Page 86 of Headed for Home

The kids don’t react to his petulance. They’re too busy padding my ego. At least until their short attention spans shift to hunting cats in the grass. Charlie scrambles off me and kneels in the dirt. His sister is more practical with her dismount, folding into a silent crouch.

“Good luck,” I whisper.

That earns me double the thumbs-ups. Soft laughter escapes me as I amble back to Cassidy and the dude who still hasn’t started doing what he’s here for. Nope, he’s preoccupied himself with my woman.Such a nice guy.His beady leer ogles her curves in the cowgirl uniform I’ve already thoroughly admired.

Confidence widens my stance, putting my six and a half feet frame on display. “Who are you?”

“Took the words outta my mouth,” he chuckles. “The name’s Scott. I’m the hay guy ‘round here.”

The intro matches with what I’ve already heard. Not that I’d admit we were talking about him.

I extend a hand, squeezing hard on purpose. “Cassidy refers to me as the best sex of her life, but you can call me Drake. You’ve probably heard about me.”

My girlfriend’s freckled cheeks burst into flames, but she doesn’t dispute the title. I wink at her while keeping Mr. Nice Guy in a firm vise.

Scott smirks. “Tight grip. Use it for jerking Jill up the hill?”

“That’s clever.” My fingers clamp down until he winces. “Gotta show dominance, right? This is my house.”

Cassidy exhales roughly. “If you two are done flirting, there’s work to do.”

Paisley chooses that moment to join us. “Did somebody say two for the price of one?”

A disgruntled scoff rejects her discounted rate. My biceps clench in preparation for heavy lifting. “I’ve got this. Just tell me where to put the bales.”

“Whoa there, buckaroo.” Scott blocks me from the nearest wagon. “Are you trying to do my job?”

“Thought that was obvious.” But I do a few more stretches to prove my point.

“I’m used to handling Cassidy’s hay by myself,” he boasts.

“That was before she had me. I can do it.”

“Trouble, let him stack the bales. He knows what he’s doing,” Cassidy presses.

“And I don’t?”

She cringes. “No offense, but—”

“Gonna stop you right there,” I interrupt. “It can’t be that difficult. I’m built like an ox from Oregon Trail.”

Scott grunts. “You got those muscles in the gym. True grit isn’t sculpted by a monthly membership at Planet Fitness. That strength is given to those who earn it the old-fashioned way. But let’s see what you’ve got.”

He strips off his shirt as if that’s a requirement for manual labor. The dude is ripped, almost making me feel inadequate. Cassidy appears unaffected, discussing evening chores with Paisley. If interest sparks in her gaze, I want that desire solely aimed at me. I reach back for my collar and yank the cotton over my head. We stand bare chested, flaunting our toned worth. This scene is beginning to have a Gladiator vibe and I’m hyped to beat him at his own game.

As if entering the gauntlet of my thoughts, Scott’s grin curves to a vicious angle. “How about we make this interesting?”

“I highly doubt you have anything interesting to say but I’m willing to listen.”

His glare threatens to flay me open. “You do that wagon. I’ll take this one. It’s an even one hundred fifty bales each. Whoever empties theirs first is the winner.”

“Deal,” I agree.

We don’t need to state a prize. There’s not a price on bragging rights. Cassidy catches wind of our plans as we approach our designated trailers.

“This isn’t the competition we were going to celebrate,” she says.

“Consider it extra credit. When I come out on top, I’ll buy dinner.”

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