Page 9 of Headed for Home

“Absolutely. Be right there,” Anna replies.

After the trio disappears into the barn, I refocus on the approaching vehicle. The Ford Raptor handles the turns like a new toy. Wealth gleams in the black paint and chrome accents to confirm my earlier assumptions. I square my shoulders and prepare for another confrontation with the rich pricks.

But then the man’s face comes into view. He’s wearing a hat and his eyes are hidden behind a pair of aviators but I imagine the baby blues crinkling in the corners. Relief streams from me in a long exhale.

I exit the arena to greet my unexpected guest, and I’m not alone in that feat. Our two Australian Shepherds wake from their snooze on the porch to hop on the welcome wagon. Their chorus of barks pierce the humid air as Drake parks his truck in front of the garage. He steps out and strides to where I’m leaning against the fence. Or at least he attempts to.

The dogs weave between his legs, nearly tripping him with every pass. He leans down to pet them, which only doubles their efforts. I whistle and the pair quickly backs off to give him space.

“Appreciate that. Wasn’t sure I’d ever reach you,” Drake laughs.

“Yet here you are.” I take a moment to admire how his faded jeans are sculpted to his ass.

He returns the favor, his shielded gaze roaming over me in a languid perusal. “You look… hot.”

“Thanks for noticing.” I pluck at my tank top that clings to me like an extra layer of skin.

“Nice boots.”

I glance at the worn leather caked in shavings and hay. The grime matches the stains on my denim cutoffs. A pat to my head bobbles the oversized bun keeping my hair tied up. Once again, my appearance leaves much to be desired.

“Dressed to impress,” I joke. “You caught me in the middle of lessons and mucking out stalls.”

“What’s that?”

“Shoveling shit into a wheelbarrow.”

“That sounds… thrilling.” Drake adjusts his baseball hat to sit lower. “I had to plunge the toilet yesterday.”

I twist my lips to one side. “That’s almost the same thing.”

“It’s really not,” he chuckles and scrubs the back of his neck. “Don’t know why I brought it up.”

A nervous energy surrounds him, which is endearing. I find myself smiling at the idea that this sports icon could be a bumbling goof around me. It must be the weather.

“So,” I prod.

“Buttons.”

“Good one,” I quip. “But what brings the great Drake Granger to Greener Pastures?”

“You.” His mirrored lenses reflect my shock.

I avert my gaze and kick at a stray pebble. “What about me?”

“Everything.”

Which is too farfetched to believe. “It’s the smell, huh? You’ve missed the scent of manure and farm animals. Feel free to stop by whenever you need a whiff.”

Drake steps closer and breathes deep. “Careful, beauty. With an open invitation like that, I might never leave.”

An ache rooted in loneliness makes it difficult to swallow. My gaze catches on his truck. “What’re you hauling with that horsepower?”

He quirks his mouth at my deflection. “A boat.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“I’ll take you for a spin on the lake. Just say the word.”

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