Home > Marrying Up(6)

Marrying Up(6)
Author: Abby Knox

I am not the good boy she thinks I am.

She suspects nothing, just smiles and lifts one eyebrow. "You should, you know. Nice looking cowboy like you would have a zillion followers in a hot second. All you need is a good photographer to follow you around all day long."

I shake my head. "All of that sounds like my personal nightmare."

She laughs with a charming little snort and gets back to work. I like how she's not one of those people who covers up her mouth while she laughs. I dial up the utility company and get transferred about fifteen times before leaving a random voicemail, probably somewhere in Timbuktu. I hang up and wait for my next set of instructions.

Ally is moving efficiently as she can in those heels and I have to tamp down the urge to carry her again. Her feet must be killing her. "So the petting zoo will go over here. And the cake cutting stage over here, but we'll need to move these water troughs. Is that going to be a problem in any way?"

A petting zoo? A cake-cutting stage? I'm starting to think I should have never let her down off the horse, but instead I say, "Not a problem at all, ma'am. You'll get everything you need."

 

 

Chapter Eight

 

 

Ally

 

Why does the party supply store put the best stuff on the top shelf?

Story of my life.

"Here, let me."

The masculine voice behind me can be no one else but Smitty. I've been making some stops in town on the way back to the ranch this morning to see what of decorations I can get my hands on for Sam and Wren's wedding. It turns out this mom and pop place is even better than the chain party stores I sometimes lean on when I'm squeezed for time.

My face goes completely starry-eyed when I turn to watch my cowboy friend reach up and fetch me the spool of the good tulle that I need. His eyes squint, giving the impression that being indoors and looking directly into fluorescent lighting is harsher than sunlight. What is he doing here? I thought he had ranch chores to do in the mornings.

"Ma'am," he says with a nod, handing it over.

"Thanks," I reply. "They should provide step stools if they're gonna put the good tulle on the top shelf."

One side of his mouth turns up and my gaze zeroes in on the whiskers right there. "They could, but then I wouldn't have the honor of helping you get your tools."

"Oh, not tools. Tulle. T-u-l-l-e. It's this." I point out the gauzy soft material on the spool. "But very cool of you not to think it was weird I was calling fluffy wedding decorations 'tools.' You're very kind."

"Oh, I see. My mistake. Wedding nomenclature is not my strong suit."

How badly do I want to hug him right now for using that word? So bad my arms ache.

"Stop it. You're a great assistant wedding coordinator," I tell him.

Smitty stares down at his boots, his fingers in his belt loops. "Thanks," he says. "You'd be a pretty good ranch worker."

I shake my head because I know this compliment is just him scraping around to think of something to say. After all, he's feeling awkward and I make him nervous. "That's nice of you to say but, no. My skill set is quite limited to party planning and not much use around a ranch."

Smitty looks up and looks me in the eye. "Me, I'm just good at getting things from the top shelf, so together maybe we make something productive."

We both nervously look away when the double meaning hits us at the same time. My face feels hot. As a rule, guys don't make me blush. The guys that hit on me at weddings are usually half-drunk and don't mean half of what they are saying. This guy is dangerously close to making me catch real feelings for him.

A scratchy voice squawks over the store loudspeaker, something about needing additional cashiers to the front.

"So…things not busy on the ranch today?"

Again, his eyes go to his boots and then back up to me. "I sorta…got done early so you could dominate the rest of the day," he says. I watch as his cheeks demonstrate a time-lapsed tomato ripening. My god, someone put this boy out of his misery.

My dopey grin has nowhere else to go; I have to let it out. "Dominate? Sounds delightful."

"That's not what I meant," he says, rubbing his eyelids with his thumbs.

"It's OK!" I say reassuringly. "It was meant to be. I needed you, obviously." I wave the tulle in the air to remind him of how necessary he is.

"I meant to say I enjoyed meeting you in person, and I enjoyed your company, and I'm happy to be of service," he explains, his fingers seemingly trying fruitlessly to wipe away his fierce blush.

I'm still smiling; my hand goes to his arm to steady myself. "How are you allowed to be so adorable?"

"I…uh…"

"I mean it."

He steps away from me to make room for a shopping cart being pushed by a harried mother with two toddlers climbing the basket. I watch as he nods and tips his hat to the mom, giving her an encouraging smile. Oh my god. I can't handle how pure this man is. I don't think I've ever witnessed anyone behaving this conscientiously toward other people. Well, anyone except my Gramps.

And then he tips his hat at the little kids.

How? How is he still single?

You know the answer to that, Campbell. Because he's yours. Now go and get him.

Shut up, I say to my lizard brain. I don't want to spook him. What if he's one of those emotionally unavailable dudes, just like the rest? What if he's one of those guys who "doesn't like to put a label on things"? You don't know what you're getting into.

After the mom and kids pass, he turns back to me, and all embarrassment seems to be gone. His shoulders are square and a look of determination has taken over his countenance. "Where were we?"

I smile flirtatiously and put my hand where it was, on his forearm. His sleeves are rolled up; his skin is warm to the touch. "About here?"

He smiles back at me and idly passes the side of his thumb over his bottom lip. "That's exactly right."

Oh. My.

"Ally, would you like to have lunch with me right now?"

It's the "right now" that gets me. Guess I don't have to worry about bringing him out of his shell. He likes me. He is wasting no time. I like this. A lot.

My stupid eyes blink at him quickly several times in a way I can only assume is some kind of evolutionary holdover, because eyelash batting is not my preferred style of flirting. I check the time on my phone. "Isn't it a little early for lunch?"

Again with that mouth curving up on one side. "Girl, I've been up since 4 a.m. Helped birth two calves. Fixed a tractor. Replaced some rotting fence posts. Mucked out horse stalls…"

"Oh my god, now I'm tired and hungry thinking about all that work. Let's go."

 

 

Chapter Nine

 

 

Smitty

 

Being called cute is not my first choice, but I'll take it. Especially when it's coming from Ally. If I'm cute, it just means we're a good match, because she's the cutest thing since Pikachu was invented.

Her little white Prius suits her. "Hey, I hardly recognize your chariot when it's not covered in mud. It cleans up nice."

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