, heat creeping up my neck. “I was observing.”
“Uh-huh.” He finished with Buttercup and moved to the next stall, where a larger chestnut horse was waiting. “This here’s Ranger. He’s mine.”
Of course his horse had a manly name like Ranger. And this horse, whoever he was, got to have Diego’s firm, perfectly sculpted ass on his back all day.
“So,” I said, desperate to distract myself from thoughts of Diego’s ass, “how long have you been doing this whole cowboy thing?”
Diego paused in his saddling, glancing over at me with something that might have been surprise. “Since I was sixteen, remember? Why do you ask?”
