Her eyes drop to the papers as that throat works again to swallow. “They told me you do that. A lot.”
“What?”
“Yell. I should tell you, I don’t .?.?. do well with people yelling at me.” She holds up her hands in defense. “And I in no way mean that as a threat, I swear. I just .?.?. well, I don’t like it. And I might—”
I perk a brow. “Cry?”
“Slap you. It’s .?.?. impulsive. I almost got arrested for assault against my old manager. Bitch had it comi—” She covers her mouth, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of pink. “You know what? I’ve wasted enough of your time, let’s get on with it.” She motions to the stack of papers.
She’s agonizingly adorable.
What the hell did I get myself into?
6
Rose
“How was your first day?” Ginger stretches the last word as I walk through the door.
I roll my stiff neck and hand her the invoices Wilder approved for payment today and the schedule for the rest of the week. I helped him re-work it after he mapped out the week’s events, tours, and the day-to-day staffing for every part of the ranch.
It took a considerable amount of time to figure it all out. But I think I impressed him with how effectively I spaced out his staff. I told him this was similar to what I did at the gallery. We had various exhibits, events, and tours where staffing needed to be properly distributed. With levels of talent and focus in mind, of course. That’s where Wilder came in. But now that I have an idea of who does what—and a cheat sheet—I can help with scheduling each week.
Was it easy sitting shoulder to shoulder with him half the day? No .?.?. no, it wasn’t. On several instances I had to remind myself tofocus. But he smelled so .?.?. manly. The scent of leather and cedar clinging to him. Heat crept up my neck every time he shifted in his seat, making my breath catch.
God,IhopemenareasoblivioustonoticethesethingsasWillowinsiststheyare.
But what was a girl to do except grip her pen tighter and hold her breath because she couldfeelthe vibration each time he hummed or spoke, that low rich voice entirely too close.
Thankfully, we won’t always work side by side the way we did today. We covered enough of my responsibilities, including timekeeping, ordering supplies, and checklists for deliveries.
I’m sure I can do more. He seems so overwhelmed. But I’ll take it one day at a time. Not to mention, I’m already on thin ice with the man.
“Not bad,” I tell her. “I overslept, so I suppose it could have been better.”
She perks a brow. “Heard there was a special guest at the bonfire last night. And that you were a real hoot.”
“A hoot?”
“Had everyone pretty entertained with all your stories about Wesley pre-Blue River, and city life, and somethin’ about how you’re pretty sure it’s illegal to force someone to live on a farm for six weeks with no way of getting to a Starbucks.”
I put my hand on my hips. “They all laughed, but I was damn serious.”
She chuckles. “I’ll put it in the suggestion box.”
Brett walks past Ginger, carrying a clipboard. “Could always try the shuttle that takes tourists to and from town. Don’t think one runs at night though.”
“Shuttle,” I repeat, unimpressed.
“I’ll pull up the schedule for you, dear,” Ginger offers.
I sigh, about to ask Brett if there are other options.
Before I have a chance to, a young man in overalls and with dimples peeks his head through an open window. “Hey, Brett, you want me to take the golf cart and run the Bransons over to the north pasture? They wanted to see the wildflower trail.”
Golfcart?
Brett sighs. “Yeah, all right. But stay with them and tell ’em we close in thirty minutes. I want those carts back in place before tomorrow’s tours. We’re short as it is without them being scattered all over the place.”
