Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
I’d politely declined. Several times. The man was twenty if he was a day, and I had no interest in the drama he seemed to surround himself with. Especially in a town as small as ours.
The minute Carson noticed me, a sly grin played around his lips. “Oh heeeyyy, Boooooone,” he said, practically cooing my name. But when his eyes slid past me to land on Richard, his entire body lit up with promise, and suddenly, it was as though I no longer existed.
He stepped past me, head cocked to the side as he looked Richard over. “Who do we have here? You’re new in town, aren’t you?”
Richard returned his smile. “Sure am. Just got into town yesterday from New York.”
I waited until my back was turned to roll my eyes and busied myself with picking out a pair of boots as quickly as I could. When I found a good solid pair of Justin pull-ons with a steel toe, I asked, “What size?”
Richard didn’t respond; he was too busy flirting with Carson. “Hey,” I said, snapping to get his attention. “I said, what size?”
He glanced at the boot in my hand and blinked. “Those are heinous.”
“For real,” Carson muttered. “You wouldn’t catch me dead in—”
I didn’t have time for this shit. “What. Size?”
Richard’s eyes flicked between Carson and me. “Um… Ten, but… can’t I have these instead?” He pointed to a cheap pair of lace-ups.
“Manure and laces don’t mix,” I warned, finding a pair of the Justins in his size.
Carson made a reluctant sound of agreement. “These are good boots. I mean, they’re no McQueens, but who wants to shovel shit in those, right? Here, try ’em on.”
“But I can’t—”
I shoved the box in his gut and turned to find a pair of high-quality cushioned socks to go with them. When I returned with the socks, he still hadn’t taken off his own boots, even though Carson had knelt at his feet to help him.
Richard looked fidgety and nervous. I frowned at him until he leaned in and lowered his voice. “I can’t afford these,” he said softly, pushing the box back into my hands.
I looked at the boots he was wearing, which probably cost more than a new set of tires for my truck and had absolutely no protection from the stomp of a hoof or a rogue piece of dangerous equipment.
I lifted an eyebrow at him. “I thought you had daddy’s money?”
His face pinked, and his jaw tightened. “You thought wrong.”
Interesting. I filed that tidbit of information away to ask Oscar about later.
“I mean, it’s only temporary,” Richard continued, eyes flicking to Carson. “It’s just a matter of being, um… liquid capital challenged at the moment.”
Carson, apparently having heard the exchange, perked up. “Don’t worry, cutie. We’ve been known to barter a time or two if need be.” He winked at Richard and started to walk his fingers up his arm. “I’m sure we could work something ou—”
The sight of Carson’s hand on Richard’s bare flesh caused something in me to tighten.
“I’m buying,” I barked, shoving the box into Richard’s arms hard enough that it caused him to take a step back, breaking contact with Carson. His eyes went wide, and I realized I was making an ass out of myself.
“I can’t have you wearing those on the ranch for, uh…” My brain searched for an explanation of my ridiculous behavior. “Liability reasons. So I’ll buy ’em. And when you decide to go back to New York, you can, uh…” Jesus Christ on a cracker, why was this so hard? “Leave ’em for the cowhand who takes your place.”
There. Done.
Carson looked like he was about to protest, but I silenced him with a glare. “We’re good here,” I bit out.
He huffed and wandered off. Good riddance.
Richard blinked at me for a long moment before narrowing his eyes. “You don’t think I can do it either, do you? You don’t think I’m going to stick around for the entire month.”
I had serious doubts, but I kept my mouth shut and shoved another pair of socks at him. You could never have too many high-quality pairs of socks, as far as I was concerned. “Doesn’t matter what I think or don’t think, Richard. Put on the damned boots, and let’s get a move on. You’ve got feed bags to haul. You want to prove something, get back to work.”
Thankfully, Shirley hollered at me from the front of the store with the horse treats, which I absolutely did not need since I ordered them in bulk online. But I also didn’t want Richard to know the only reason we’d gone to the tack store was my concern for his precious city-boy feet, so I hurried up to the checkout desk and spent way too much time oohing and ahhing about how much my already spoiled horses were going to enjoy their mints when I returned to the ranch.