Page 55 of Wrangled

He’d been honest with me. I could be that honest too.

“Yeah, I like him. But you need to bear something in mind. He might not be interested inme.”

Zeeb smiled. “Oh, he’s interested, all right.”

“Hey!” Butch hollered across to us. “Lights-out time.”

Zeeb tugged my arm. “We’d better get in there. But I’m glad we had this chat. I guess I’ve given you something to think about.”

We headed toward the bunkhouse.

“You sure have.” I had a feeling I’d be thinking about it long into the night.

“So if I wake up in the early hours to find you beating your meat, I won’t have to ask whoyou’refantasizing about, will I?” I jerked my head to stare at him, and he grinned. “Yeah, I got your number.” He sounded smug as fuck.

“No one likes a smartass, Zeeb.”

He just laughed.

When we reached the door, I glanced up the hill toward the big house. Maybe that was what I hadn’t been able to put my finger on.

Robert was lonely. He hid it well, no doubt about that, but the conversation with Zeeb confirmed it.

One thing was certain. I wasn’t about to march up to the house to find out if Zeeb was on the money. I wanted more than his hunches.

I wanted an invitation.

Chapter Thirteen

Monday, June 13

Toby

I stared at the cardboard box Zeeb set down in the middle of the paddock.

“Is there a cow in there?” I quipped. “You telling me you get your cows delivered by Amazon? They’re awful small, if that’s the case. Catching one should be no problem.” The jokes were my way of delaying the inevitable. I ached like a bastard.

Zeeb glanced toward the fence where Robert stood watching us. “Hey, boss. Looks like we got ourselves a fuckin’ comedian.”

Robert grinned. Then I watched as Walt, Butch, Paul, Declan, and Garrett joined him. I was used to being the focus of attention—I’d given God knew how many demos at the club over the years—but this particular audience did little for my nerves. I’d hog-tied plenty of guys in the past, butthrowingropes was something new. I smiled to myself.If I’m any good at this, I might do a demonstration at the club. ‘How to deal with runaway submissives.’

Zeeb returned his attention to me. “When you’re starting out, you can use any number of things for a target—a post, a roping dummy, a plastic steer head, and yeah, even an Amazon box.” He handed me the lariat, maybe forty feet of coiled poly rope. “Now, stand about fifteen to twenty feet away from it. You need space to swing your lariat.”

“Yeah, you don’t wanna accidentally catch the target before you throw it,” Butch called out.

“Ignore him,” Zeeb told me.

“What makes you think I’m going to be able to get it up?” When the guffaws erupted, I realized what I’d said. I rolled my eyes. “Jeez. Guess I’ve foundyourlevel.”

“Hey, if you’ve got problems getting it up, you might wanna see a doctor,” Walt hollered. He leered. “I’d be willing to lend a hand, if it came to that.”

I gave them all a mock glare. “Trying to throw a lariat here.”

“Yeah, shut the fuck up,” Zeeb added. He returned his attention to me. “And you? Just give it your best shot. It’s your first time, after all.”

“Yeah, Toby’s a lariat virgin,” Butch called out, amid chuckles.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Robert’s voice cut through the laughter, and everyone quieted down. “Zeeb, get on with it.”

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