It takes everything in me not to wince at the question. “Nope. Still single.”
It was a slap to the face to remember that my fiancée, Hannah, had dumped me before I’d decided to come out here. I guess that made her my ex-fiancée now.
“Oh,” she coos at me. “Such a shame. You were always such a nice boy, Wes.” She puts a finger to her lips and leans on the counter. “Now, there are a few nice girls around here that are still single. Let’s see... there’s Allie, of course. At least I think she and Chase are off again. And Andrea Colsden just broke up with her beau. Let’s see, there’s Libby and Sarah. Who else? Hmmm... Lilah Hart is single, but on second thought, maybe she’s a little young for you. Oh, and of course there’s Sawyer.”
I cut in before she can name the rest of the unmarried women in town. “Thanks for the suggestions, Mrs. Mackey, but I’m not really looking right now. I just got out of a relationship recently. I’m not really ready for anything.”
Her face falls and then quickly brightens again. “Oh, well. You know, sometimes love has a way of showing up when you least expect it and so often when you’re not ready for it to find you again.”
“That’s a nice sentiment,” I reply dryly.
“What can I get for you, honey?” she finally asks.
I order an apple cinnamon muffin and a large coffee to go and decide it would be best to sit and eat in my truck to avoid any more uncomfortable conversation with Mrs. Mackey. I'm not ready for more prying questions from her or anyone else. She meant well, but the sudden inquisition makes my skin itch.
A Little Turned On
Wes
Ispent nearly five hours in town grabbing everything I needed. Everywhere I went, familiar faces stopped to say hi, to tell me what they had been up to for the last decade and ask—with damn hopeful looks—if I would be staying long.
Everybody loved Pops, and they all knew he was getting too old to run the ranch on his own. Despite that fact, I had no desire to survive out here with only one bar of service, a mini mart, a gas station, and a farm supply store.
I was accosted every few feet at the market, but I took the liberty of grabbing some groceries for the house, since Pops didn’t have much in the fridge. I could grill us up some burgers before his card game tonight.
I had an early start to the day and by the time I get back to Dawson Ranch, it’s only going on two, so I slip into the new work clothes I bought and find my old boots in the closet by the back door, right wherePops said they’d be. My nose wrinkles at the dust accumulating on the tops of the worn leather, but they still fit me like a glove.
Walking around in the boots has bittersweet longing settling under my skin. It makes me feel a bit like the boy I used to be. The grandson of a rancher who could rope and wrangle with the best of them, who lived for days spent in the fields and nights laying in a truck bed under the stars.
I huff out a breath to dispel the lingering nostalgia and head out in search of Tripp or Pops. They’re not in the immediate vicinity of the farmhouse and since I’m not sure which pasture the herd is in right now, I decide to see if anything needs doing in the barn.
It’s apparent the barn could use a good cleaning before it gets put to use this winter, but I quickly realize I forgot an essential when I was in town.
Work gloves.
I search the workbench for an old set but come up empty, so I set to work on the task without them, organizing the tools, moving out broken pallets, sweeping out the old hay and making sure the hay bay looks clean and dry.
It may be the beginning of October, but it’s unseasonably warm, and I sweat my ass off as I clean with hardly any of the day’s breeze reaching the depths of the barn.
I’m sliding the final pallet into place when rough wood slices into my hand. I drop the pallet to inspect the damage and find a sliver the size of Texas jammed in the tender skin between my thumb and forefinger.
“God fucking damnit,” I mutter, picking up the pallet and putting it back in place with my good hand.
“I hope you don’t kiss your mother with that mouth.”
I whip around to find Sawyer standing at the barn doors. Her arms are crossed in front of her and the haughty look she’s wearing only makes me want to antagonize her.
I stride forward, my jaw tightening, as I plant my feet right in front of her. “Last I checked, what I do with my mouth wasn't your concern. Though, if you want to make it your concern, all you gotta do is ask.”
My eyes drop to her mouth, and I smirk as her lips drop open in shock. Sweat drips into my eyes, and I move to swipe it off my brow with the hem of my T-shirt. Sawyer’s gaze trails up my body, catching on the naked expanse of skin that’s showing.
She recovers herself and lets out a dry laugh. "If I wanted to be disappointed, I'd order a salad at a steakhouse."
"Was there a reason you stopped by? To wash my filthy mouth out with soap, maybe?"
She appraises me with a cool focus that has warmth flooding my face and my fingers curling into a fist. I hiss out a sharp breath as the movement reminds me there's a large piece of wood stuck next to my thumb.
Her eyes track my hand as I put it to my mouth and suck on the spot where the sliver is lodged.
