“Hope isn’t a guest, she’s a ranch hand who almost murdered me.” He slides her a sideways glance all the same. “Sorry for being crude, though.”
“Thanks.” She gives him a sweet smile. “The yogurt is really good, actually. You should try it. It’s really thick and creamy, with a nice tang.”
He gags, his whole body recoiling.
She winks at me. “I fit right in as a ranch hand, eh?”
It’s not the official title I would give her, but yes, she does fit in perfectly.
Chapter 24
Hope
The next day, three things arrive in quick succession: a bundle of clothes from Mercy, delivered by Cash, who doesn’t want to miss a chance to see his baby brother and get in a good ribbing over the Murder Attempt Incident; then a courier drives up the lane with Dax’s new phone; and an hour later, a different courier rolls up with a baby monitor.
“I never want you to be worried in your own house,” Zane says when I burst into tears at the kindness.
It’s not my own house.
But it’s starting to feel like home, and that’s so scary.
Chapter 25
Zane
Ten minutes after Dax hits the road again, Ridge sends an urgent text from the westernmost pasture. One of the watering holes has a clogged drain, so it’s overflowing.
I grab the equipment we’ll need to fix it and head out on the four-wheeler.
By the time I make it back in the late afternoon, my shirt is soaked with sweat and I smell like irrigation water and cow shit.
I strip down to just my jeans at the side of the barn and use the hose to rinse off.
The first pulse of water is sun-warmed and feels good, but after that it starts to run cold. Goosebumps prickle across my bare chest as I scrub my hands. I’m not looking forward to the shock of the cold on my head, but I also don’t want to go inside without rinsing this mud off. It’s in my fucking ears, and the back of my neck feels caked in sludge.
Taking off my hat, I hook it over the fence post and close my eyes. Bracing one hand on the rail, I lift the hose over my head and sluice the ice-cold well water down the back of my neck.
“Goddamn,” I groan. “That’s so fucking cold.”
Shivering, I scrub the back of my neck, then tip my face up, fighting through the bracing chill to find the refreshing edge as I rinse not just dirt but also a full day of sweat off my skin.
When I think I’ve got most of the grime off, I run the hose over my bare chest, then scrub myhand over my face to wipe the drips away before I open my eyes—only to lock my gaze on Hope.
She’s standing at the corner of the barn, one leg in front of the other, as if she literally froze mid-stride when she saw me rinsing off. She has an armful of flowers in one hand, and an empty bucket in the other.
“Do you need the hose?” I ask, holding it out.
She blinks. “Pardon?”
“The hose.” I gesture it toward the bucket in her hand.
“Oh.” She licks her lips and takes a step toward me. Stops.Blushes.
God, she’s pretty.
“Closer,” I murmur.
She laughs and tosses her head, nodding as she comes all the way over and holds out the bucket.
