Page 19 of The First Day of Breeding Season
When I turn to answer a question from Inez on my other side, my shoulder brushes his fingertips, and sizzling energy crackles over my bare skin.
There are eight ranch hands and wranglers hired on for the summer. Other than Raul and Inez, the Lowry brothers don’t keep full-time staff year round, so everyone is still in the getting to know each other phase. It’s not just me who is new, and conversations ping in all directions.
Through it all, I’m achingly aware of Drew beside me.
Silent.
Hot blooded.
Not sweet.
When I finish eating, he briefly tries to bring up the topic of new bulls for the herd, but we keep getting interrupted.
So when Inez brings out rhubarb pie for dessert, I say I’m full and might head to bed.
Drew squeezes my shoulder. “That’s a good plan. We can discuss this in the morning. I’m going to call it an early night, too.”
We push away from the table at the same time, and I don’t miss the curious looks Theo and Benji give Drew—or the way they both snap their attention back to pie when he glowers at them.
Heat races up my neck as we step out into the growing dusk and I force my shaking legs forward. I’m going to bed. In the morning, I’ll wake up and put on my jeans, and I won’t see Theo or Benji for days.
Maybe by the time they arrive up in the hills, all of this weird chemistry between Drew and myself will have burned off.
As we approach the main house, the porch light flicks on.
“Be careful about the wasps, they like the light,” Drew says as I race up the stairs, my heart rate driving me a little too fast and I don’t really register what he says until I hear the angry buzz.
“Fuck, sorry,” he mutters as he climbs the steps behind me.
“It’s okay.” I turn and back up, waving my hand, but that’s the wrong thing to do, because it drives the defensive insect down along my skirt—and then up, under my sundress. “Oh God!”
I can feel it against my leg. I lift my skirt and jump, trying to get away from it before I get stung.
All I succeed in doing is capturing it in the open top of my boot—and then I feel the sharp, sudden pain on the back of my calf.
I hiss in shock and bend over, kicking off my boot.
The wasp buzzes angrily away, leaving a burning sting in its wake. A red welt is already swelling, I can see the edge of it.
I’ve been stung more than once—it’s not the end of the world—but the sting is hot and insistent, and I know it’ll only get worse.
“I need…” I trail off as Drew kneels in front of me, his hands reaching for my leg before I can protest.
“Let me see it,” he says firmly, lifting my foot to rest on his bent thigh.
My sundress slithers along my skin.
“Drew, really, it’s?—”
“Hush,” he says, his tone low but not unkind. His fingers gently brush my hand aside, and my breath catches as his calloused palm cups my calf, tilting my leg slightly to get a better look.
This is ten times more intimate than his fingertips on my shoulder at dinner, and the jolting energy that courses through me is ten times stronger, too.
“It’s already swelling,” he mutters, his thumb circling the welt. My head spins. “Damn wasps. They’re everywhere this time of year.”
I swallow hard as his fingers linger on my leg. I can feel the heat of his breath against my skin as he leans in closer, inspecting the sting with an intensity that makes my cheeks flush.
“You aren’t allergic?” he asks, his gaze flicking up to mine, concern etched into the lines of his face.
