1
Cyrus
Today feels extra brutal. I don’t know what is going on with the sun, or why it’s decided to be such an asshole today, but I’d appreciate it if a cloud or two rolled in and gave me five minutes of relief. Hell, even a light drizzle would be welcome if it didn’t lead to hellish humidity. My clothes are already clinging to my skin as it is.
Maybe once I finish this task, I can spend some time over at the watering hose. Drench my head for a few seconds to catch some relief.
The next strike of my hammer hits harder than the previous, but misses the nail entirely and leaves a half-crescent dent next to my thumb. Blinking away the sweat clinging to my lashes, my next hit strike doesn’t miss. Once these fixes are taken care of, just need to tend to Stripes’ pen before the day can finally be over.
Behind me, a lowmooresonates from my usual audience. After another hit, I feel hot breath against my neck in a heavy snort.
“If you assholes stopped breaking it, I wouldn’t have to come out here all the time, now would I?” Swatting my hand behind me to make sure an accident doesn’t happen, I get another moo in response before the cow behind me backs up, kicking at the grass as if in argument.
Moving from one post to another down the line, I hear a wave of barks in the distance. Too far out, I’ve got no clue what Meatball is up to, but I write it off as her chasing a squirrel up a tree or something close to it.
After getting three sides of the pen done, getting hit with a wave of dizziness tells me it’s about time I take a break. Just a quick one. The last thing I need is to start falling behind now.
As I approach Stripes, tucking my hammer into my belt, I hear another set of barks. These sound different from the previous ones. Far more excited than usual.
“What in the world is she up to?” Muttering the question under my breath, the horse snorts, hardly giving me much of an opinion on the matter. “Let’s go see what’s happening.”
Pulling myself up, I start making my way toward the house. The trot is nice. Gives me time to get a little air against my flushed skin. Not wanting to scare any of the cattle as they graze, I fight the urge to gallop the rest of the way. Close enough to search for the Aussie, something else catches my attention.
Something that immediately makes a frown crease my lips.
Someone’s standing in front of my home, staring up at the building. She’s got her hands folded behind her back as she tilts her head back. Brown hair catches the next forgiving breeze, and I stare for a minute as the strands whip to the side, showing off a floral summer dress. Painted gold with white flowers wrappedaround her hips and the hem brushing her knees, I’m forced to blink, wondering if this is a mirage from dehydration.
I don’t get company often, so when someone shows up at my doorstep, there’s usually a reason. Most of the time, it leads to a headache.
Meatball, the terrible guard dog she is, rests on her stomach as she stares right along with the stranger, that tail wagging back and forth.
Shaking my head before I get too caught up in the view, I’m tearing off my gloves and scowling as I hop off of the horse. I’m going to have to have a talk with that dog, especially when I just got done scolding her for welcoming the last woman who strolled by. Makes me believe they’re one and the same. Especially with the way they’re appreciating the outside of my home.
Olivia Price. The realtor who knocked on my door with a proposal to put this place on the market. My efforts must be bad enough to be pitied down to that point. Word must be getting around that the ranch isn’t doing as well as it once was. Well, I’m still here, aren’t I? It’s doing fine enough to get by.
She’d taken my refusal with a polite smile and promised to give me some time to think about her offer. And here I had hoped she would have given me more than a week to come up with another way to sayno.
Reaching the woman, I can’t help but let out a low growl of frustration. “Now, Mrs. Price, I thought I made it quite clear that I’m not selling—”
The stranger turns at the sound of my voice, and I can instantly tell that this woman is not who I think she is. She doesn’t look like a realtor at all, in fact.
This woman looks like anangel. She’s glowing like the sun itself, or maybe my eyes really are playing tricks on me. Then I notice the luggage at her feet, already collecting a layer of dirt onthe bottom. Oh, this beauty must be lost. While there aren’t too many places out here for her to go, there’s no way she should be here at my ranch.
Another graceful gust of wind hits us both. While I’m blinking away sweat, that summer dress flutters against her legs, and like the bastard I am, I don’t just take a quick glance. I stare as it lifts high enough to tickle her knees. This woman is young, too young for someone my age to be drinking in the way I am.
Instead of feeling shame, I’ve got something else stirring deep inside of me. Not recognizing it, I don’t even know what to call the feeling. But it has its claws deeply embedded inside of me, demanding I do something about the space between us. The thought of kicking her out is way past away from my mind. All I can think about is how to convince her to stay.
I should really get some water in my system. This isbad.
“Cyrus Kane, right?” The sweetest, softest voice I’ve ever heard leaves her lips as she tucks some of those brown strands behind her ear. “Am I at the right place?”
For a moment, I wonder if she’s one of those mail-order brides I hear about popping in town and on the mountain. Haven’t heard much from any of my neighbors, but I wouldn’t be surprised if one of those lucky fools had this woman searching for them. But instead of saying any of their names, it’s mine. The confusion clashes with the growing hunger.
“Depends who’s asking.” Forcing the words out, it sounds like I’ve swallowed a mouthful of the same dirt under her sandals. “What do you want?”
Despite my roughness, her mouth curves into a soft but blinding smile. Stepping toward me, I get hit with a rush of vanilla icing. Like she’s spent her entire afternoon soaking up the scents of the local bakery, kind of sweet. Far different than the animals I work with. Suddenly, without warning, she thrusts her hand out.
“Millie Vegas, at your service.” Her mouth curls higher as mine moves lower. Her hand is pale and clean. Just thinking about touching her with mine, my skin covered in god knows what, has me keeping mine right against my sides. Realizing I’ve got no intention of meeting her, her laugh is like music to my ears. “This is embarrassing. My dad said he’d talked to you. Please tell me you know Jerry Vegas.”
