I kept my face carefully blank. “Something like that.”
Once the calf was vaccinated, I loosened the rope and let her go, pulling my lasso back in with practiced ease. I coiled it at my side, trying not to notice how Ryder’s eyes followed my hands as I worked.
“You got any more to do?” Ryder asked Larry, though his eyes never left me.
“Just three more,” Larry replied. “Shouldn’t take long with Connor’s help.”
“Mind if I stick around and watch?” Ryder’s smile was all innocence, but his eyes were anything but. “I feel like a kid at the rodeo.”
“Free country,” I muttered, turning my horse away from him without ceremony.
Larry chuckled, oblivious to the tension. “Suit yourself. Might learn something new.”
I tried to focus on the task at hand rather than the man watching me with those hungry green eyes. The next calf proved trickier, darting between a cluster of larger cattle. I guided my horse around the perimeter, waiting for a clear shot. When theopening came, I seized it, swinging my lasso with precision. The loop settled perfectly once again around the calf’s neck.
“Beautiful!” Ryder called out, his voice carrying across the field.
My face burned at the praise, and I kept my eyes fixed on the calf as one of the hands approached to administer the vaccine. Damn him for affecting me this way. I’d managed to keep my desires in check for seven years in prison, surrounded by men with nothing but time and frustration. Yet one spoiled ranch owner’s son had me hot under the collar with just a look. But I knew what kind of game he was playing, and Irefusedto take part in it.
The next two calves went just as smoothly. With each successful catch, Ryder’s admiration became more obvious, his posture more tense. He was practically vibrating with excitement by the time I roped the final calf.
“That’s all of ‘em,” Larry announced, riding up beside me as the last calf was released. “Damn fine work today, Connor.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. “It felt good to be useful.”
“You’re more than useful,” Larry said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Pete’s gonna be mighty pleased when he hears about this. We’ve been short on skilled ropers since old Jim retired.”
Great. The last thing I needed was more attention from the McGrath family.
As Larry and the other hands started heading back toward the barn, I lingered behind, taking my time coiling my rope. I hoped Ryder would follow the others, but of course, that would’ve been too easy.
“Need some help?” he asked, approaching my horse.
“I can coil a rope all by myself,” I replied, not looking at him.
“You know,” he said, resting one hand on my horse’s neck, “when Dad said we were getting a new batch of guys, I didn’t expect any of them to have actual skills.”
I snorted. “What, you think ex-cons are just worthless criminals?”
“No,” he answered, surprising me with his sincerity. “But most of them just do the bare minimum to get through their probation. You’re... different.”
I finally looked down at him. The sun caught his strawberry-blonde hair, making it glow like burnished copper. His lips were curved in a smile that seemed almost genuine rather than teasing for once.
“Different how?” I asked, immediately regretting giving him an opening.
His green eyes sparkled. “You care about doing the job right. You take pride in your work.” He paused, his voice dropping lower. “And you’re fucking incredible with those hands.”
There it was. I wondered how long it would take him to add some sort of flirtation to the mix. The man was insufferable.
“Yeah, well, I’ll be keeping those hands to myself.”
Ryder’s expression shifted, his playful smirk replaced by something more genuine. He stepped closer to my horse, lowering his voice.
“You don’t have to keep them to yourself,” he said, his eyes holding mine. “Not on my account.”
I tightened my grip on the reins, the leather creaking beneath my fingers. “Look, I meant what I said before. I’m not here to play games. I’ve got six months to get through without screwing up, and then I’m gone.”
“Who says it has to be a game?” Ryder asked, reaching up to stroke my horse’s mane, his fingers brushing against my thigh. “Maybe I just like what I see.”
