Page 12 of Rope Me, Cowboys

Mom had insisted that she would call my stepbrother for me. True to her word, here they were. One of them, anyway. Hoping against hope it was Holden, who probably wouldn’t make fun of me the way Sawyer would, I watched the cart bouncing along the road. I wasn’t above laughing at myself, once I was out of danger, so I decided I didn’t really care who it was at this point, as long as they got me off this damn fence.

The cart rolled to a stop, and a guy I’d never seen before hopped out. My heart nearly stopped beating altogether, and it wasn’t because I’d been electrocuted. He had long legs clad in a pair of worn jeans, narrow hips, and broad shoulders inside his flannel shirt. Though he was a bit leaner than the other two, he was just as tall, and even sexier than the two I’d met before. He looked harder, as if he were made of solid steel. His face was weather-worn and tan, with a bit of dark scruff on his cheeks. He looked to be a little older than his brothers, in his late twenties or early thirties. His hair was dark, and so was his scowl.

He strode towards me, his hands balled into fists inside his leather work gloves. His jaw was set, his eyes hard. When he reached me, he towered over me and glared down, making me feel about as big as an ant.

“Is that my jacket?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Maybe?” I asked, giving him my most charming smile, the one that had conned many a bartender into serving me a drink although my fake ID was questionable at best.

“My father called,” he said after an awkward moment of silence. “He said you were stuck. Did you break your ankle in those ridiculous boots?”

My mouth fell open, and if I could have pulled myself to my full height, I would have. “For your information, these boots are designed specifically to keep me an extra two inches away from the piles of cow dung in your field,” I said.

He snorted, but I was sure a flicker of humor glinted in his steely grey eyes.

“And no, I didn’t break my ankle, thank you very much. I am quite capable of wearing, and walking in, shoes that are both practical—hence the cow dung barrier—and stylish. But if it makes you happy, I’ll take your opinion of my boots into account next time I’m shopping.”

“So what’s the problem?” he asked. “I thought you were hurt.”

“Not hurt,” I said, tugging at the edge of the hood to show him. “Stuck.”

He bent over me, and I caught a whiff of pine needles and something as wild as the west wind. My heart tripped in my chest, and I had to resist the urge to close my eyes and inhale him like the chilled Wyoming breeze across the grass.

He pinched the fabric of my hood, and with one tug, I was free. I jumped to my feet and dusted myself off.

“Sorry about the jacket,” I said. “I was just going to wear it to step outside, but then I wanted to see what those yellow trees were, and…”

He glared at me.

“And I got stuck,” I finished, gulping down a sudden bout of nerves.

“Christ, this really is a babysitting job,” he muttered. “You couldn’t pull a quarter-inch barb out of a piece of canvas?”

“I could, but I didn’t want to get electrocuted.”

“What are you on about now?”

“Holden told me to be careful of the electric fences.”

Cursing under his breath, he shook his head. I wracked my brain for his name, but I couldn’t come up with it, so I thrust my hand out. “I’m Amber,” I said. “Thank you for coming out here to get me. If I could have pulled the hood off the fence without touching the wire, I would have. I just couldn’t see it from that angle.”

“Barbed wire isn’t electrified,” he said flatly.

“What?”

He wrapped a hand around the top strand of wire and leaned on it, crossing his feet and looking me up and down. Suddenly, I felt not just small, but very naked and very stupid.

Suddenly, Chatty Amber bubbled up. “I had no idea,” I said. “And although you might think I’m a total dumbass for getting stuck on your fence when it was apparently an easy fix, I have never actually seen a barbed wire fence, or any kind of wire fence, for that matter. You don’t have to babysit me, but you might have to forgive my ignorance of farm life. For what it’s worth, if I ever invited you to New York City, I wouldn’t expect you to know how to get a taxi or have the subway map memorized.”

When I saw Waylon’s taken-aback expression, I slapped a hand over my mouth, stopping a further flood of words. To my surprise, Waylon nodded, pressing his lips together. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m being a complete ass.”

“Well, maybe not a complete ass,” I said. “But at least a half ass.”

Waylon smiled, and his whole face changed, the coldness melting away like the first warm day after a long winter. “Can’t have that,” he said. “I’m of the ‘go big or go home’ frame of mind.”

“I can’t go home for three months,” I said. “So I guess I better go big.”

Waylon shook his head and hopped up into the cart, grabbing the top to swing himself up and in. “Hop on up and hold on tight,” he said, patting the dusty leather seat beside him. “You’re in for a wild ride, Princess.”