Chapter 4 A Little Turned On
A Little Turned On
Wes
Ispent nearly five hours in town grabbing everything I needed. Everywhere I went, familiar faces stopped to say hi, to tell me what they had been up to for the last decade and ask—with damn hopeful looks—if I would be staying long.
Everybody loved Pops, and they all knew he was getting too old to run the ranch on his own. Despite that fact, I had no desire to survive out here with only one bar of service, a mini mart, a gas station, and a farm supply store.
I was accosted every few feet at the market, but I took the liberty of grabbing some groceries for the house, since Pops didn’t have much in the fridge. I could grill us up some burgers before his card game tonight.
I had an early start to the day and by the time I get back to Dawson Ranch, it’s only going on two, so I slip into the new work clothes I bought and find my old boots in the closet by the back door, right where Pops said they’d be.
My nose wrinkles at the dust accumulating on the tops of the worn leather, but they still fit me like a glove.
Walking around in the boots has bittersweet longing settling under my skin. It makes me feel a bit like the boy I used to be. The grandson of a rancher who could rope and wrangle with the best of them, who lived for days spent in the fields and nights laying in a truck bed under the stars.
I huff out a breath to dispel the lingering nostalgia and head out in search of Tripp or Pops. They’re not in the immediate vicinity of the farmhouse and since I’m not sure which pasture the herd is in right now, I decide to see if anything needs doing in the barn.
It’s apparent the barn could use a good cleaning before it gets put to use this winter, but I quickly realize I forgot an essential when I was in town.
Work gloves.
I search the workbench for an old set but come up empty, so I set to work on the task without them, organizing the tools, moving out broken pallets, sweeping out the old hay and making sure the hay bay looks clean and dry.
It may be the beginning of October, but it’s unseasonably warm, and I sweat my ass off as I clean with hardly any of the day’s breeze reaching the depths of the barn.
I’m sliding the final pallet into place when rough wood slices into my hand. I drop the pallet to inspect the damage and find a sliver the size of Texas jammed in the tender skin between my thumb and forefinger.
“God fucking damnit,” I mutter, picking up the pallet and putting it back in place with my good hand.
“I hope you don’t kiss your mother with that mouth.”
I whip around to find Sawyer standing at the barn doors. Her arms are crossed in front of her and the haughty look she’s wearing only makes me want to antagonize her.
I stride forward, my jaw tightening, as I plant my feet right in front of her. “Last I checked, what I do with my mouth wasn't your concern. Though, if you want to make it your concern, all you gotta do is ask.”
My eyes drop to her mouth, and I smirk as her lips drop open in shock. Sweat drips into my eyes, and I move to swipe it off my brow with the hem of my T-shirt. Sawyer’s gaze trails up my body, catching on the naked expanse of skin that’s showing.
She recovers herself and lets out a dry laugh. "If I wanted to be disappointed, I'd order a salad at a steakhouse."
"Was there a reason you stopped by? To wash my filthy mouth out with soap, maybe?"
She appraises me with a cool focus that has warmth flooding my face and my fingers curling into a fist. I hiss out a sharp breath as the movement reminds me there's a large piece of wood stuck next to my thumb.
Her eyes track my hand as I put it to my mouth and suck on the spot where the sliver is lodged.
She snags my wrist. “What are you doing? It’ll get infected.”
I shrug. “It smarts.”
“Come on, city boy. I know where Pops keeps the first aid kit.”
I glance pointedly at where her fingers are still wrapped around my wrist, and she drops it like I’ve burned her before turning on the heel of her boots and marching to the house.
Her jeans fit her like a glove and hug her butt in a way that should be illegal. For someone who irritates me so much, her ass sure holds my full attention as she leads me back to the house.
Once we go inside, she gestures for me to sit at the kitchen table while she digs around in the cupboard underneath the sink.
“You never told me why you’re here,” I say, trying to make conversation since she’s fixing me up.
I’m not always a dick, but yesterday had been a bad day, made worse by the fact that she’d laughed at me and continued to call me city boy.
Sawyer sets the small first aid kit on the table and drops into the chair next to me, rummaging through it to find what she needs. “I was just dropping off some leftovers for Pops. I always try to bring him a few meals a week, so he’s not eating greasy burgers at the diner every day.”
I grunt, feeling a little guilty that I’d snapped at her a minute ago. She grabs my hand, and I pull away as a knee-jerk reaction. Amusement flits through her eyes, which are blue and bright with a liveliness that makes me feel a little unsteady.
I place my hand on her palm and let her examine me as I study her.
Freckles decorate her face and there’s a line that crinkles in the middle of her forehead as her tongue darts out to wet her lips. She’s oblivious to my scrutinizing gaze, concentrating on the sliver.
“So, what are you doing here?” she asks as she grabs the tweezers from the table.
“I told you yesterday. I’m here helping Pops.”
“Hmm.” She doesn’t seem to buy that answer. Or she’s waiting for me to say more, but I’m not about to tell her what my ulterior motive is for being here.
The tweezers dig into skin as she presses the sensitive spot, trying to work the sliver to the surface.
I hiss through gritted teeth. “Ouch! Damnit.”
Her blue eyes silence me with one look, and I’m caught breathless, probably from the pain this damn sliver is causing.
“You should have worn gloves,” she snaps out.
I glower. “I forgot to grab some in town, and I couldn’t find an extra pair in the barn.”
"Top left drawer of the workbench."
"Huh?"
"That's where the spare work gloves are." Her eyes narrow as she digs some more for the sliver. “You'd know that if you ever came out here. Pops could have used you a month ago, right after his heart attack. Why now?”
She glances up, her eyes holding mine. “Is that really any of your business?”
She presses on the sliver again and the hint of a smile appears at the corner of her mouth when I inhale a sharp breath.
Sadistic.
“Are you torturing me for information, woman?”
Her gaze settles on amusement, but she doesn’t give me an answer, just looks back down at my hand. Her tongue peeks out of her lips as she concentrates on the task, and I decide it’s in my best interest to tell her what she wants to know.
“Dad begged me to come down here and check on Pops, and we agreed it was time to...” I trail off, hesitant to tell her that the goal was to convince Pops to sell the ranch while I was here.
Sawyer didn’t need to know that my parents had been asking me to come check the ranch for the past month, and I’d only caved because my fiancée had dumped me and moved out of the house I’d bought for her.
A house I had no desire to live in, especially when it did nothing but remind me of my failed relationship and turn me into a sullen, miserable asshole.
“Time to what?” she asks, eyes narrowing as she prods the fleshy part between my thumb and forefinger with the tweezers.
“Step in, I guess,” I answer, hoping I’m not giving too much away because I get the distinct impression that she’d hate the idea of someone trying to talk Pops into selling this place.
She presses down on the end of the sliver, simultaneously digging in with the tweezers, and pulls out the troublesome piece of wood.
A small drop of blood blooms on my skin and she covers it with a cotton ball before tearing open the disinfecting wipe with her teeth.
She gives the spot a swipe and then bandages me up quickly.
Her hand leaves mine and the look on her face tells me she’s not fooled by my vague answer.
Her lips are pulled down into a frown and her eyes are slits as she pushes up from the table.
“This ranch is his life. He loves it here. Having to leave would break him, and living in the city would suck the life right out of him.”
“He’s never tried it. He might like it there, and he’d be much closer to a decent hospital if he needs it again,” I argue.
I realize my mistake as soon as the words are out of my mouth. I should have denied it. Instead, I’d given her the confirmation she was looking for.
If looks could kill, I would be a dead man right now from the daggers she's shooting at me.
“You’re unbelievable.” The chair screeches across the linoleum floor as she surges upright.
“Why? Because I want what’s best for him?”
“You want what will keep you from feeling guilty about never coming to see him. You want what’s easiest and most appealing to you. He barely factors into your decision at all.”
“I’d hardly say it’s my decision,” I argue. “I can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do. But he should start thinking less about hanging onto this place and more about what’s best for his health.”
She blows air through tight lips. “His health would be just fine if he hadn't been doing most of this stuff on his own the last few years. It took a toll on him. He’s lucky to have Tripp now. Wrangling 1200-pound cattle isn’t a job for a seventy-seven-year-old man, no matter how good of shape he’s in.
” Red creeps up her neck, hiding her freckles and showing her irritation.
“It’s not. That’s exactly why he should step away from the ranch. Sell it and retire somewhere closer to his family.”
She shakes her head back and forth, arms crossed tightly across her chest and color filling her cheeks. “It would break his heart to leave this place. His whole life has been here. It’s been in his family for generations.”
I shrug, trying to appear unfazed by how much she seems to care for Pops. “I don't need a history lesson. It’s just a house.”
"Typical city boy—if it doesn't come with valet parking and a Starbucks, it's worthless." Red flushes her face and tinges her ears, making me roll my lips together because if she sees me crack a smile right now, I know I’m as good as dead.
“You’re willing to uproot him from his life just because y’all can’t be bothered to make trips out here to check on him every so often.
You're all a bunch of selfish city assholes. Pops might share your last name, but he sure as hell deserves better than you.” Her copper hair flies as she spins around and storms down the porch steps in a huff.
A tight knot forms in my chest as I stand on the porch.
I rub at it as I watch Sawyer climb into her pickup truck, kicking up gravel as the tires spin.
She might be right, but I don’t have time to think about it as a whistle pulls my gaze from the settling dust to Pops and Tripp trekking back from the catch pens where part of the herd now resides.
“She ran out of here like a bat out of hell. What’d you do? Try to kiss her? She’ll bite if you’re not careful,” Tripp hollers at me. I can see his smile easy enough from here and Pops ducks his head to hide his, but his shoulders shake in laughter.
“Oh, I’ll bet she bites alright,” I mutter to myself, mystified and, for reasons I don’t quite understand, a little turned on.