I'm relieved he can't see the look of pure unadulterated heart eyes that I'm experiencing as I picture this person holding an injured calf in his arms and galloping off to find help.
Calm your tits, Ally Campbell, it's probably not even like that.
"Sounds like a bumpy ride for a poor injured animal."
"Nah," he dismisses. "I hold the little ones right up close to my chest."
Oh. My. God. I might pass out.
All I can think of is the face of a tiny calf staring up at that scruffy chin with unwavering trust. My heart is going to burst out of my chest.
As we ride, my body becomes very aware of Smitty's strong back, and I have to try not to rest my cheek against it.
My eyes concentrate instead on the majestic scenery around us as we approach the barn that Sam and Wren intend to use for the wedding. A backdrop of rolling green hills, a creek just below the ridge, pine trees, and unexpectedly, a meadow of lavender. My mind explodes with ideas, and I begin to hope that Sam will let me incorporate those flowers into the wedding. It feels like paradise. A paradise for weddings, of course, not necessarily my paradise. I would go stir crazy if I had to live way out here without daily access to Ruby's Thai food.
It might be a nice vacation, though. I don't think I've ever been this far removed from the city, or a city. My vacations are almost always in New York, London, Paris, Madrid, Rome. But never in the countryside.
If I thought bouncing along on the back of a horse felt strange, simply taking in a breath, surrounded by blue sky instead of tall buildings makes me feel like I'm experiencing vertigo. Skyscrapers make me feel nice and hemmed in. Out here, there's nothing to block out the sky. I look beyond the woods and I can see weather approaching. There's a dark cloud forming in the, well, I guess it's the east. I'm not great at cardinal directions.
When we reach a much more traditional looking red barn, Smitty lifts me down off the horse like I weigh no more than a sack of flour, but his strong hands deliver me as gently to a dry patch of ground as if I'm a treasured porcelain doll. "Will all this work for you?"
Yes, is my answer. Yes, that sun-tanned face and those arms and shoulders and chest, sculpted from real outside labor will work for me any day of the week, sir.
His tanned forearms flex with his swift, effortless movements to hitch the horse.
I realize I'm staring. "What? Oh…" Come on, Campbell, shake off the fog and pull yourself together, you've seen hot cowboys before.
Yeah, I have, but not in real life and not with such criminally long eyelashes.
"Yes," I say, noticing he's looking at me like I'm peculiar. "This barn makes much more sense. All of this," I say, indicating with a gesture the surrounding meadow, "it's all…"
The way his head is cocked, looking at me with dark, smiling eyes, like he's trained on every word I'm saying, makes me self conscious. "Perfect," I say. "We're going to create the perfect wedding."
He looks at Char and strokes the long slope of her nose. The cattle dog who followed us here is sitting pretty on his haunches and studying Smitty with one black eye and one eye that's ice blue.
"Hear that, Pete?" Smitty says over his shoulder to the dog. "I agree with the lady. It couldn't be more perfect."
The wink is so quick when he turns back to me, it's barely noticeable. But I caught it. The wink registered in the tiny tug of pleasure below my navel.
Kind, tough, funny, flirty, and achingly polite. I almost can't take it anymore. This man needs to be kissed.
Chapter Seven
Smitty
Inside I'm beating myself up for winking at her. What was I thinking?
I busy myself while Ally digs things out of her huge tote bag: a huge three-ring binder, a measuring tape, fabric swatches.
Seeing her look around for a table that we do not have, I roll a giant cable spool over to her and set it on its side.
"Thank you so much, this table is perfect. How many more do you have?"
I blink at her. Her defined dark eyebrows rise in a question. "Uh, well, it's not a table, ma'am. It's a spool left behind by the cable company?"
Her expression does not change. "And how many more do you have?"
I stuff my hands in my pockets and study the ceiling of the barn for answers. "Well, I think I might have a spool of rope somewhere around here but it's not this big."
Ally doesn't look upset or impatient, but all business. "Right, OK. So this is the table I want for the reception. Exactly like this. We'll need at least ten. How many can you get?"
I pull off my hat and scratch the top of my head. "I guess I can check at the utility company and see if there's something like that they're not using…"
Ally seems satisfied with that and walks off to measure the barn windows, chattering about how she'll remember to wear jeans tomorrow and maybe pick up some boots. When she senses me still standing there watching her, she turns and smiles at me. "So are you gonna call them or?"
"Oh, you mean right now?" The smile she shoots my direction says she caught me staring at her ass, and she doesn't hate it. What are we doing here? Are we working or are we flirting? Sam would have my hide if he saw me wasting her time like this.
Right. Time to stop staring at that tight little body, that skirt that's beyond ridiculous for someone to wear while trying to do any kind of work on a ranch — even if that work is wedding-related — not to mention that form-fitting blazer that looks like it's just barely constraining two softball-sized melons.
I'm the worst. I'm not the best man, I'm the worst man. I'm a pervert, still staring at that dangerous silhouette, not even trying to hide it.
"Yeah, now would be good. And if they need the tables returned to them, please tell them we're going to paint them white, I hope that's OK."
Again, I scratch my head. "I don't think that'll fly, but…"
It seems like the more she sashays those hips around the barn, the faster she talks.
"Well, that's all right, you just tell them," she says, skittering off to measure the corner of the room. "You tell them this is what we want or we go to another vendor. I know it sounds harsh so if you need me to do it, I can do it."
I hesitate, looking at my phone. "Thing is, I don't think the utility company is gonna care either way if we walk."
"Fine, I'll just buy them, I'm sure I'll be able to reuse them. As soon as I 'gram this wedding, everyone is going to want spool wedding tables for their reception."
"Gram?"
She pauses to think on that for a moment and then clears her head. "Instagram."
"Oh, right. I don't have one of those," I say, for no reason I can think of. Why am I still talking and not making calls? Good gravy, this woman. How is it that I'm the best ranch manager in three states but I can't manage to get my ass in gear with this little lady bossing me around?
She turns to me for a second, her rigid tape measure stretched out about eight inches. She taps the end of it thoughtfully against her cheek, and I feel a bonfire blazing in my belly at the things I'm thinking about. If she knew the things I'd like to press against her soft cheeks, she'd smack me clean across the face and I would say nothing but "much obliged to you, ma'am."