Page 15 of The Fake Girlfriend's Billionaire Match
Winnie nodded. “I guess I’d never thought about it, but you’re right. I suspect they wouldn’t.”
“So, coffee and then the horses?”
“Sure,” she replied. “Then I can get cleaned up and work on Thanksgiving Dinner.”
Just as she turned, he caught her and pulled her back. “You really don’t have to work for your knives. It was a pleasure to buy them for you.” He meant it. It was just money. Then again, he was still torn up with how Angela used him. Perhaps he could apply the same philosophy to Angela and move on.
With a shrug and a smile, she tangled her fingers in his. “The things that mean the most are the things you work for.”
Yeah, yeah they were. “All right.”
After a short pit stop to down some coffee—and it rivaled Reagan’s brewing skills—they headed to the barn. Once there, he held the door as she entered and shut it behind them. Every winter, he was more and more thankful they’d spent the money to have the barn heated.
“Oh, this is nice.” Winnie turned to face him. “No wonder I didn’t need much more than a coat. It’s toasty in here.”
“We wanted the horses taken care of. They work just as hard as we do.”
“Do you do take care of the horses by yourself every day?” she asked. It was a good question and something he’d thought about often.
Shrugging, he nodded. “Mostly. Sometimes I wish I had a dog to keep me company, but I don’t have the time to even find one.”
“I can see a dog being a good friend.” She took a deep breath, rubbed her hands together, and said, “All right, put me to work. What’s first?”
A woman had never been as attractive to him as Winnie was at that moment. She was willing to get her hands dirty. When she’d offered, he figured it would more be her keeping him company as he worked, but it was clear that Winnie was in the barn to help.
Had Angela ever done that? That was a big fat resoundingno. It should have been a huge red flag when the woman cried about her nail breaking. Why hadn’t he realized that before getting so serious? Before…making a stupid choice.
He smiled. “Follow me.”
By the time they reached the last horse, Bear could tell Winnie had listened to him. She took charge and did exactly as he’d shown her. Checking their hooves, underneath their blankets, making sure they hadn’t somehow hurt themselves. She was good with them too. Once she was finished, she led the gelding out to the pasture.
Now was the real test. Mucking the stalls. She turned to him with a wide grin on her face. “Is that all?”
“Not quite. We need to clean out their stalls.” He walked to the room where his wheelbarrow and pitchfork were stored. If she helped with this one, he’d be floored. “This is the real dirty part.”
Her smile never faltered. “Okay.”
His pulse tripled its speed. Winnie didn’t mind a little dirt or hard work. If he didn’t respect her before, which he did, he would now. “You really don’t mind mucking stalls, do you?”
“I said I’d help. Unless you’re just messing with me.”
“No, their stalls need to be cleaned out after they’ve spent the night in them.” He pushed the wheelbarrow into the nearest stall. “You can use these, and I’ll get a set for myself.”
After that, they worked mostly in silence. He’d hear her humming from time to time. It was a tune he actually knew. A Don Williams song, “Lord, I Hope This Day Is Good.” That was old music. Stuff his dad listened to sometimes.
It wasn’t long until he was humming with her. A truer song couldn’t have fit the day if it tried. The only thing he wished was different was his circumstances. He didn’t like lying to his family. When he’d first had the idea, he’d been too focused on how lonely he’d be watching his brothers and sister play with their kids and snuggle next to someone.
As much as he wanted what they had, he didn’t have the courage to put his heart out there. His love was spent on Angela, and he’d yet to recoup the cost. Now, there was Winnie, and he was realizing that living in the past was keeping him from all the good things in life. Maybe he needed to ruminate on that a bit.
After pitching the last bit of hay into the wheelbarrow, he steered it out and found Winnie leaning against the barn wall, smiling. She’d beat him. “You have a pretty good voice.”
“What?” he asked, freezing in his tracks.
“You were singing.”
He hadn’t even realized that. “I was?”
She pushed off the wall and closed the distance. “Yeah, Don Williams. My nanny had a crush on him. He was her long, tall cup of tea.”
