Page 65 of The Runaway and the Rugged
Great… Just what I needed to start my day.
19
GARTH
Dammit.
I owed my daughter ten dollars. The girl loved to make bets and this morning before I took off, she made the bet that Emelia would step in a pile of horse crap within seconds of walkin’ into the stall. I, of course, thought otherwise, assuming that’d be the first thing she’d look out for. But in her attempt to prove to me that she knew what she was doing, she landed boot-first in manure.
Let me clarify, a brand-new boot.
If I wasn’t so amused by the situation, I would have been annoyed. I would have called it an early day and went back home, but since it was Emelia, the city girl who claimed she didn’t know how to use a shovel, I wanted to stick around and find out what else she “couldn’t do.”
And now after a fresh hosing down of her boot, we were back in Ella’s stall, this time more cautious of where she was stepping than before.
“All right, before you decide to steal both the shovel and pitchfork from me, let me give you a little breakdown on what we’re doin, yeah?” I announced, struggling to stop my eyes frommingling down her body that was wrapped in denim and every cowboy's kryptonite, their hat.
Well, my ball cap, but it felt just the same and it looked damn good on her head too.
Her cheeks flushed, but she nodded.
“Good,” I shot her a subtle grin, “so we typically like to clean the stalls at least once a day, sometimes twice, dependin’ on the horse. It’s more time-consumin’ than anything.”
I picked up the pitchfork.
“I’m sure this part speaks for itself. Scoop the manure, all the mess, and toss it in the wheel barrel. Once you’re finished with all that, we add some fresh bedding and disinfect the stall.”
“You do this every day?” she asked in astonishment. “Clean each one of their stalls?”
It was more than evident she hadn’t seen work like this a day in her life, and this was barely a fraction of the duties we had on the ranch. I could only imagine her reaction to the other tasks I’d eventually show her.
“Every day, Outlaw,” I confirmed. “Then every couple weeks we do a deep clean.”
She nodded again, clearly overwhelmed.
“Think it’s somethin’ you can handle?”
Hands falling into the curve of her hips, she threw me a look.
“I can handle anything.”
“That so?”
She shifted the ball cap on her head, pulling my attention to the thick, messy braid resting over her shoulder. Lookin’ too damn tempting, enough to wrap my fingers around it and pull.
“Yes, I may not look like I can,” she grunted before shifting herself forward to grab the shovel, but not before tripping over a thick pile of straw. Luckily, she was able to catch herself before she made contact with the ground, but that didn’t stop me from reaching out to steady her.
If I have a nickel for every damn time I’ve seen this woman nearly bust her ass from tripping, I’d already have a wallet full of cash.
“Christ, Outlaw, you sure you’re cut out for this? First, it was your boot, next, it might be your face if you’re not careful,” I teased, knowing full well that I was digging my way beneath her skin and causing all sorts of trouble. I couldn’t help it, though. She was revealing my playful side, the part of me I thought was dead and gone for anyone else besides Grace. And here she was, this clumsy, stunner of a woman, breaking down some of my walls with little to no effort.
Without even knowing it.
“I trip sometimes, sue me.” She shrugged me off with a face the shade of a tomato. “I don’t think that it should be an indicator of whether or not I’m cut out for this.”
A bark of a laugh escaped from my chest, liking the feisty side she was showing me.
“Bein’ clumsy is a hazard around here, so try your best to stay on two feet, yeah?” I meant it as more of a warning than a tease. The last thing I wanted was for her to get hurt, and there was a mile-long list of ways that could happen here.
