Page 37 of Rope Me In

For a man that I’m assuming is hungover considering how I found him, he sure isn’t functioning like I would be. His mood has also changed greatly from when I saw him yesterday. Heseems lighter, happier. Which again, weird, especially for a dude who probably got a few hours of sleep on a couch after drinking.

Maybe he got laid, or maybe it’s because he’s young. Before I turned twenty-five, I could sleep in awkward positions without needing a chiropractor afterward, though I’ve never been great at tolerating alcohol. I may be a bigger girl, but a couple of drinks, and I’m three sheets to the wind.

“Did you hear me, Lemon?” he chirps.

I look to where he’s pointing, a spot I just cleaned, and put my hand on my hip. “There’s nothing there, Kade.”

He chuckles. “Just keeping you on your toes.”

I sigh, wiping sweat off my forehead. It’s hot for the morning, which means it’s only going to get sweltering as the day goes on. Freaking heatwave.

I fight the urge to close my eyes as a wave of dizziness hits me. My blood sugar is low, that much I know. But I’m not going to give Kade the satisfaction of making the “city girl” ask for her break on the first day. If I sneak another cup of coffee, I could at least dull the hunger pains. Too bad humans can’t eat hay, because there’s plenty of that around.

I ignore the stabbing pains in my stomach and pick up more horse poop. This stall is a mess—there’s crap everywhere, and it’s all mixed in with the shavings. Until today, I had no idea people used shavings for horses. I thought they were just for gerbils and hamsters.

I scoop up more poop and go to dump it in the muck bucket when Kade’s hand on my wrist stops me. I shift my gaze from where we’re touching to his eyes.

“There are good shavings in there,” he says. “You need to sift it.”

He pulls his hand back and picks up some of the muck with his pitchfork.

“This horse is what we call atornadoer.” He shakes the fork so the shavings start to fall to the ground. Eventually, all he has left is poop before he throws it into the bucket. “If you don’tsift, then it costs us more money. Which is never a good thing on a ranch.”

I salute him. “Save the shavings, got it.”

He cracks a half smile as a bead of sweat trickles from beneath the band of the backwards cap he’s wearing. Lyla said there was nothing hotter than a cowboy working in a white tank and a ball cap, and now I understand what she meant. While Kade isn’t wearing a tank top, the white T-shirt he’s got on does the job. I’ve had to stop myself several times from drooling. I’m going to blame my hunger for making me look twice. But with the way his shoulders bunch beneath his shirt as he works, I can’t help imagining what his broad, sweaty muscles look like sans clothing.

I swallow and get back to mucking, my mouth as dry as a desert. Yep, I’m definitely blaming this weak moment on no food and a lack of water. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be thinking of Kade in this way. I wouldn’t be thinking of him in a nice way at all. The man is annoying. We don’t get along. And he’s a walking red flag. I can’t let my hormones and delirium change my opinion of him. Right?!

Kade clears his throat.

“What now?” My question comes out exasperated, and not just because of my prior thoughts. If he tells me I’m still doing it wrong, I may scream.

He starts to point to a spot on the ground, and I snap. “I didn’t miss a spot! I’m still working.”

He stifles a laugh. “Your weird hippie nicotine vape fell out of your pocket.”

Heat licks up my neck. I forgot I even put it there this morning. I haven’t been using it as much in the last few days, relying more on my random word reciting to get me through my anxiety. “It’s not nicotine.”

“Whatever you say, Lemon.”

I sigh, bending over to pick up the pen. “It’s not. I told you; its peppermint, valerian root, and chamomile.”

He cocks his hip and props himself against his pitchfork. “Can I try it?”

I scrunch my nose at him. “You think I’m lying?”

He expels a breathy chuckle. “Just wondering what you like about it.”

I stare at the pen then look back up at him. For a second, I debate if I should let him. This interaction leans toward normal conversation between two people who are getting to know each other. Usually, every other word out of his mouth is him telling me how I’m doing something wrong.

“I swear I don’t have cooties,” he chirps.

I shake my head but decide to let him try it; this conversation is better than him annoying me. I hold the inhaler out, and he smirks as he takes it. His work-calloused fingers brush mine as he does. While there’s no zap of electricity this time, my stomach flips despite my desire to be irritated at him.

Kade pulls back with the inhaler in his hand and an even wider grin like he knows I felt something when we touched. I try to remain neutral, but my eyes track his movement as he brings it to his lips, mouth wrapping around the small cylinder before he sucks. My breath hitches in my throat as his cheeks hollow, and my grip on my pitchfork tightens. I think my body now lacks any moisture at all.

When he removes the pen, my heated gaze meets his amused one, and I feel like a kid being caught with their hand in the cookie jar. I’ve never been good at being subtle. He holds the vapor in, and while I expected he would cough, he doesn’t. When he exhales, peppermint mixes with the scent of hay and horses, making my nose tingle.

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