“I’ve enjoyed being made a fool of by you, if I’m honest.”
That got her. At her silence, I smirked.
“Let’s see how you feel after tomorrow.” I heard her smiling.
And looking forward to her eating crow come tomorrow afternoon, I answered, “Deal.”
11
Dear Diary
JO
I could barely handle the fact that Grant Stone was sitting in the cab of my truck in a Stetson at seven in the morning.
Honestly, I’d been banking on him looking all wrong. I thought he’d complain mightily and expected his visible misery. And I was almost sad he wasn’t. Almost—because when coupled with his swaggering bravado, he looked too fucking right to have any regrets.
I wished I’d only made it up in my mind. But he looked like he was born on the range. Like he’d been driving cattle since electricity was a thing, or building houses with his bare hands as a homesteader for two hundred years.
Like he belonged in a saddle and chaps with a lasso rope in hand. A natural.
That asshole.
He yawned and looked out the window toward the very break of dawn. The sky was blue and purple, with a sliver of pink on the horizon, the start of what would be a beautiful—albeit hot—day. One he’d spend getting his neck red.
My smile widened.
Wyatt was waiting out front when I pulled up, and on seeing Grant in his getup, Wyatt’s face went carefully appreciative.
He held it together better than any of the females who’d seen Grant in Wranglers.
“Mornin’.” Wyatt nodded to Grant’s shoes. “You breakin’ those in today?”
“Didn’t have much notice,” Grant answered.
“No, I suppose you didn’t. Hate to tell you this, but you’re gonna be hurtin’ come tonight.”
“Don’t have much a choice there either.”
“Sure you do. Nobody said you had to do what Jo said.”
I crossed my arms. “You sure about that?”
“Did I say anybody ever told you no, squirt?”
I gave Wyatt a look, but he just laughed.
The farm was busy with workers, and his foreman interrupted for instructions before zipping off again.
“This way,” he said, waving us to follow and giving a rundown as we went. “Jo said you needed a full day’s work, so we’re starting in the barns and will end up in the pastures. You’ll be shoveling hay, stacking bales, herding. You know how to ride a horse?”
“I’ve ridden a time or two.”
“Good. One less thing to learn.” Wyatt nodded toward the nearest barn. “We’ll start off over here, filling troughs and bedding.”
I couldn’t keep the smile off my face when I saw the look on Grant’s while Wyatt rattled off instructions. I had big plans to watch him from Wyatt’s back porch all day. I wondered if Grant would get hot enough to take off his shirt and hoped the answer was yes.
With every uptick of the sun, the temperature seemed to gain five degrees of heat. We’d just stepped up to the barn when Wyatt extended two hay forks that’d been waiting for us.
I made a face. “I’m not—”
“Yes, you are.” That asshole smirked at me. “You didn’t think I was gonna let you punish him all day while you sat on your ass and made fun of him, did you?”
“That’s exactly what I was going to do.”
“Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.” He shoved the tool at me.
Grant watched on, smirking just as bad as Wyatt.
“Don’t look so smug,” I said to Grant. “I do this shit every day. The only calluses you have are from the gym.”
“Think you can outlast me?” he asked.
“I know I can,” I lied, hoping I didn’t push myself too hard trying to keep up with him. I really didn’t want to vomit with an audience. Especially not this particular audience.
“Then let’s go.”
“All right. You start at that end, and we’ll see who hits the middle first.”
“Well,” Wyatt started, “looks like you’ve got that all sorted out. I’ll be back, and we can move to the hay barn.”
That, I hadn’t done. A small bale weighed nearly as much as I did. And though I was strong, there was virtually zero chance of me picking one up with hooks by myself.
Wyatt looked at me like he knew it.
Traitor.
Grant headed to the other end of the barn, and I headed to mine, all kinds of salty.
Salty and determined.
And I almost beat him.
An hour later, Grant was waiting in the middle of the stalls while I finished the last few of mine. He leaned against the last hay trough he’d filled and squinted up at the sun.
“It is so fucking hot here.”
“Not hotter than DC. Isn’t it all nasty and humid there?”
“I don’t know if you realize this, but I’m not known to shovel hay much at home.”
“I could have guessed. Outside the fact that you just beat me at my own game,” I said, pitching a fork full of hay into a trough.
“Don’t blame yourself. I have nearly a foot on you and at least a hundred and fifty pounds.”
“But you don’t even know what you’re doing,” I huffed, angrily burying my fork in the hay for another load. “You’re supposed to be bad at this.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” he said with a smile on his face that told me he wasn’t sorry one bit. And then he stood, pulling off his gloves so he could take off his shirt.
I groaned. “Keep your shirt on.”
He didn’t stop. “Why? It’s too hot for this many clothes.”
“You gonna take off your pants too? That’s the real burden.”
“I’m not above it.”
I pointed my pitchfork at him. “I mean it. Put it back on.”
He laughed. “You gonna impale me?”
“I might. I’m trying to get rid of you, you know. And I know a lot of ways to dispose of a body.”
“What’s your favorite?”
He didn’t put his shirt back on, and I didn’t lower my weapon. “Did you know that pigs will eat anything?”
His smile faded. “Anything?”
“Anything. Bones and all. They’ll even eat your belt buckle, though they sadly can’t digest it. It’ll be the only evidence that I took you out for fucking with me.”
“I never thought I’d find bacon unappealing. Thanks for ruining that for me.”
“My pleasure. Now put your fucking shirt on.”
“How about you take yours off and we’ll be even.”
“Fine,” I said curtly, tossing my pitchfork into the hay.
He froze.
I had on a sleeved button-down to keep the sun off my shoulders, and I reached for the top button, unfastening it and working my way down, grateful I had on a cute sports bra with all the crisscross straps and not one of those old ratty ones I could never seem to get rid of.
“I find you interesting, Mr. Stone,” I said, disrobing. “When I met you, know the first thing I thought?”