Page 12 of Since Day One

“This also impress you?” Gunnar asked, his spurs clinking as he walked ahead. He led his horse inside and then pushed the button to close the garage. The metal settled against the ground with a soft clunk. Crisp, uniform lines formed along the arena footing from being dragged and scraped.

“Yes. Yes. Yes! This definitely impresses me. It’s beautiful,” I answered in awe. Dimples pressed into his cheeks as a smile scrunched up his eyes, and he headed toward the empty round pen. Untacking Luke, he turned him out in the pen and returned to me, carrying his saddle and bridle. I wandered forward, watching this cowboy work and finding myself studying his deliberate, well-rehearsed movements. As heat permeated the arena, Gunnar shrugged off his coat and revealed the black vest and button-up he was wearing beneath.

His jeans were starched nicely and stretched against his powerful thighs in all the right areas. I almost didn’t catch myself ogling him, enjoying the view of a man in a way I hadn’t in years. Almost being the keyword. Quickly shaking myself out of whatever trance I was in, I quietly headed toward the bleachers on the left side.

Gunnar selected a small sorrel mare from the hot walker and tacked her up. Once again, my eyes latched onto the way he worked with her, calm and in sync. The gloves left his hands, his calloused fingers dancing expertly against the tack and tying off the latigo. My heart thumped heavily, pounding loudly against my ribs as everything around me drifted away like music in the wind. He mounted and began trotting around the arena without much time wasted.

Then he was off.

He ran the flag at first, until two other hands arrived and finally let the cattle out into the arena. Gunnar switched to a bigger horse, and I watched in awe as he worked in perfect tandem with the larger buckskin he was riding.

Back and forth, slipping silently into the herd and then keeping the calf from rejoining the group. Adrenaline prickled through my veins from merely watching something I’d never experienced myself, from watching another cowboy in his element. His hands barely left the horse’s neck, his legs barely left its sides. His hips moving in perfect sync—back and forward, side to side in a manner that pulled a sigh of desire from my lips. It was an art, and one he’d truly mastered.

Then he brought out the bay from last night. He cut out a calf and went to separate it but wasn’t quite paying attention yet.

“Don’t lose your left leg!” I shouted, right before the calf cut to the right and Gunnar shoved his leg on—too late. He pulled his horse off of the animal, letting it run back to the herd, and trotted over to the edge of the arena.

“Are you the one out here riding?” he growled, breathing hard, and I shook my head. “Then keep your mouth shut.”

“I wasn’t wrong,” I snapped in response.

“So?”

“So, it was helpful. Plus, you said I didn’t get to ride, so that’s on you.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest, and the two hands snickered. Gunnar locked eyes with them, quickly silencing both men with a glare.

“I’m the boss here. You are just watching,” he demanded. I stood up from the bleacher and saluted him.

“Sir, yes, sir!” I exclaimed, and once again the two hands chuckled.

“Cut the sass,” Gunnar snarled, but there was amusement twitching at the corners of his lips, and his eyes sparkled.

“Why don’t you go cut some cows instead of worrying about my attitude?”

“You think you could do better?” He raised his brows and leaned forward.

I shook my head. “Nope. This is not my area of expertise.”

“Oh? And what is?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Gunnar closed his eyes for a moment, biting back the smile that was written plainly upon his face. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven, sir,” I answered in a serious tone, and he rolled his eyes.

“Really? ‘Cause you’re acting like you’re twelve.”

“And you’re acting like you’re five, arguing with me instead of working.”

“You—“ he started and then stopped himself. “Sit your ass down and hush,” he commanded and then turned his horse away, glaring at the two cowboys who were helping him. As he returned to what he was doing, there was no stopping the smile caressing my cheeks. He was fun to tease, and very easy to talk to. There was no walking on eggshells with him. Not the way it was with my family, and the filter upon my thoughts was long gone.

Even when I spoke with my friends back home, I was never quite this sassy. It was almost like he was bringing something out in me that was constantly suppressed. Oddly enough, a carnal side of me liked the way he bossed me around sometimes, and even the way he spoke to me. Especially calling me “princess.” I would forever deny this thought, but part of me hoped it meant something more to him than just a reminder of my attitude while riding in his truck.

Hours passed, the number inconsequential as Gunnar worked. Eventually, the heater in the arena did its job, forcing me to shed many of my layers as a ranch hand brought some food and the guys got back to work. Dashing to the bathroom at one point, I stripped off my leggings, plus the thermal shirt, and returned to my bleacher to find Gunnar standing beside the sweatshirt that I’d shed.

He was holding something shiny. “Did you steal this?”

“No. But if you don’t give it back, you are,” I answered and held out my hand for him to return a hoof pick I hadn’t realized had been tucked away in my hoodie pocket.

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