Page 34 of Burn the Wild

He stares at me for a long, hard beat.

“You got any other clothes?” he asks.

I cross my arms. “Does it look like I have any other clothes?” I let out a weary sigh. “I grabbed what I could.”

The cinnamon candy cracks between his teeth. “Should have planned better.”

“I don’t plan.”

He grabs a T-shirt and shrugs it on, effectively ruining my prime view of his body. “That much is apparent.”

Cheeks flaming, I stare at him for a stomach-sinkingly long time. He won’t help me. I should have expected that. But here I am, arguing with a man who’s given me shit since I arrived. He thinks he knows me. Well, he’s wrong. I don’t need him.

“You know, whoever taught you to be a cowboy failed miserably.” With a flip of my hair, I turn on my heel and stalk toward the exit.

“Hold up a sec,” he orders, sounding weary.

I pause at the garage door. “What?”

His nostrils flare. “If you want work, you can work.” The second he says it, it looks like he regrets his decision. With a grunt, he grabs a two-way radio from a shelf and hooks it to his waistband. Two big stomps and he’s moving past me to disappear out of the garage.

His lope is long, and I have to scurry after him.

“Wait, where are we going?” I ask when I finally reach his side. I stumble on my heels and press my palm against his corded arm to steady myself.

He tenses at my touch. Keeps trudging ahead. “You want a job. You can work on the ranch.”

My stomach drops. I stop in the middle of the gravel road. “The ranch?”

For my first real-world job, I was thinking of something less harrowing. Inside. Comfortable. I’ve never worked outdoors, let alone squatted behind the backend of a cow.

“Funny enough, I’ve been assigned the job of being your babysitter,” he says as if it’s the most painful thing in the world. “So, what you’re going to do, honey, is work alongside me this summer.”

I flinch.

Ford’s upper lip curls. “What’s wrong? Can’t hack it?” He says it like it’s a dare.

I glance down at my thousand-dollar cherry red Louboutins, bidding farewell to good heels and common sense. Then I blow out a determined breath, steel my shoulders and meet those stunning amber eyes.

“No. I can.”

Ford simply grunts and heads for the barn.

Money, I remind myself.Freedom. No black hole.

It’s all a gamble, but I have to take it. Even if I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

Her hair’s different. It pisses me off.

That platinum mess from yesterday is now a soft honey and ash color that makes her bright green eyes pop. Worse, it’s a wild snarl of waves and curls that fall to the small of her back. With her heart-shaped face and long lashes, Reese is the very worst kind of distraction.

My baseball hat shields the late morning sun’s rays as we trudge across the ranch. I glance at Reese. Every few seconds she stops, muttering to herself, and tears her heels from the grass, then continues to lurch along. Her heels chew up the green earth better than any rototiller can. Christ, at this rate, it’ll be sundown before any of the chores are done.

The whole thing’s ridiculous. I know a recipe for disaster when I see it. I can’t think of someone more ill-equipped for ranch work than Reese.

In that sparkly silver dress, she’s like a walking disco ball, and her stiletto heels probably cost thousands. She’s got three gold bangles stacked on each arm, clinking with each move. In every video or photo I saw last night, she wore them. It must be her schtick. The constant jingle grates on my nerves. Almost has me forgetting how fucking beautiful she is.

Almost.

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