He had to bring Sierra into it. I’m still not ready to examine this soft spot I have for the kid, but he’s right. She wouldprobably love it. Her face lights up every time she gets a chance to pitch in. I give a subtle nod, and my dad quickly turns to Hayden.
“Well, Hayden? You up for it? You can say no, and I’ll just call up one of our old ranch hands or something.”
Hayden’s lips curve into a hint of a smile, and he nods his head. “You already know if you need me to help with anything, I’m here. As long as I’m not stepping on any toes.”
It’s hard to ignore the flicker of excitement at the thought of working alongside him for a few days. I’m aware that there is a good chance we won’t even pass each other, depending on how our schedules line up. But it still makes the prospect of coming home from work at Boulder Ranch and then getting to work here sound a lot more appealing.
I somehow manage to keep a silly grin off my face as we sit around the fire and wait for Sierra. It doesn’t make much sense, but sitting here like this feels comfortable, even with the huge secret we’re both keeping from my dad. It almost feels like we’re supposed to be here, enjoying the mild spring evening together. All I know is at this moment, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else or with anyone else as I gaze at the warmth in Hayden’s eyes while he watches Sierra learn to ride.
Chapter 23
Hayden
I’ve managed to avoid working alongside Miranda for most of this weekend. Not because I don’t want to see her, but because of how much I do. Today, I prepared myself to work with her since Sierra would never forgive me if I came by without her while she’s in school. Sierra and I barely make it to the entrance of the stables before she makes a beeline for a view of the paddock, leaving me clear on the other side of the building.
“We know at least one stall will be in tiptop shape—if she ever gets to cleaning it, anyway,” Miranda says with a laugh.
I hadn’t even seen her yet, but I swear I could feel her presence even before she spoke. “I don’t know… We came up with an agreement that she can hang out with Snickerdoodle only after chores are done. So, my guess is the stalls she cleans will be barely passable.”
Miranda’s laugh fills the air, and I find myself smiling along with her. She looks too damn good wearing a pair of worn jeansand a fitted tank top beneath an open sweatshirt. I allow my eyes to travel the length of her body just once before I direct my focus on what Sierra is doing.
As I expected, she appears to be breezing through her first stall. If she’s going to rush through, I might as well make it fun. The last thing I want to do is make this feel like a chore for her. Mucking stalls and caring for horses is hard work, but it’s work I wouldn’t trade for the world.
“How about a contest?” I suggest loud enough for Sierra to hear as we approach.
It’s Miranda who pipes up first. “What kind of contest? Before I agree to any shenanigans.”
A laugh rumbles through my chest. “I could have already answered that by now, if you hadn’t interrupted me.”
Miranda rolls her eyes so hard, I’m surprised they don’t get stuck. “Anyway,let’s hear it, old man.”
Old man?I let out a surprised laugh, which very quickly turns into a cough. Pounding my chest, I work to regain my composure, but that’s damn near impossible with Miranda’s small hand rubbing my back.
“We each get eight stalls to clean, and whoever finishes first wins,” I say once I regain the ability to breathe.
“What’s the prize?” Sierra asks skeptically.
“You’ll get to spend time with Snickerdoodle, for one…”
Sierra smirks and rolls her eyes at me, clearly taking a cue from Miranda. “That’s not a prize. I get to do that as soon as I finish, anyway.”
“I think bragging rights should be enough, but what do you suggest?” I ask, playfully poking her shoulder.
Miranda watches us, her expression filled with amusement. It’s hard not to stare at her. She has her hair up in a ponytail, but it’s messy from her already-long workday. I want to reach out and brush the stray strands from her face, but I remind myself that friends don’t do that. And we aren’t alone.
“I have a better idea,” Sierra says. “Instead of the winner getting a prize, how ‘bout the loser has to cook dinner?”
Miranda’s eyebrows shoot up, and it’s hard to tell if she’s surprised by this suggestion, worried, or impressed. Once Sierra had been with me for a few days, she told me that she often cooked dinner before her mom passed away. So, we started taking turns with meals instead of me treating her like a helpless child. It’s been nice. And tonight is her turn to cook.
“I think that’s a fantastic idea,” Miranda says, obviously confident that she won’t be the loser.
Before I can open my mouth to respond, Miranda takes off toward her group of stalls, and Sierra isn’t far behind her. They have me at a disadvantage with this damn shoulder, anyway. If I actually try to push myself, I’m sure I could get finished first, but I’m not killing myself. Plus, when I think of the excitementon both ladies’ faces at the prospect of not having to cook, I slow my pace.
By the time I step into my sixth stall, I’ve already decided for certain to throw the game. I don’t mind cooking for them if it makes them both happy. Taking my sweet time, I continue shoveling out the old straw before lining it with a fresh layer and then moving on to the next. Miranda and Sierra both appear as I’m entering my final stall.
“Well, loser, what’s for dinner?” Miranda asks.
Grinning, Sierra and Miranda high-five each other in front of me, and I just shake my head as I laugh to myself. “I’m not sure yet. Am I supposed to cook at your place? I don’t even know what my options are.”
