10. Stetson
TEN
STETSON
March 30th, 2024
He pulls up in a green pickup, rust trimming the fenders and underbelly, a small silver trailer bumping along behind it. Unlike Nathan’s, this one looks like a work truck, and I honestly like the worn, old look better; seems more honest, somehow.
I suck in a ragged breath, my body sluggish and mind fuzzy. I’m exhausted from laying awake all night, but it was worth it at least. After meeting the man yesterday, I couldn’t shake that feeling of familiarity, and that it was important for me to figure out how I know him. Tossing and turning as night faded into day, I finally solved the mystery—he was the same dark figure from the bar a couple of weeks ago. Whether it is his dark aura or that flash of perfectly white teeth, I know it’s him—all the way to my bones.
Although I’m feeling triumphant in my realization, it’s only stirring up more questions. Does he not recognize me? Or does he recognize me, but simply not care? If that’s the case, did I make up the entire encounter? Am I really that horny for mysterious men than I imagined the electric tension between us? And most importantly, can I work with him and be attracted to him?
I snap from my spiraling thoughts. Because yes, I am going to have to, even if I don’t want to. I need the help, and for whatever reason, he seems eager, albeit salty, to help. I’m going to take it, even if I feel like I’m walking a livewire every time I even think about his voice or the way he looks in his jeans prowling toward me. I can’t risk messing up this opportunity to have help turning around my ranch—I won’t. It’s too important to me.
But as he steps out of the truck, his lean body rippling with the movement, I have to pinch my thigh to fight off the demon already bouncing like a giddy teenager on my shoulder. Strictly professional—I can do this.
His dark hair glitters in the morning sunshine, but he quickly smothers it, pulling a black cowboy hat down over the curls. They push over his ears and flatten over his forehead and eyes. It’s not an erotic gesture by any means, but my pussy pulses all the same.
Fucking hell!
I never got his name yesterday, or any other personal information, which seems like an awful start to an already explosive arrangement. That being said, beggars can’t be choosers, and I will damn near beg this man at this point.
For his help—nothing else.
He stops only a few feet in front of me, his eyes wandering over the decrepit house looming behind me. I instinctively stretch out my hand, my practiced monologue running through my head one final time— Hi, I’m Stetson. Sorry I didn’t get your name yesterday. By the way, pissed off men don’t do well around me; they either end up six feet under or in my bed—neither of which is a good option for you. So, how about we plaster on friendly attitudes and work together like professionals?
Even as I think of the words, I snort. There’s no way I will be able to say that. But I have to say something. He’s eyeing my hand now, and my ajar jaw, like I’ve had a stroke and he’s not sure what to do. Which is fair—I don’t have a fucking clue what to do, either. How do I save this?
“I realized I never got your name yesterday.” My voice comes out like a plume of stale air, and I hate myself for it. Based on his deepening scowl, shifting his features from confused to pissed, I’d say he hates me for it too.
What did I do to him again?
“Gus.” It’s a single word, no explanation, no friendly banter. Nothing. Just three little letters, but knowing his name somehow feels monumental. Like two continents shifting, a ripple in the rest of the world that will be felt forever, changing the way I exist from here on out.
“Gus. I’m Stetson.” I silently curse myself as my hand trembles, still hanging embarrassingly between us.
His eyes reluctantly tear from the tattered house and scour over my warming face. He looks down at my hand again, but makes no move to accept the gesture, and I can’t help but hope the world explodes at this very moment.
God, if you can hear me, I’m ready to go. I’ve seen enough.
I’m mortified, but also stubborn, and I refuse to lose this silent battle of wills, even if it’s the last straw between me and my dignity. He huffs, his annoyance washing over me, and I cock my hips in silent challenge.
Fuck this guy.
Sensing my growing defiance, and maybe even my psychotic obsession with trouble, he reaches out his hand and firmly grips my own. Sparks shoot up my arm, causing my skin to pebble with the electric current funneling from his raspy, callused hand rubbing against my skin.
How would these hands feel running over my arms, my breasts, my thighs, my pussy? I groan inwardly, my eyes fluttering shut as I try to dispel the unwanted thoughts.
As if hearing them and finding them unwanted himself, he yanks his hand from mine, and I open my eyes with a gasp. He steps back, and I can’t help but notice his eyes looking anywhere but at me. Did he feel that, too? Did he hate it for the same reasons I do?
I bite my lip, nerves and embarrassment consuming my stomach. The action causes his flinty eyes to snap to my lips, his pupils expanding to consume the ring around them. His nostrils flare, and I have the sudden urge to run. Is he going to jump me? Is he really as turned on by me as I am by him? His scowl turns into a snarl—lips pulled back over those perfectly white teeth—and I shiver, unable to repress my body’s reaction.
This is madness! I’m supposed to be strictly professional, he’s supposed to hate me, and I’m supposed to be his boss. But as I tick off each one of those reminders in my head, they do nothing to cool my violent arousal.
Being his boss and him hating me, are the makings of a very degrading porno. And I want to have a front-row seat.
I wipe my forehead with my arm; anything to break the vibrating tension around us. I suck in another shaky breath through my nose and out through my mouth.
Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…
Once I’ve slowed my erratic heart just a fraction, I look back at Gus, his piercing gaze sending chills across my skin. He looks like he finds me, or this situation, or both , foul and disgusting. But underneath his obvious disdain, I can see that caged beast. The one that has an appetite for those foul and disgusting things; the one licking its lips for a single taste.
I fiddle with my long braid, pulling it over my shoulder. I’m not the kind to get nervous around a guy, but damn. He’s as intimidating as they come, and my body’s unwanted reaction to him seems to only piss him off more.
He growls, stepping toward me. “When are we starting?” Straight to the point.
“Uh, as soon as everyone gets here.”
“Everyone?” His bushy brows lift.
“My friend Dale. And maybe Nathan.” As the words tumble from my lips, his face grows impossibly darker; murderous even. “Do you know them?” I hate that I sound like a nervous schoolgirl. The morning is quiet around us, save for the occasional bawling of a far-off calf in the fields, and his horse shifting restlessly in the metal trailer. I don’t breathe. Gus seems to suck all the oxygen out of the air, anyway.
“No.” He bites out the single word and turns around, effectively ending the conversation.
I bristle; I will not be a scolded child in my own home. This is my fucking ranch, my job to offer, and he can’t stop being a dick long enough to act remotely interested.
“Why are you here?” I shouldn’t ask and just be grateful— remember, we can’t be beggars —but I’m past the point of caring.
He sighs, the air deflating from his lungs in a low whistle. Is he going to turn around and slap me? Will I like it?
What the fuck, Stetson. No!
“For the fucking job.”
He moves away from me, and I scramble to follow him, unsatisfied with his answer. I reach out, ready to grab his arm to make him turn around, but he sidesteps, as if sensing my hand hovering in the air between us.
“And to make sure you don’t run this dirt pile farther into the ground. I like to work with my hands and put in a full day’s worth of sweat. I like seeing my time and effort result in something.” He turns on me, his eyes onyx fires. “And this dump has nowhere to go but up. It’s the perfect project.”
His words land like the slap he intends them to be, and I flinch away. He goes a step further, fully baring his teeth at me in the most menacing smile I have ever seen—the same smile I saw in the darkness across a crowded bar. I stare, words arrested in my constricting throat. Sensing his temporary win, he storms off toward his truck and trailer.
I know I can’t be picky—I’m out of options, not that I had any to begin with. But his hateful demeanor burns against my walls, making me question myself even more. It’s different from Nathan’s ignorant comments—Gus doesn’t act like he hates me because I don’t belong. He acts like he hates who I am, the sound of my voice, the way I move and breathe. It’s personal, and even if it’s completely irrational, it hurts more.
Why is he here?
I refuse to let tears fall, even as my lower lids grow impossibly heavy. Fuck him.
The rustle of metal and hooves pulls me from my thoughts, and a lean black horse with four white socks and a white blaze down her muzzle steps into view. The horse holds her head impossibly high, her mane and tail shiny and flashing. Her eyes, giant black pools, dart around the new space as she takes it all in, and her ears flick with equal parts curiosity and concern. She paws at the ground, snorting, but I know it is an act of impatience more than fear.
The mare looks wild and dark, just like the man who gracefully seats himself in the faded saddle in one feline motion. He looks how the lyrics of an old, raspy, country song sounds—fluid, but rough around the edges, and pleasing in every way that matters. A monster, poised and ready to ride into battle.
And then he does something I don’t expect. He leans over, patting the mare’s neck, cooing at her with words I strain and fail to make out. His face splits into the smallest grin as he continues to whisper sweet nothings to the mare. I’m about to faint from the sight of it. Or crawl into his lap and hump him like an animal in heat.
It’s one thing to see a man smile; it’s another to see a man smile because of his love for an animal. I have an irrational softness for men who become marshmallows for animals, and Gus is the embodiment of that. It’s better than porn, and I’m quickly becoming more parts horny than poised.
I’m a ticking time bomb, and Gus is the match. As much as I fucking hate it.
He sits up, his dark eyes finding mine. His small smile quickly melts into that permanent scowl, and I fight every instinct to stomp my foot like a disappointed child.
“I’m going to round up whatever cattle need brought in. What are we vaccinating today?” Annoyance laces every word, and I shift on my feet.
“Uh, the rest of the heifers from that field. But I should go with you. Just need to wait for Dale to get here so she isn’t looking for me.” I point to the left, toward the rolling golden grasses. He nods and turns the mare. “Wait, I have to wait for Dale.”
“And?”
He’s going to be the fucking death of me.
“And I’d like you to wait because you are new here and don’t know what we are doing, or exactly where we are going.”
“I think I can figure it out, Boss .” The last word hits me like a brick to the head, and my earlier horniness is instantly replaced with anger.
“I said, fucking wait.” I stomp toward Winston, where he’s already saddled and tied up.
“I don’t care.”
I swing a leg over the saddle, my body vibrating with coiling anger. He is such a prick!
“Well, you better. Because, as you said, I am the boss . And last time I checked, the boss makes the rules. Are you really going to start our working relationship like this?” My voice is shaky and breathless, but I refuse to cry. I refuse to back down. I’ve had enough men walk over me in this life .
I have to stand up for myself, even if I don’t feel worthy of it.
He turns in the saddle, his large hand gripping the cantle with the motion, and looks at me. He smirks, and I swear if I wasn’t sitting, I’d fall over. The small twist of his lips is more erotic than any look he has given me so far, and I hate him more for it.
How many different, and hot, movements can this man do with his mouth? Scratch that—I can’t think about his mouth.
“What can I say? I’m a monster.” Without another look, he kicks his horse gently, and she lurches forward toward the fields. I stare after him, my chest heaving with anger. And arousal, who am I kidding? He’s so fucking hot, and the way he said monster?
I fucking wish.
“Who is the new guy?” Dale asks the question between smacking her lips and popping a bubble with her gum. I roll my eyes; I’ve been expecting this question. Dale has about as much aversion to trouble as I do.
None.
“Well?”
Impatient brat.
I shake my head, the braid down my back swaying with the motion. I’m exhausted, and the day has only just begun. The argument with Gus and trying to keep up with his growly attitude is quickly tiring me out. I feel like I’m coming off a bad trip, and my body is just, so, tired .
After bickering over how to sort the heifers off, Gus ignored every single one of my suggestions and did it his own way. He probably does know better, and the way he brought all the pairs in, and then sorted off the babies in the corral versus the wide-open pasture, did work more effectively. But I would never admit that out loud, and never to him.
Gus has blown onto this ranch and burned into my life in a way that chafes worse than riding a day without underwear— which I replaced yesterday while running errands, thank you very much. He is just so angry, so hateful, and so fucking hot. My body and mind seem to be running on heat and desperation alone.
And I think he can smell it on me or something.
On the other hand, Nathan also showed up, his creased jeans, polo—yellow today—and tan hat all perfectly in place, and did little for me besides piss me off in a way that makes me want to gouge my eyeballs out. He smiled when he first saw me and then paled nearly instantly. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize Gus was behind me, probably with a miserable scowl painted on his face, his demon pony from Hell glowing in the sunshine.
If I thought his scowl was vicious when directed toward me, it didn’t hold a torch for the one he gave Nathan. At first, I was half tempted to step between them to shield Nathan and then remembered I can’t stand the guy even on a good day; I’m not willing to burn alive to save him.
Nathan quickly withered on his own and scurried away like the beat puppy he was.
As the entire scene unfolded, I wanted to yell at Gus again, sling a few more choice words at him. But I’ve been so messed up since he showed up this morning that I felt safer keeping my mouth shut. Which only pisses me off more.
No one makes me feel like this in my own home. Right ?
“Gus.” I am not sure how much time has passed since Dale asked. She laughs, her hand pressed to her plum-colored lips.
“This one definitely has a penis you can make use of.”
I whirl on Dale, ready to pinch her, but she has her horse backed up just out of reach. A shit-eating grin consumes her rounded face, her hands stretched apart, mimicking twelve inches, lolling her tongue to the side and rolling her eyes back into their sockets.
Unable to contain myself, I bark a laugh; I do think he is sexy as fuck, and I can’t hide that fact from Dale, even if I want to.
“Woof!” Dale’s eyes round with surprise at my playful banter. She cackles, slapping her knee as she doubles over.
“Don’t you guys have anything you could be doing? It’s already getting hot as shit.” Gus’s raspy voice fills the space behind my back, his signature irritated vibe ever-present. I cringe. How much of that conversation did he hear?
Dale mockingly kicks her heels into the side of her horse and raises her hand to her forehead in a mock salute.
“Yes, sir!”
A growl fills the air and then he trots off toward the bawling heifers. Dale fans her face, and I note the stain of blush across her cheeks.
“Fuck, if you don’t, I will. He’s hot as fuck.”
I offer Dale a feeble smile, my playful mood fading faster than I want to admit. He is hot as fuck; you’d have to be blind to not notice it. And he has that pornographic voice.
Fuck that, you’d have to be blind and deaf to not notice it. Even then, I think I would know he is sinfully attractive. The way he carries himself, the way he dominates the space, commands attention. Yeah, I understand where she is coming from—I’ve been an animal in heat all day for him.
But jealousy, hot and acidic spills into the back of my throat and I fight the urge to gag. Twice in one week I’ve been jealous because of an imaginary scenario, and I hate it. Dale doesn’t deserve that kind of friend.
I have no right or claim to him, hell I’m pretty sure he hates me. But I like when a man hates me—punishes me—and his obvious dislike only makes me want him more.
Even though I know I shouldn’t.