Page 79 of The Guy Who Stole My Ranch

I was wrong.

Brooke pushed her hips one way, then the other, as I tugged. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I usually unbutton the sides.”

“It’s fine,” I assured her.

This felt much more intimate than I’d intended, and I forced myself to focus.

After an eternity, gravity took over, and the denim fell to the ground.

Brooke stepped out of them with one foot, but when she moved the other, she stumbled.

My instincts took over, and I reached and put my hands on her waist—one of her only clean areas—to steady her.

Was she holding her breath?

I was.

Brook put her second foot down and then let out a long sigh.

“You okay?” I asked.

She nodded.

Only then did I notice that Brook’s shirt wasn’t quite long enough to cover the red boy short panties she had on. My eyes shot up, but not before I got a good look at her shapely legs, and I let go of her.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

Brooke didn’t try to cover herself, not that she was really showing anything. Instead, she pointed at the hose. “This is the part where you clean me off.”

“With your shirt on?” I asked.

She indicated the neckline. “I’d rather not smear more of that on my face.”

“Fair point.” I moved to the spigot, turned it, then picked up the nozzle of the hose. “How do you want me to do this?”

She thought for a moment before she said, “Why don’t you start with my arms? Come over here so you’re more like a shower head and not a fire hose.”

I did as she instructed and held the nozzle above her as I turned it on. Brooke let out a gasp but made quick work of cleaning her bad arm off with the good one. Then she turned and slowly rinsed the other side. When she’d finished, she pointed. “Now my chest and neck.”

I obliged, resisting the urge to help her when it would be easier for me to reach her back.

By this point, she was shivering. “How bad is my hair?” she asked.

“Pretty bad.” I went around behind her. “Can you lean back?”

She complied, and I did my best to get her hair clean. She used her good hand to comb through it, and after a few seconds, she straightened. “Enough.”

I turned off the hose. “Your lips are blue.”

“I’m not surprised, that water is freezing.” She held her hand out. “Towel?”

“You should take everything off first.”

Brooke blinked.

I pulled the towel from my neck, furled it out, and held it up in front of me. “I won’t watch.”

A huff sounded. “I’m not going to be able to get this shirt off without help.”

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