His eyes were ridiculous—hazel, mostly brown but flecked with green and gold, ringed with lashes so thick and curled they looked like a commercial for mascara.
And because apparently the universe hated me, I had tocrane my neckto take him all in. He was tall. Like, real tall. Muscles lean and sun-warmed, skin tanned from actual work. I needed a fainting couch, smelling salts, and some strategically placed fans.
“Why are you staring at me?”
Oh great. Gravel again. From a mouth that was thin-lipped with disapproval but still somehow criminally kissable. His lips were that perfect natural pink that lipstick companies try to recreate and always fail. When you added in his dark hair, scruff at just the right level, and that stoic cowboy thing he had going, I was a goner.Carry me away, Daddy.
“Do you not want that?” I purred. “Because I can think of a lot of things I’d like to watch you do.”
The only reason I didn’t smooth a hand down his chest was because I still had some dignity. Though not a lot.
“Does it involve recapturing your menaces?”
No. No. No. Sexy and scowly was one thing—but sexy and judgy of my ladies? Unacceptable.
“Who are you talking about? Not Tammy. Or Loretta. Maybe Reba, but definitely not Dolly. She is perfection in goat form.”
“Did they come pre-named, or did you decide on that ridiculousness?”
“The previous owner hadn’t gotten around to it.” I sniffed. “What’s wrong with their names?”
“They seem kinda…I don’t know…gay?”
“Well, I am gay, so yeah. Most things I do are gonna be gay. Super gay. The gayest of gay. Be prepared for a Pride parade out my door.” I stepped forward and looked up at him directly. “We gonna have a problem?”
His eyes widened slightly. “What? No. I don’t give a shit about that. Faust and Bert play them all the time.”
“Faust and Bert sound like a Broadway power couple.”
“Don’t tell Bert that. He’s never met a show tune he didn’t love.Hello, Dolly!andSixwere bad enough, but theHamiltonphase almost broke me.1776I liked though.”
Honestly, I wasn’t sure how or when I’d be in a position to share secrets with Bert, but I made a mental note to do so.
“What did you say your name was?” I asked, throwing in a little innocent curiosity.
“I didn’t.”
“I’m Jasper Greer.”
Silence. The cowboy just stared at me like I was some weird creature that might suddenly abduct him onto my mothership. “And you are…?”
“Hank Vogel.” He sighed.
“Well, Hank, it’s your lucky day.”
“If that were true, I wouldn’t be standing here.”
I ignored that bit of nonsense. I wasn’t about to be dragged down by a gorgeous, broody guy in jeans that deserved their own Instagram account.
“It’s not your luckiest day,” I clarified with a wink. “But close.”
Direct hit. His cheeks turned a soft pink.
“What I need from you right now is help getting my girls back. They’re going to be late for their tea and nap.” I gave him a look. He was the cowboy. Surely he had tools or tricks for this kind of thing. “Then we’ll get out of your hair, and you can go back to being handsome and grumpy in peace.”
“Tea and nap?”
As he spoke, his long fingers—nails bitten down to the quick—pinched the bridge of his nose like I was the migraine he hadn’t invited.
