Page 18 of Barbed Wire Hearts

“You’re with me today,” is his answer. He doesn’t bother telling me good morning.

“Okay,” I nod. Instead of the side-by-side thing Wiley drives, Levi taps his old, rusty pickup truck and gestures for me to get in. I do so quickly, not wanting to make him look any more displeased with my existence. “What are we doing today?” I ask as soon as I’m in the truck. Levi doesn’t bother with his seatbelt but after riding with Wiley, I pull mine on just in case.

“The new calves need to be checked every couple of days to make sure there’re no problems. It’s my job to check them. And today, it’s yours, too.”

Levi’s voice is gruff. He offers no extra information, and he doesn’t waste words on any flowery descriptions. We’re checking calves. That’s what we’re doing. There’s apparently no need to explain what we’re checking for.

“Aw! We get to see the babies?” I ask, grinning. “Do we get to pet them?”

Levi doesn’t even look at me. “No.”

My smile falls. “Oh. Okay then.”

Well, Levi certainly isn’t winning any kindness contests, that’s for sure. It’s clear he wants nothing but silence as he drives out toward a pasture. He gestures to the gate in front of us, no words. I blink over at him briefly, before I realize what he wants.

“Oh. Of course,” I mumble, hoping out of the truck and pulling at the chain holding the gate closed. There’s a clip on the chains that I have to wiggle to get off because of the rust. Once it’s free, I loosen the chains and swing the gate open wide enough for the truck to pull through. I move to hop back in the truck before he leans out the driver’s side window.

“Close it. If you find a gate closed, you leave it closed behind you,” he growls. “It’s common sense out here.”

I flush at the condescension in his tone. It’s not like there were a ton of gates to open and close around my apartment. I don’t live in the suburbs where people have back gates with a dog. It just hadn’t occurred to me that we’d need to close it, which seems foolish now that I remember we’re going to check on calves. Obviously, we don’t want them to get out.

I push the gate back closed and work the chain around the post before wiggling the clip back on. I’m barely in the truck before he takes off again and I have to scramble to get my door closed in time.

Christ. The man sure is pretty, but he’s an absolute asshole.

And when I say pretty, I mean it. There aren’t many men who can simultaneously pull off gruff and pretty at the same time. Where Wiley is all smooth happiness, Levi is rough arrogance. The cinnamon roll versus the grumpy bastard. The two couldn’t be more different. It’s a wonder they get along as friends.

Levi has longer hair than both Dakota and Wiley, down to his shoulders. He keeps the brown-red mass pulled back behind his ears but lets his cowboy hat do most of the taming. His jawline is square. His nose is a little crooked, which tells me he likely broke it at one point. The beard on his face is well-maintained, trimmed and neat, but full. And those eyes. Those eyes probably made at least a couple of women fall in love. They’re the prettiest cornflower blue, a shade both soft and bright. There’s a scar through his right eyebrow that almost feels intentional with how well-placed it is. I doubt this brooding man would ever put a scar there on purpose, or shave the line, so he just got lucky with a sexy scar. Much like the others, he's dressed in blue jeans that fit him just perfect. Wranglers are apparently all the rage out here, and thank fuck they are. I’ve never drooled over so much cowboy ass in my life. Levi’s is probably just as perfect as everyone else’s. He wears a button-down beige shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a dark brown cowboy hat. Between us in the single cab truck, two pairs of thick leather gloves sit as well as a length of rope.

“What kind of problems will we be looking for?” I ask hesitantly, not exactly wanting Levi to chew me out for asking.

Levi glances at me briefly as we drive over the bumps in the pasture. I try not to look too silly as I clutch onto the door to keep from jostling too much but it’s hard to hide.

“Infections. Depression. Lack of energy,” he answers. Straight and to the point. I can admire that at least. “It’s time for vaccines for a few, too. So we’ll do that.”

That would explain the supplies in the back of the truck at least. I’ve never given anything vaccines so I’m a little worried he’ll expect me to know what’s going on. I hope he doesn’t expect me to give shots to a baby cow. I wouldn’t know the first thing about that, let alone feel comfortable doing so.

Finally, as we crest a hill, I see a small herd of cows. Many of them are larger ones and clearly the mamas, but there are a handful of babies smattered between them.

“Is this all there is?” I ask, frowning. As large as Steele Mountain is, I expected more. Naomi told me Steele Mountain covers a couple thousand acres, but in front of us, I count maybe a few dozen cows.

“We’re still at the beginning of the season. These are only the first group born,” he grunts.

“How many calves do you expect?—”

“Are you going to ask questions the whole time?” he snaps before throwing the truck in park and climbing out.

I stare after him for a minute, frowning. Only when I hear him drop the tailgate aggressively and it shakes the truck do I unclip my seatbelt and scramble out after him. “I thought I’m supposed to be learning?” I say, rushing to help him carry some of the crates. He hands me what is clearly the heaviest one and I struggle to hold it up. “How can I learn without questions?”

“Quietly,” he growls. “Just watch.”

“I’m not that kind of learner,” I argue. I grunt under the weight of the box as he pulls out a notepad and pen from his lapel pocket. He flips through the pages until he finds a blank one and writes the date at the top.

“Too bad,” he says, not even bothering to look at me. “I show. You watch. No questions.”

When I grunt again and try to reposition the box, he glances up and his face twists. “Just set it down on the tailgate if you can’t handle it.”

Part of me wants to prove otherwise, to continue holding it until my arms fall off. I hate being weak, and I’ve never had to worry about it before now. I thought I’d been doing pretty decent with my strength training at the gym but clearly not. Out here, none of that matters. Out here, things aren’t perfectly balanced weights and there are no spotters.

---