11. Stetson
ELEVEN
STETSON
March 30th, 2024
I’m hot, exhausted, and emotionally wrung out. Calf shit speckles my neck and between the valley of my small breasts. Which is still a mystery, since I’ve been wearing a button-down shirt secured clear to the collar.
I jog around the outside of the alley to check on how Dale is doing with the vaccinations. We haven’t been at it that long, and I don’t have that many heifers in the herd. But I feel helpless all the same. Dale is administering vaccines, Nathan—either by his own surprising will or threatened by Gus—has stepped in to help run the shoot, and Gus is in the alley pushing calves. When we started, Gus nearly bit off my head as I climbed into the alley to start pushing them myself. Even now, with sweat coursing down the ringlets of black hair plastered to either side of his face, he bares his teeth at me if I even get close.
Which is ridiculously hot. But I’m over it; I’m no longer letting my mind or body fall for it.
Clearly.
With all the racing back and forth to check that everyone has what they need for vaccinating to go smoothly, I’ve worn a path into the dusty ground. I sag, frustration and helplessness contorting my body, and stomp toward Dale and her array of vials and needles.
“Dale, I want to take over for a bit. Go get some water.” It’s the fifth time I’ve offered since we started less than an hour ago. Maybe this time she will get annoyed and finally give up.
Dale’s face is covered in a heavy sheen of sweat, her hair curling at the nape of her neck. She looks up at me, the cowboy hat shading her eyes. Even with the shadow, I see the mischief sparkling in them and I squirm.
“Not very good at having help, are you, Stet?” Dale teases while drawing the handle back on the syringe, filling it with a white liquid. I huff, dragging my foot through the sand in an arch in front of me. Understatement of the year—my tombstone will read: Stetson, the girl who did everything herself.
“I’ve never had anyone, Dale. Not really. I’ve always had to take care of myself.” It’s true, and I don’t spend time being sad about it anymore.
It’s just how my life shook out—no point in crying over spilled milk.
A gate slams behind me with a crash, and I yelp, the sound mixing with the bawling calves. I turn around just in time to see Gus stomping off, his back hunched over. The curve of his shoulders makes his already too-small, sweat-drenched shirt cling to his back in a way that is more provocative than it should be. I can see the cords of muscle bunch and flex with each stomping step, the shirt darker where sweat is no doubt running through chiseled crevices of flesh, down toward dirty faded jeans. Jeans that hug against the curve of his ass, and crease beneath each cheek, making them look rounder and firmer than any ass has a right to be.
It has to be fake. There’s no way an ass like that is real.
I absently flex my fingers, picturing what it would be like to run them along his back and over the rounded curve of his cheeks. It’s getting hotter out here; that’s why I’m drenched in sweat and my skin feels on fire— obviously.
“You dirty bitch. I’m over here working my ass off, and you’re drooling over the newly hired hand.”
I snap my jaw shut, not sure when it swung open, and pin Dale with a glare. “I fucking offered.”
“Maybe I’m not the one you should be offering to,” Dale teases, resuming her work with a grin.
I roll my eyes, huffing. The double meaning isn’t lost on me, but I refuse to give in. I won’t. And I need to nip this in the butt—I shudder at the image of actually ‘nipping him in the butt’ playing over in my mind—before it gets even more out of hand.
Not only is he my employee, whether I want it or not, and yes, I know lines like that get crossed all the time, but he is also the grouchiest man I have ever met. And I have met a lot. He’s hated me and made it known at every turn. Why? Good question. But I’m not going to waste time asking him, when I know the only answer I will get is a growly sounding huff that will do more to make my panties wet than ease my nerves. And most importantly, even though I know I will have to continue to remind myself, he is a cowboy —a grouchy, aggressive, roughneck cowboy. Just like Gibson.
But also not.
He sure seems like him at every turn, but then he will speak to Boots, his mare, I finally learned, and I can see a flash of kindness and compassion. A flash of humanity and love.
And Gibson possessed zero of those qualities.
“I thought you wanted him.” I hope I sound more teasing than I feel. I know I did a horrible job when Dale turns to me, a feral smile on her face.
“Jealous, much? You haven’t even seen his cock yet. Maybe you won’t like it.” Dale steps closer, ever the conspirator, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Or maybe it’s big enough for the both of us.”
Unable to restrain it, I scowl at Dale and push her away. A clang of a gate slamming slices through her giggles, and I quickly remember we aren’t alone.
“He’s the lowest of the low.” Nathan’s nose is held pointedly in the air. “White trash through and through.”
I can’t say there isn’t some truth to his words—I’ve known Gus less than twenty-four hours and he already gets under my skin worse than anyone I’ve ever met. But I can’t help but feel defensive of him. If he was standing here to defend himself, I wouldn’t feel the need. I don’t care what people think of him.
I don’t have any thoughts about him either way myself.
“Knock it off. Don’t talk shit about my ranch hand unless you have personal stories to back it up. I hate gossip.” I don’t mean to spit the words so venomously. At least, I don’t think I do. But they land all the same.
Nathan’s head reels back, his face filled with shock. He looks like I spat on him, and Lord knows I want to— not like that, though . His eyes sharpen at me, filling with something that I assume is his version of anger. Only, on him, it looks more like a feral kitten hissing at someone trying to pick it up for the first time—not scary in the slightest.
Laughable even.
To keep from actually laughing in his face, I head back down the worn path of sand around the alley to the back gate, where Gus is supposed to be. I’m sick of people talking down to me, telling me what to do, who to talk to, how to run this ranch.
If I’m going to burn the bitch down, I will be the one to light the fucking match.
I need to have this conversation with him now, or I might lose my nerve. Leaving common sense somewhere back in the dust, I plow toward my biggest problem. I know I won’t get answers, but I at least need to say my piece—if only so I can keep up the illusion that I’m in charge. I clamber over the rickety fence, not seeing Gus as I swing my other leg over the pole to jump into the alley. Calves huddle toward the front of the line, bawling and shifting back and forth anxiously.
A large hand clamps down on my thigh like a vise, my leg flexing from the sudden pressure of it.
“What. The fuck. Are. You. Doing?” Gus bites out each word, his black eyes blazing up at me. I should be scared or furious. Either emotion would be better than what I’m feeling. Which is feral. I can’t help but notice how close his mouth is to my knee, as he leans against the fence, pinning my thigh to the railing. And how close my knee is to my pussy.
“If you plan to work here permanently, we need to clear up a few things.” My voice comes out more confident than I feel, and I smile at myself.
His hand bites down tighter on my leg, a small spear of pain racing up my thigh. “Great, looking forward to it. Now get out of the alley and let me do my job.”
“Now, Gus.” His face contorts into a look of pain as I say the words, and I don’t know what part of what I said has that effect on him. It can’t be because I said his name.
Can it?
“What is it?” His hand doesn’t move from my leg, his muscles all but holding my body on the rails.
“Let’s start with the fact that you hate me. And I already have enough of that in my life in this stupid town, so I don’t need it here on my ranch.”
“I don’t hate you.” He sighs, his scowl lessening only a fraction. I cock a brow at him. Yeah, fucking, right.
“I don’t. You’re just so—” He waves his free hand up and down the length of my body as if that’s enough explanation. “And I don’t know how to work for someone who isn’t a complete asshole. I can be annoyed by you and still admire you. Because I do. I think it’s admirable that you’re out here trying to make this place something, when it’s obvious you’ve been faced with nothing but challenges.” His eyes widen, the words seeming to have been sucked from him. It’s clear he said more than he intended, and that fact does nothing to dampen my growing ache for him.
Fuck, this is spiraling out of control, fast. This morning, he was an asshole who I was sure hated me, just using me for a roof and paycheck, and now? Now he fucking admires me? No. I don’t need this right now. I don’t want this ever.
His hand drops to his side, and I scramble to stay perched on the top rail. I refuse to dwell on the fact that I miss the weight of his hand on my thigh. This is what I want—need, even.
“Well, okay.” What else can I say? He nods—conversation over.
“Wait.” He groans as I stop him once more from retreating, the sound sending unwanted chills across my skin, and his eyebrows pinch. “Just because you admire me, or whatever, doesn’t mean you don’t have to listen to me. I am your boss. If I say to sort the calves a certain way, I expect it done that way. If I want to work the alley, I will work the alley.”
He looks up at me again, his dark pools finding my face beneath the jungle of black curls. He nods curtly, the movement making the erotic curtain of hair sway.
“Anything else?” He’s getting more annoyed by the minute. But I can’t help but feel powerful and in control for the first time since I met him. That’s probably why I open my fucking mouth before I have time to consider my words.
“And you can’t be into me. If you work for me, this will be strictly professional. I don’t have time for dirty old cowboys while I’m trying to rebuild this dump. ”
Why did I say that? I could have thought of a nicer, more professional way to word it.
I know why I said it, though—it’s meant as a barrier between us, but not to protect me. To protect him from me . Because the way I want him after a single day is bordering on unhinged. Desperate.
He rolls his eyes, grinding his teeth together. That stubble-covered jaw, now dusted with red sand and calf shit, pops and rolls. I bite my lip to keep from moaning at his pent-up anger; his restraint in a situation he is not used to having to restrain himself in. Everything about him is sexy as sin, which is exactly why I have to draw this line in the sand to begin with.
Triggered by who knows what, Gus’s hand snaps out, grabbing my thigh again in a punishing grip, this time nearly yanking me from the fence. I yelp, startled by the shift.
“Tell you what, boss . I might be a dirty old cowboy, but I am a gentleman through and through—more so than any man you’ve ever let fuck you. I won’t touch you until you beg me to, and even then, I might not. Because you’re my boss , and that would be terribly ungentlemanly. So, go run along and do whatever it is bosses do, and try to keep any more mentions about my dick out of your annoyingly pouty mouth.” His hand lifts off my leg as if it were burning him, and not the other way around. He stomps toward the huddled calves, their bawling the only sound drowning out my thundering heart.
What the fuck did I just do?