Page 47 of Branded Betrayal

“Hmm,” the woman says. “I’m looking at our schedule right now, and I’m afraid we can’t come out to figure out the problem before this afternoon.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. How quickly can it be fixed?”

“Well, depending on the issue, we’d need time to order any parts and then to do a full installation. Maybe a week.”

“A week?” I yelp. “That’s not going to work. My cows need water now.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. But that’s the best we can do.”

“Argh,” I growl and hang up on her.

Then I take a gamble and dial Tyler’s number, but the call goes straight to voicemail.

I push back my hair and stare at the herd of cattle, my options rapidly shrinking. “I’m so sorry, you guys. But I’m going to fix this. I promise.”

There is someone who can help me, someone who’s an expert with ranching operations.

Blaze. Fuck.

And my last words to him last night after that soul-searing kiss were “Stay the hell away from me.”

I press a hand to my forehead. My choice is simple. Swallow my pride or kill off my livestock. Squeezing my eyes shut, I will myself the strength to dial his number.

On the third ring, Blaze answers, the deep timbre of his voice sparking tingles in my core despite me starring in this shit show. “Are you calling just to remind me to stay away from you? Because I got that message loud and clear last night.”

“And you deserved that message.” I chew on my lower lip. “But this is business, nothing more.” He doesn’t respond, so I keep talking. I tell him about the empty troughs and the emergency-repair service that has zero sense of urgency. “I, uh, really need your help.”

He still doesn’t speak.

“Did you hear everything I said?” I ask, my throat so tight, I can barely choke out the question.

“Yeah, I got it. I’ll come over to check things out.”

“And fix the problem? Because I don’t know what else to do. And I’ll pay you too. I would have paid a repair service.”

“I’m not a repair service.” He grunts. “I’ll be over in half an hour. In the meantime, fill some buckets and get those cows hydrated.”

“Okay, I’ll do it right—”

He hangs up on me before I can finish.

“Blaze Hartman, you are such an insufferable ass,” I yell, running toward the barn for buckets. Over the next half hour, I manage to get water into each trough, but there are too many of them trying to drink at once.

The sun is up when I hear the welcome sound of Blaze’s truck pulling up the gravel driveway. I wipe the sweat off my face with the sleeve of my shirt and tuck the loose strands of hair behind my ears. I can’t even imagine what a mess I am right now, but Blaze barely acknowledges me as he strides past and heads toward the irrigation system.

“Keep filling the troughs,” he snaps. “They’re nearly empty again.”

“Yes, sir,” I grumble, running off to refill the buckets.

I keep sneaking looks at him as I dart around the pasture. He studies every inch of the system, jaw tight, toothpick hanging out of the corner of his mouth. His hands test each nozzle and hose line, and I hate to admit it, but my insides melt a little when he smiles and nuzzles a few of the cows following him around. His voice is soft as he talks to them, almost too soft for someone who’s just been barking orders at me.

A glimpse of the guy I once knew, beneath all the armor.

My throat tightens. He’s still in there.

“So what are you doing to find the problem?” I finally call out to him. The silence is deafening, and I can’t take it anymore.

“I’m testing water pressure at different points to figure out where the problem is.”