It’s not even like he gets a rise out of frustrating me, at least not that I can see. He’s not being stubborn, he just has his head so far in the sand that he won’t even think about opening his eyes.
It’s so obvious that he’s working himself to the bone that I almost feel bad pushing for answers, but he won’t give me an inch. How hard is it to pick a fucking color scheme? Or even tell me what area of the state he wants me to focus on? He won’t let me finalize a single detail without his daughter’s say-so, and wherever she is, her reception is worse than mine is out here.
The only stroke of luck I’ve had so far is getting a meeting with the owners of a butcher shop a few towns over. Everetteven so graciously agreed to come along to the meeting with me, although I had to promise it was the only meeting I’d drag him to.
If I crossed my fingers behind my back on that promise, that’s no one’s business but mine.
Isaythat was a stroke of luck, except for the fact that we were supposed to be on the road nearly half an hour ago, and Everett is nowhere to be found. I marched around half the damn ranch in search of him, but not even Al has any idea of where the man is. He’s lucky that I’ve gotten better at avoiding the piles of cow shit, or he’d really be in for it.
He’ll be in for it when I find him regardless, but at least he’ll be saved my wrath over my shoes.
I perk up when I hear the sound of splashing coming from behind the massive garage. My eyes narrow in suspicion as I step away from my car and head toward the path that leads to the creek. Everyone else is out in the fields, either checking on the cows or fixing the fences, and I’m pretty sure they don’t need any of the equipment housed in the garage over here for whatever they’re doing. I’m damn near positive that what they’re doing doesn’t require a dip in the river, which sounds like what’s happening back there.
I may not know everyone’s names yet, but I’ve gotten familiar with their faces throughout the week, and I know where they all are today. Which means that the only person missing who could be playing in the creek is the exact man I’ve been waiting half an hour for.
Oh, Everett is going to get a goddamnearful.
He’s done nothing but the bare minimum the entire time I’ve been here. Even with how much work he puts into the ranch, he never does anything to keep things in shape before something goes wrong. He just waits until problem after problem arises,and then he trudges his way through shoddy patch jobs that only leave things worse.
I don’t give a shit about whatever personal issues he’s got going on, I’m not going to let him fuck with my job just because he doesn’t want to save his own business.
A scathing reproach is already burning on my tongue as I round the corner, but what I see stops me dead in my tracks.
Everett is in the creek, just like I expected, his back turned to me. His hair looks darker than usual, thanks to the water saturating it—the same water that’s dripping down over his shoulders and clinging to every single muscle on its way down. Everything I had planned to say to him runs straight out of my brain as my eyes follow the trail of the water droplets.
He’s unreasonably well-muscled for a man of his age, and while I probably should have expected it from someone who does so much physical labor, the sight still makes my mouth go dry. The water is up to his hips, lapping lazily at his skin. The heat has been nearly unbearable most days, but I find myself appreciative of the sun, if only for the way it shines down on Everett’s back and makes him look almost golden.
He raises his arms above his head in a show of languid relaxation, and I suddenly remember exactly why I’m back here instead of in my car, driving us to our meeting.
Yes, that’s right. Our meeting—the one which we should already be at by now.
“Mr. Riggs!” I call, straining to keep my tone somewhat professional instead of downright pissed.
He jolts in surprise, whipping around to face me, and the view from the front isn’t any better for my sanity. His chest is even more well-muscled than his back, all firm pecs and solid abs. He's not ripped like some stupid movie poster, just sturdy.
Water beads on the smattering of hair across his chest, dripping down to follow the trail as the hair thickens just above his hips.
My heart hammers in my chest, and I can only hope that the concealer I use to hide my freckles is enough to cover the blush on my cheeks. I tear my eyes away from where the water is teasing at the hem of his boxers so that I don't make an even bigger fool of myself.
“Ms. Bryce,” he says.
He sounds more surprised to see me than he should, considering he knows damn well that we’re supposed to be on a schedule. His insistence on calling me by my last name is enough to break me out of my appreciation of his body.
“I really hope you're having an excellent dip in the river,” I say, planting my hands on my hips and leveling him with a disapproving frown. “Because we're almost forty minutes late to leave for the meeting thatyouagreed to go to.”
For almost an entire second, he looks stricken and well-scolded. I don't have time to bask in my success before that familiar mask of exhausted disinterest is back in place.
It’s actually kind of sad to see him shift from relaxation to a perfect picture of stress in a matter of moments. If I wasn't so pissed off at him right now, maybe it'd be easier to find some sympathy.
“Don't need to scold me like a child,” he grumbles, wading toward the bank of the river.
His work shirt and jeans are in a pile next to his ratty old boots, covered in muck and sweat. I grimace at the thought of him pulling them back on.
I don't think the grime would be able to distract me from the sight of thin fabric soaking through and hugging his muscles.
“I wouldn't be scolding you at all if you weren't acting like a child.”
The words come out before I can think them through, and I have a moment of panic about speaking to a client that way as Everett pauses. He's halfway up the bank, water sluicing off his body in torrents.
