As if reading my mind, Randy nudges the toe of his boot against the dirt, exposing a half-buried rock. “See all these?” Hesweeps his arm over the field.
I squint against the sun and see them—rocks of all sizes peppering the dirt like they emerged overnight.
I twist to look back at him. “And we just .?.?. pick them up?”
He laughs, and I realize I really don’t like his laugh. It’s creepy and condescending. “That’s the gist of it. Keeps the pasture safe for the cattle, keeps the tractors from bustin’ up.” He bends, lifts a rock the size of a dollar coin, and tosses it in the bucket. I jerk from the sound. “Think you can handle that?”
I look at my hands.
“Don’t worry, princess, I’ll get you some gloves.”
I sigh, ignoring the comment and crouch down. “I’ll pass on those, thanks.” I can only imagine how many hands have been in those gloves.
“Don’t be a brat. I’ll get you the gloves.”
I don’t wait for him to return from the shed before wrapping my fingers around a rough-edged stone. Damp—but not quite muddy—dirt coats my palms. Lifting it, I toss it in the bucket.
By the tenth rock, my skin is already generously covered and I can see what Wilder meant. It’s too wet for this today.
Fantastic.
Randy’s sneer comes from behind me. “Ain’t so bad, now, is it?”
I brush the dirt from my hands onto my bare knees. “Not yet.”
He grins, sweeping his eyes over the enclosed field. “Give it a couple hours.” Then he tips his hat. “Back in a little while. Going to check on the other two in theirsmallerpasture.”
Three hours in and my back hurts. No, it doesn’t hurt, itburns.The kind of burn you feel after an extensive workout. Anextensive workout in dry heat.
I was thankful for my pink cowboy hat Ginger gave me, keeping my head protected from the sun. That is, until it fell in the dirt an hour ago. And I’m not about to put that thing back over my hair. Not that it would matter since I’m gross everywhere.
Sweat trickles down my spine, making my shirt stick to me like a second skin. The sun beats down ruthlessly on my neck.
I caught myself whimpering like a spoiled city girl a few times and quickly cut that shit out. I’m not cowering out of this.
My fingers are raw and I’ve filled three buckets’ worth so far.
“Not bad,” Randy calls, hopping off a horse.
“I thought you were helping,” I whine.
He picks up my hat from the ground a few feet away and strolls over, dropping it over my head.
“There. I helped.”
“Jerk,” I grumble a little too loudly.
On the way back to his horse, he knocks over one of my filled buckets, spilling the rocks back on the ground.
My stomach boils.
“My bad.”
I wince. “I don’t suppose you want to pick that up?”
“Oh sweetheart, I would but I—”
“You what?” My heart leaps when I see the cowboy pull up on a beautiful horse I haven’t seen yet.
