The shout echoed off the rafters. We both turned to see a woman striding into the barn like she owned the deed, the livestock, and the air we were breathing. My brain temporarily short-circuited because, holy shit, was everyone in Oklahoma unfairly attractive? Was there something in the water?
She was tall—taller than Winnie by a couple of inches, maybe five-nine—with long blonde hair falling in beachy waves down her back, bright blue eyes, and legs that went on for days. She was wearing cut-off denim shorts that showcased said legs, a cropped tank top that read "RUSTY SPUR" across the chest, and cowboy boots that were definitely more fashion than function but looked damn good anyway.
And when she saw me—shirtless, sweaty, dirt-smudged me—she stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth falling open.
"Well, holy shit," she said, her eyes doing a very obvious, very slow scan from my face down to my abs and back up again. "Winnie, you didn't mention the new guy was gonna look like a Calvin Klein billboard."
Winnie laughed—actually laughed, a relaxed, genuine sound I hadn't heard yet. It changed her whole face. "Cassie, meet Beau Sterling. Beau, this is Cassie Morrison, my best friend and the town’s biggest gossip."
"I prefer 'information specialist,'" Cassie corrected, walking over and sticking out her hand. When I shook it, she held on a beat longer than necessary, grinning up at me. "And damn, boy, do you work out or is that just genetics? 'Cause if it's genetics, I need to know who your parents are so I can send them a thank-you card."
I couldn't help but laugh. "Little bit of both, I think."
"Well, bless them." She finally released my hand and turned to Winnie, who was leaning against Daisy’s stall looking thoroughly amused. "Why didn't you tell me he looked like this? I would've come by yesterday just to stare. I would have brought snacks."
"'Cause I knew you'd be weird about it," Winnie said, but she was grinning.
"I'm not bein' weird, I'm bein' honest. There's a difference." Cassie looked me up and down again, completely shameless. "So, Beau Sterling, what brings a pretty thing like you to our little slice of nowhere?"
"Exile," I said honestly, because there was something about her energy that made lying feel pointless. "My dad thought I needed to learn responsibility, so he banished me here for the summer to work on the ranch."
"And how's that goin' for ya?"
I gestured at myself—shirtless, covered in dirt and sweat, probably with hay in my hair, definitely smelling like a barn animal. "I’ve discovered muscles I didn't know existed, learned that roosters are agents of chaos, shoveled more shit than should be legal, and I think I might be dying. So... great?"
Cassie burst out laughing—loud and unfiltered. "Oh, I like you. Winnie, can we keep him?"
"He's not a stray puppy, Cass," Winnie said, but she was still smiling, relaxed in a way that made her look younger. Less guarded.
"Could've fooled me, the way he's followin' you around lookin' all lost." Cassie winked at me, then pulled out her phone to check the time. "Shit, I'm on my way to my shift at the Spur, just wanted to stop by real quick. You still comin' to trivia night Thursday?"
"Probably. If I can leave this one unsupervised for a few hours without him burnin' down the barn."
"I resent that," I said. "I’ve been very responsible today. I haven't broken anything or set anything on fire."
"The day ain't over yet," Winnie shot back.
Cassie looked between us, her grin widening like she knew a secret. "Oh, y'all are gonna be fun this summer. Hey, Beau, you should come to trivia night! It'll be a good way to meet people, plus the wings are killer and the beer is cheaper than water."
"Is there anything else to do in this town?" I asked. "Because so far, my options seem to be: shovel manure or go to the Rusty Spur."
"That's pretty much it," Cassie said cheerfully. "Small town livin', baby. But trust me, trivia night’s a blast. Winnie and I usually team up and destroy everyone—well, except when we go up against the Hendersons, they're trivia nerds—and there's always drama when someone gets too drunk and starts fights about whether 'Die Hard' is a Christmas movie."
"It's not," Winnie said instantly.
"It absolutely is," Cassie countered.
"It’s an action movie that happens to be set at Christmas."
"That makes it a Christmas movie! Does it have a tree? Yes. Is there snow? Yes. Is there a holiday party? Yes. It'sA Christmas Carolwith machine guns!"
They both looked at me like I was supposed to settle this dispute. I hadn't even watched the movie. Hell, I usually spent Christmas in Aspen or St. Barts.
"I... have no opinion on this," I said, holding up my hands in surrender. "I don't want to get involved in what feels like a decade-long blood feud."
"Smart man," Winnie said.
"Coward," Cassie corrected, but she was grinning. "Anyway, Thursday night, seven PM, be there. Wear a shirt this time though—Donna’s the waitress and she’s like sixty, and I don't wanna be responsible for givin' her a coronary."
