As soon as I see Bill get a good hold on the calf, I step in and place the pliers to its ear. It tosses its little head a few times before pausing to take a breath, and I wince in sympathy even as I clamp the pliers closed to secure the tag.
The calf’s eyes are wide, and it’s obviously not enjoying the hold Bill has it in, but it’ll be over fast. I double check the backing to make sure it’s secure before stepping back with a nod to Bill. He releases it with a little chuckle. It bolts right for the gate, spraying mud in its wake. Jonas lets it run out to join the rest of the calves and herds an untagged one into the pen with us.
It’s a well-practiced routine after so many years working together, and while the calves are never happy about playing along, we’ve got a good rhythm between us.
I’m so used to things going the same way every year that I damn near drop the alcohol wipe I’m using to sterilize the pliers when I hear Mary’s voice. She’s babbling before she’s even fully in earshot, and I glance back to see if she’s on the phone. A chuckle breaks out of my throat when I realize that she’s just talking to herself, completely in her own world.
“We just need to really hype up the rustic factor,” she says, her tongue slipping out to wet her lips as she raises her phone to take a photo of one of the horses.
Trixie poses for the photo obediently, and I snort. She’s always been an attention hog.
“Morning, Mary,” Al greets.
She turns with a bright smile on her face, the blue of her eyes glittering with excitement as she steps out of the barn and toward the small pen we use for tagging. She’s wearing a pair of tailored navy slacks and a white button up, which is at least a little more suited to the ranch than the sensible pant suits sheseems so at home in. The heels have been set aside, too, and she’s been wearing sneakers since the second day.
I haven’t been able to talk her into the mud boots again, no matter how amusing it had been to see her face scrunch up in disgust the first time.
“Good morning, Al,” she says. “Everett, I wanted to talk to you about some ideas, if you’ve got a minute.”
I glance back to where Bill is still trying to wrangle the calf. This one’s feisty.
“Bit busy at the moment,” I say, not bothering to pretend I’m apologetic.
“Excellent,” she says with a wide grin, which is the last thing I expect to hear. “You can’t run away while I talk, then.”
That startles a laugh out of both me and Al, as Mary leans against the fence right next to him. Her eyes are glittering with both amusement and challenge, and I scowl, wishing that Bill would get a hold on the damn calf so I can focus on something other than the way her gaze makes me feel hot under the collar.
It’s been damn near a decade since anyone’s made me feel like this, and the only person before her was my wife. I spent thirty years with her, through all the ups and downs, and I don’t quite know how to feel about having even a passing attraction to someone else.
But I can’t stop the way my gaze falls to Mary’s lips when they twist into a teasing grin.
“Over the next few days, I want to get some photos of you working,” she says. “You’re the face of the ranch, so our marketing strategy should really include you. I was thinking maybe you could pose with some of the calves, at least when you’re not stabbing their poor little ears.”
She glances at the pliers in my hand with distaste, but I ignore the jab. She’s a city girl, and she probably thinks the needle that a vet uses to give a dog a vaccine is too big.
“Got her,” Bill finally calls.
He’s breathless, and the hold he’s got on the calf isn’t great, but I rush over anyway, tag at the ready. I take the calf’s ear in my fingers, ready for her to toss her head, but she bucks furiously instead. Her back legs dig down and send slicks of mud flying when she throws her weight around. She manages to wiggle free from Bill’s hold yet again just as Mary lets out a truly ear-piercing shriek from behind us.
I whirl on instinct, already advancing toward her. My eyes are wide with worry, because as annoying as she can be, I have no interest in anyone getting hurt on my ranch.
And then I come to a halt when I realize what that scream was about.
She’s staring down at her once pristine blouse, the white fabric now splattered with fresh mud across her chest and all the way down to her hip. There are a few spots on her pants, too, and a small spray reached up her neck to her jaw.
All I can do is laugh.
She just looks so utterly horrified, and it’s the first time I’ve seen her anything but composed—that smile finally dropping into a look of pure dismay. It’s the harmless kind of entertaining, seeing the pretty little city girl finally get properly dirty. The rest of us are all covered in mud and sweat, so she doesn’t look so out of place among us anymore.
Her head whips up, a truly venomous glare on her face, but whatever she sees when she looks at me makes her anger soften, and she settles on sighing.
“Gross,” she mutters, wiping the mud from her face with one hand.
My mind goes immediately blank when I realize that her other hand is plucking at the buttons of her shirt. She doesn’t seem to be thinking about it, and I see Al turn his attention elsewhere as she works the buttons open, causing me to freezein place. Unable to look away. She doesn’t look up until she’s shrugged her way out of it completely, and I really wish I could come up with quite literally anything to say.
She’s standing in front of me in a tiny little tank top. I can’t help but stare at the clear lines of her bra beaming from beneath it, causing my cheeks to warm. Her waist is even tinier than I thought it was, her curves the kind of thing that I want to stare at for days on end. She’s absolutely beautiful, despite the small smear of mud at the corner of her jaw.
“Please tell me that it was all mud,” she huffs. Her eyes gazing down at her shirt with a grimace curling her lips, thankfully failing to notice the way I’m still just standing there stupidly, looking at her.
