Page 64 of The Cost of Forgetting You

He turns to walk away, waving a hand over his head as he does. “Oh, nothing. Just that I won a bet with the other guys about why Parker’s britches are in a wad this morning. Have fun and watch out for trees.”

I narrow my eyes in the direction of the north field, though it’s shrouded from view by the rolling hills and dense groves of oak and pine that spread between me and a certain dirty-blond cowboy who’s taken a note from my book on avoidance strategies.

Ollie left the mower running, and thank God because Truett never taught me how to start it. I resign myself to at least knock this out, and then I’ll find a way to talk to him, even if I have no clue what on earth I want to say.

By the time I finish, sweat slicks my back and my whole body feels like it’s vibrating. Grass clippings coat my shins and thighs, and I’m fairly certain my scalp is sunburnt. My fault for forgetting to grab a hat in my mad dash out the door. Roberta’s white SUV bounces over the newest pothole in Dad’s driveway as I round the last tree trunk in the front yard. I point toward the farm, and she nods in understanding.

“You want a glass of water first?” She slams the door behind her, gaze scanning me as I drive past. “You look hot, and not in the way I think you’d appreciate.”

I huff a laugh. “Thanks, Roberta. I’ll grab one as soon as I get back.”

“Suit yourself. Should I save you some coffee?”

“Throw it in the fridge, please!” I call, moving the bars out of neutral to pull forward.

She throws a thumbs-up, and I echo it, then head for the road.

I debate leaving the mower at the shed behind Truett’s house and walking to the north field, but then I remember how far of a trek it is and decide to take the ride while I’ve got it. Poor Ollie. I crest the last hill in time to see four men on ATVs herding a group of cattle the color of midnight through a narrow opening in a wall of steel fence panels. The steers huff and bellow in annoyance as they’re forced to shoot the gap, their large bodies knocking and sliding against one another in a mesh of hooves and hindquarters. The men work in perfect sync, circling the herd and pushing in close from every angle. In a matter of minutes the cattle are sealed into their new home.

Ollie moves the final steel gate into place with a loud clang. “Enjoy WeightWatchers, boys!”

The other three men let out a chorus of cheers from their mounts. I spot Truett on the four-wheeler closest to me. He rises up on his long legs, arms rippling as he revs the throttle and angles away from the pen. A straw cowboy hat shields his face from the blistering sunlight, but it doesn’t hide the spark in his eyes when he clocks me.

He lays off the engine. “You know I’ve got cows to keep this grass short. Didn’t exactly need you to mow all the way out here.”

Ollie walks along the perimeter of the new fence, head down as he pretends to check the links between the already-secure panels. The other two men—one with hair the color of fire and another so bulky I’m shocked the four-wheeler holds him—don’t even attempt to hide that they’re listening. I can practically see their ears perk the moment I open my mouth.

“I wanted to talk to you, actually.” I open the handlebars and dismount the lawn mower. My legs wobble for an unnerving moment. I glance back at the zero-turn. “I also don’t know how to turn it off.”

The two men closest to us erupt with poorly suppressed laughter. Truett’s gaze cuts to theirs, silencing them with a hard look that I can only half see from my position in front of him. One of them chokes on it, and the other grabs a water bottle from a pack strapped to his ATV and takes a swig. Ollie continues staring intently at the same panel he’s been inspecting for a beat too long, but I note his shaking shoulders.

“Ollie, that fence gonna run away if your eyes don’t hold it up?”

“Huh?” He whips around. “Oh, no. Sorry, man, I must’ve zoned out.”

Truett grimaces. “Like hell. Jason, take the mower back up to the shed, please.” The redhead glances up, raises his brow, and points to the center of his chest where sweat has turned his gray shirt black. Tru nods. “Ollie. Emmett. Go do a calf check. Rosie looked about to pop this morning.”

“Got it.” Ollie climbs back onto his ATV. He jerks his chin toward the bigger guy—Emmett—and the two of them take off toward the field on the west side of the house where the cows and heifers reside.

Jason cuts the engine on his four-wheeler and ambles over to the lawn mower. His skin is embossed with thousands of freckles. They’ve bled together on his forearms, forming some semblance of a tan. He clicks his tongue. “You owe me lunch.”

“How do you figure?” Tru’s head tilts, jaw taut.

“Because I did not participate in the bet”—his green eyes cut from me back to Truett—“and I would’ve won for sure.”

“What bet—” Tru starts, but Jason is already pulling on the left handle to whip a U-turn and head back up the hill.

I cross my arms, grimacing as my sweat-slicked skin sticks together. “They bet on why you were in a bad mood today. Apparently I had something to do with it?”

He stares at me, stone-faced, for a few too many heartbeats. It’s unnerving to see him so serious. I shift my weight, thighs chafing as I do. My stomach flips. His gaze drifts downward, following the dip of my shirt over my lace bralette before tracing the expanse of my legs. When he settles at my feet, his lip quirks. “Guess I shoulda bought you boots instead of those white tennis shoes.”

I follow his gaze and sigh. The toes of my Keds are smudged with a mixture of dirt and grass clippings. “Fantastic.”

“You sure are dirty, Temptress.” He folds his arms over the handlebars and leans forward, brow raised. “Did you come all this way to ask permission to skinny-dip in the river? Get cleaned off? Because you know I’m not opposed.”

My throat dries out as heat flares in my cheeks. “Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

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