He’s big. At least a full foot taller than me. I have to tilt my head up to look into his eyes. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his forearms where he’s rolled up his flannel, despite the chilly day. And a fleck of sawdust caught in his beard that somehow makes him even more distractingly good-looking.
Focus, Anna. You’re the vet. The professional.
He’s at least twenty years older than me. A grumpy cowboy. A client.
But my treacherous brain doesn’t care. All it can focus on is the shape of his mouth, the gruff timber of his voice and the quiet way he watches my every move, like he’s not sure if he should trust me.
Or kiss me.
My cheeks heat with the unexpected thought, but if he notices, he doesn’t say anything.
Instead, he says, “Wasn’t expecting a woman.”
I let out a short, dry laugh. “You and everyone else in this valley and up on the mountain.”
That was an understatement. I’d only been in town a month, and it had been an uphill battle to convince both the ranchers and townspeople that I was competent, despite my sex. My age. Or my blonde hair.
“Like I said, it’s a good thing I like a challenge,” I added.
That earns me another almost flicker of a smile, before he shakes his head and says, “Tell your uncle that I’m not my father. I don’t know all of what went on, but I can guess.” He turns away.
“I’ll let him know.” I hesitate before adding, “For the record, I think there’s still a lot of good here at the ranch.”
He pauses and looks back over his shoulder at me. His eyes are dark and completely unreadable. “You’d be the first person to say that in a long time.”
For a heartbeat, the air between us feels charged.
Then Wyatt clears his throat and shoves his hands in his back pockets. “You done for the day?”
I nod. “I’ll check on Oatmeal in a day or two. But call me if she’s ready before then.”
I expect him to object. Instead, he nods. “Fine. You can see yourself out?”
It’s not exactly friendly. But he doesn’t run me off with a shotgun like his father. I’ll take it for now.
As I pack up my gear, I can feel his gaze on me again, but when I glance back before slipping out the door, he’s already turned away, stroking Oatmeal’s neck with an unexpected gentleness.
Maybe Wyatt Thorne isn’t as tough as he wants people to believe.
Chapter Two
WYATT
The November air still has a bite to it, the kind that reminds you winter is just around the corner.
But the sun is strong enough this afternoon to melt the frost off the fence rails and make me shrug out of my thick jacket.
I toss it over the top rail of the fence as I watch Travis Dean tighten the last stretch of wire on the fence he’s repairing.
Just like I have, he’s been at it since sunrise. Humming under his breath, his beat-up black hat tipped low on his brow as he moves with the easy confidence of a man who’s been doing ranch work his whole damn life.
Specifically, ranch work on Rock Creek Ranch.
One of the best parts of coming back to this place is seeing Trav again. Hell, maybe it was the only good part.
Travis was the son of my father’s long-time ranch manager. He’d grown up on this land, just as I had. For years, he’d felt like one of my brothers.
That is, until our mother died, our father remarried, and his new family was born. That’s when everything went to hell.
