Page 3 of Caught By A Cowboy

“Sawyer here was telling me you're looking for some help.” She seems to have lost her confidence all of a sudden.

“He was, huh?” I look at my best friend and scowl.

“I won’t lie and tell you I have experience, and I’ll be honest I’m kinda in a jam but I–”

“You’re hired.” I cut her off before she goes into her life fuckin’ story. Then picking up my hat and placing it on my head, I snatch the bottle from the bar and start making my way toward the door. I fail to hear the sound of her heels tapping after me, so I stop and turn around.

“You coming?” I check.

“Oh, you mean now” She looks back at me with those doe-fuckin’-eyes, before clumsily gathering the train of her dress, smiling at Sawyer gratefully, then scurrying after me.

“I have a car, it’s broken down and about a mile and a?—”

“Get in.” I stop beside my pickup truck and open the passenger door for her. Just the way she bites her lip and smiles at the same time when she pulls herself up into the seat, makes my dick twitch. I ignore the voice in my head that tells me this is a bad idea and quickly slam the door and round the hood to get in the driver's seat beside her.

“I can’t cook but I’ll learn, and I’ve always been good at keeping things tidy. I once rearranged my friend Kendra’s entire room in just a–”

“You talk a lot.” I point out as I pull out of the parking space and head toward home. She blushes and lowers her eyes to her lap while I hold my hand up to Eamonn Jeffries as I pass his hardware store.

“So how far away from here do you live?” She fidgets on her seat as we leave town in the dust and make our way toward the ranch.

“‘Bout a half hour.” I shrug,

“My car’s in the opposite direction. I’ll have to arrange to get it towed to the garage in town.”

“Cade’s not back till Tuesday,” I tell her.

“Yes, I’m aware.” She smiles politely, though I can tell she’s starting to get frustrated. I wonder if she looks as pretty when she's mad as she does when she’s smiling.

“So you're a cowboy, huh?” The girl seems insistent on making conversation.

“I’m a rancher,” I set her straight, focusing on the road and not allowing myself to get distracted.

“Do you have a horse?” she questions.

“‘Course, I got a horse.” I glance back across at her, what kinda stupid question is that?

“Do you have a lasso?”

“I got a rope.” I nod.

“Then you're a cowboy.” Her mouth twists into a smart little smile that makes me want to pull over and kiss it, but I manage to find some composure and continue to drive.

“The work’s not gonna be easy, the guys living in the bunkhouse expect three decent meals a day, and if you don’t stay on top of the laundry it can?—”

“Wait, I’m expected to do the laundry? And who arethe guys?” she interrupts me, looking horrified.

“I told ya, they live in the bunkhouse. And they really are cowboys,” I warn. They’re sure gonna like her, and I already know it’s gonna piss me the fuck off.

“Anything else you expect me to handle?” She laughs sarcastically.

“There’s always work to be done on the ranch. Stables to clean, fences to fix?—”

“I willnotbe fixing any fences.” Her eyebrows lift as she makes that point very clear.

“We’ll see.” I manage to hold back the smirk my lips are threatening to make as I drive over the bridge by the old forge.

“Are you not gonna ask?” We don’t get much further before she speaks up again.

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