Page 40 of Cruelest Contract
Cecilia walks this way and gets within six feet before she notices I’m standing here. Her eyes spark before she has a chance to check her reaction.
Then she gives me a shy smile that makes my cock twitch. I wish we could skip a few steps and tumble into the nearest bed.
Fuck, this girl is so perfect. I can hardly wait to get my hands on her.
“Did the boss already leave?” Miguel asks.
He removes his hat, pushes a hand through his sweaty hair and promptly parks the hat back on his head. In all the years I’ve known him I think I’ve seen him without a cowboy hat for a grand total of about an hour.
“A few minutes ago.” I tear my eyes away from Cecilia. “He’ll be gone until Friday.”
Miguel squints at the horizon. “A big section of the north pasture fence took a beating during that blizzard a few months back. The whole damn thing should really be replaced.”
“I can give you the green light. Do what you’ve got to do. And thanks for taking some time for the tour this morning.”
“No problem,” he says just as a skinny cowboy named Del walks over and mutters in his ear. Miguel nods and shoots me a glance.
“Go ahead,” I say. “I don’t mean to keep you from your work.”
Cecilia is listening and she aims a bright smile at the ranch foreman. “Thank you so much for everything, Miguel.”
He tips his hat. “My pleasure, ma’am.” Then he whistles for the other boys to follow him to the stables so they can mount up and ride out.
Fort, who always jumps at any chance to disappear into the wild, starts to follow them until I grab his arm.
“Do me a favor and take Mr. Personality with you. You’ll probably find him on the far side of the barn, still sprawled in the dirt and scheming revenge plans. Drag him if you have to.”
Fort shrugs. “Fine, but you owe me one.”
Meanwhile, Tye has decided it’s time to impress Cecilia with some rope tricks. Too bad he doesn’t know any.
“Watch this.” Tye starts spinning the rope around. “It’s called the Texas Skip.”
Got to admire the guy’s swagger. He’s unbothered by the fact that no matter how many times he twirls the rope it still resembles a wet noodle. Then he finishes by smacking his cheekbone with the rope tail.
Cecilia presses her lips together to stifle a laugh. “Very impressive, Tye.”
Undeterred, he drops the rope and rubs at the burn on his cheek. “If you liked that, I can’t wait to show you what I can do with a hockey stick.”
“I thought you were retired,” she says.
Tye can’t stop flirting. It’s just something he does without thinking. His mouth stretches into a grin and he edges just a little closer to her. “My talent is still intact, honey.”
“You can keep your stick to yourself,” Cecilia tells him sweetly and brushes a wisp of hair from her face as she shifts her gaze to the mountains.
Since Tye can never be bothered to pick up after himself, I swipe the abandoned rope off the ground and walk it over to the tack room. Along the way I pass a cow with an eye injury and she bleats a complaint from her pen.
As I walk through the barn, this is one of those random times when I get caught up in scraps of memory. My mother, born and raised in New York City, was perpetually delighted with ranch life. In the warm months she’d bring us boys out here to visit the animals and then we’d have a picnic on the flat grassy zone beyond the corral.
“My little cowboys,” she’d laugh and I can picture her sitting in the grass with a protective hand on her heavily pregnant belly.
And I see my brothers too.
Tye, running in circles, trying to chase me and getting frustrated because his legs were shorter. Getty, doing his best to crawl off the edge of a quilted picnic blanket and flailing hislimbs with fury when he couldn’t get there fast enough. As for Fort, he was still the unknown lump in our mother’s belly.
Then I see my father, surprising us with a sudden return from whatever mysterious business had taken him away from the ranch. With a broad grin, he sneaked up behind my mother, kissed her cheek and presented her with a bouquet of cheerful yellow flowers.
I’m sure it’s a real memory, not just a wishful vision cooked up by my overactive brain.
