I chew on my cheek, debating whether or not to be offended by that statement.
Sawyer is a spitfire. Wild and untamed. Something about that excites me, makes my hair stand on end in anticipation of something... but I’m not sure what.
A good fight? Or a good fuck?
Tripp’s statement hangs in the air and my eyes narrow at him as he pulls himself into his truck with a sly smile on his face, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
Dang Brat
Sawyer
Watching Wes flail his way around the pens this morning gave me some sort of sick enjoyment. It was laughable he didn’t think he needed any bit of a warm-up for the roping he would have to do tomorrow. As far as I know, it's been years since he’s roped anything. But I wasn’t going to make that suggestion to him. If he thought he didn’t need to remember how it was done in the privacy of his own backyard, then far be it from me to suggest otherwise. It might be fun to watch him struggle again.
He might have been frustrated this morning, but he hadn’t quit, and that had shocked the hell out of me. I’d pegged him as the type of person who took the easy way out of things.
His perfectly coiffed hair, designer duds, and the general air of superiority that oozed off him in waves told me everything I needed to knowabout this grown-up version of Wes Dawson. He was privileged, and he was selfish. And I couldn’t stand him despite the modicum of charm he'd shown at the bar.
My hair is still damp from my shower and falls down my back in natural waves as I pull the hot cinnamon rolls out of the oven. Eating cinnamon rolls and chili is a Nebraska staple, a combination as common here as cornbread and chili is in the south. I drizzle them with icing and hear the rumble of male voices before my screen door creaks open.
My small, untidy kitchen is now filled with three full-grown men, one of which is on my shit list. I frown as I look at Wes in his nice jeans and polo shirt. His hair looks like it’s been positioned with some sort of styling gel, and he reeks of his expensive cologne.
“It smells fantastic in here, Sawyer. I can’t wait to dig in,” Pops says, making me tear my eyes from Wes, who’d been looking at my little farmhouse kitchen like it somehow offended him.
It’s small, outdated, and a little cramped, but it’s passable, especially since I’m the only one who lives here.
I force a smile. “It’s ready when you are.”
Pops kisses the top of my head as he steps around me to get to the food. His face is drawn and tired, but his color is still good, so I let him serve himself without making a fuss over it.
We sit around my table and eat, going over the plan for tomorrow for separating and vaccinating the feeder herd. Normally, we would wait a couple of weeks before doing this part, but with Wes here, Pops wants to get it all done in the little time he’s willing to grant us the pleasure of his company. It makes for a hectic week.
Pops rises from his seat. “Wes, I’m gonna hit the hay. Why don’t you be a gentleman and help Sawyer with the cleanup since she cooked?”
“Sure thing.” I’m surprised when he agrees without a fight.
Tripp stretches and pats his stomach. “I’m so full I might bust. I’ll see you two bright and early.” I scoff at him, skipping out on the cleanup now that there’s someone else to help me.
“I’ll get the horses ready first thing,” I call to Pops and Tripp as a goodbye.
Wes’ brows raise. “We’re usingyourhorses?”
I begin clearing the dishes. “Mine are the best-trained horses in the panhandle. Whose horses did you think we’d be using?”
Wes jumps in to help with clearing off the table as he chews that over. “I don’t know. I guess I’m used to Pops having his own. I forget his stables are empty now.”
“Some of the horses in my stable were his until he had to cut back. He let me have the handful he had left in return for bringing him dinners every once in a while and letting him use the horses when he needed them.” I twist my hair up so it stays out of my face.
“That was mighty kind of him.” His gaze narrows like he’s trying to solve a difficult equation.
“Pops let me apprentice with him after I graduated with my equine science degree, and when I moved into this place to start my own training facility, he offered me his horses.”
Ranchers would have paid good money for horses that well trained for working cattle, but instead he’d given me the horses I’d spent my early twenties helping him train and spread the word across the county that if you wanted an equine trainer, I was the one to get. He helped me get my business off the ground. I’d never be able to fully repay him for the support and encouragement he gave me over those first few years.
I load the dishwasher, and Wes saunters over with the rest of the dishes. “I thought you were just being neighborly by bringing him food and pitching in on the ranch. I didn’t realize you had worked with him,too.” He chews on the inside of his cheek like he’s mulling things over, reassessing.
“He couldn’t afford to keep me on as staff, but he did the best he could for me. He’s like family to me.”
Wes nods, and then his hand slides over my waist. My pulse spikes at the contact and my body freezes. He’s touching bare skin with hands that are soft from working in an office all day, and something behind my belly button tightens at the contact.
