Chapter 6 “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy”
“She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy”
RYDER
I blink.
Blink again.
Then I lean forward, squinting through the windshield to get a better look. My heart launches into my throat.
Is that—
Is she—but why—it has to be her—the dark hair, and the ridiculously enthusiastic, and ridiculously cute, way she’s waving—
Wait a second.
Wait.
Is the girl in the teeny-tiny shorts and tall boots a mirage, or is she actually waving me down? She’s too damn adorable to possibly exist in real life.
She’s also wearing a sling, her other arm tucked against her chest.
I’m tired as shit, so it’s entirely possible I’ve started imagining things. Probably time to quit for the day.
But judging by the way my dick perks up, the girl is very real, and I very much want to say hello.
Which is a problem.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Billie,” I murmur as I cut the engine. “What the hell are you doing here?”
But watching her head toward me, I still throw open the door. I still smile and say, “You know the rules, little lady. No one rides for free.”
“Of course I know the rules.” She holds up the plate she’s carrying. “Why do you think I brought treats?”
The motion of her straightening her arm over her head really pushes her tits out. Are those the treats?
My immediate reaction is to try to erase that thought from my head. Usually I can tamp shit like this down no problem. Now, though, my effort to think friendly, safe thoughts hits a snag.
The idea that these feelings are ‘friendly’ is a lie, and you know it.
I could politely but firmly suggest Billie head back home. That’s what I would’ve done before that night at the rodeo. But now…
I don’t wanna numb this shit that I’m feeling. Maybe because that accident has me thinking a lot about how short—precious—life can be, and I wonder if I’m wasting it by just surviving my days. Because that’s what I’ve been doing by holding everyone and everything at arm’s length.
If I’m being honest, part of me has been waiting three long weeks for Billie to show up. I contemplated driving over to the Wallace Ranch to check on her, but that felt a step too far.
I’d started to think she wasn’t gonna come see me at all. Now that she’s here, I’m not about to spend another night working alone, trying not to think about her or the things she made me feel that night at the rodeo.
A little flirting never hurt anyone, right?
Shifting in my seat, I lean an elbow on my knee and clear my throat. “What kinda treats we talkin’ about?”
“The kind you’re gonna like.”
Kill me now.
She stands beside the tractor’s front left wheel, looking tiny next to the seven-foot-tall behemoth.
Squinting, she looks up at me. “So you gonna ask me to come up there or what?”
“Billie Wallace, we both know you’re coming whether I ask you to or not.”
Her lips twitch. “That’s awful cocky of you, thinking you could make me—”
“What?” Fuck, I’m still smiling.
Worst of all, I like that I’m smiling at her like a big, dumb goofball.
I can’t flirt with Billie like this anymore. Have our interactions always been so…inappropriate, or is this something new?
How do I not know the answer to that question?
“You’re cocky thinking that you could make me do anything I didn’t want to.” She holds my gaze with the confidence of someone who knows she’s won.
Oh, darlin’, you’d best believe you’d want me to make you come.
Hell, give me a minute, less than that, and I’d have you begging for it.
Damn it, this was not a good idea.
I don’t even know what “this” is, but in my gut, I know I gotta cut this shit off at the pass, or—
Or what? What’s worse than sleepwalking through your life?
Getting crushed by grief, dipshit.
“I had a bad day.” Her mirth fades. “And my arm still makes it tough to sleep. I could really use a pick-me-up.”
I frown. Next thing I know, I’m climbing out of the cab and I’m standing beside her. The scent of something girly fills my head. Shampoo, maybe, or perfume. It smells like peaches, and my heart contracts wondering if Billie has a hard time washing her hair with her broken elbow.
“You in pain? What can I do? Do you think we should go back to the ER, or—”
“I’m fine.” Her eyes flick over my arms and chest before returning to my face. “Honestly, the doc said my elbow is healing beautifully.”
Gotta be a good sign, right, that she’s only wearing a sling and not a cast?
“Should you be driving, though?”
Her smirk is back. “I’d like it better if you drove.”
“You really wanna go for a tractor ride?”
“Ry, I spent the day chained to a desk. Next to my Dad. With a broken arm. I’d love to go for a ride, yes.”
I’m smiling again too. “That desk stuff don’t sound like much fun.” I nod at the plate. “Talk to me about this situation.”
“Mom’s blondies.” She offers me the plate, and I take it and remove the tinfoil. The rich smells of butter and chocolate flood my senses. “She made ’em just how you like—extra chocolate chips, no nuts.”
“Yeah, because nuts are gross.”
“You’re gross.”
“You’re smiling, ain’t you?”
Her eyes are soft when they meet mine. “I am. Yeah. Thank you.” Then she glances at the field. “You planning to finish cutting this bit, or…?”
I sigh. “I was, yeah.”
“Working late.” She cuts me a questioning glance, and my pulse hiccups.
Yeah, Billie, I’ve been working fourteen-, fifteen-, sixteen-hour days. Because ever since I saw you at the rodeo, I can’t sleep.
Can’t stop thinking about you or the loneliness that is pressing in on me from all sides all of a sudden. Three weeks of this torture, and I’m losing my damn mind.
I look away. “Lots to do. Lots goin’ on right now on the ranch.”
“It looks great. You should be proud.”
Nodding, I grab a blondie and take a big bite. Its buttery sweetness is absolutely delicious. Paired with the bite of the semisweet chocolate, the whole thing is a mouth orgasm.
Why is that the metaphor I come up with while Billie is at my elbow? Her gaze is steady, curious too, as she watches me eat.
“That’s good,” I manage. “Real good.”
“You’re welcome.” She grabs a blondie too, and I have to look away when she gets this look of pure bliss on her face as she eats. Only, I can’t help sneaking another glance her way, because I’m a masochist like that.
Closing her eyes, she chews thoughtfully for a minute. “Do you ever get this feeling—like, you don’t know how you’re gonna survive the rest of your life?”
I let out a bark of laughter. I don’t know what the hell else to do with myself when she asks a question like that.
I know all about surviving. Beyond that, I got nothing.
“I’m gonna need you to explain that one,” I say, if only to buy myself some time.
I like this side of Billie—the one that takes the deep dive into ideas and life—a little too much.
Probably why I never let myself experience it before now.
I always stopped her before our conversations could get too… real.
Now I’m feeling seen, I’m curious, and I’m turned on, and I like this shit just a little too much.
Billie sucks a bit of melted chocolate off her thumb. I nearly choke.
Or I really do choke, because Billie’s expression contracts. “You okay?”
“Yep.” I pound my fist against my chest. “Went down the wrong pipe.”
“I do owe you an accompaniment to the ER, so just say the word and we’ll be on our way.”
I laugh. “You don’t owe me anything. Explain.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “You know my dad has me doing the ranch’s bookkeeping.”
“Yep.”
“I did well in those online classes I took after I graduated high school because, well, I like to learn new stuff, and it gave me a sense of purpose, which was helpful.”
“You always did well in school. No surprise you crushed those classes.”
“Well, when I was younger, I thought I might like doing it as a career. The accounting stuff. Or, at the very least, I wouldn’t hate it.
Dad was so convinced that I was the perfect person to take over that job.
He’d outsourced it until then to an accountant in Austin, but he’d wanted to bring the role in-house for a while. ”
I tuck the tinfoil back over the blondies so the flies don’t get at them. “Makes sense. Especially with y’all expanding your operation.”
“Right. So anyway, I agreed to do it. But I began to figure out pretty quickly that I didn’t love accounting.
Mom and Dad were so proud, though, and I’m decent with numbers, so”—she shrugs—“I did it. Now I’m realizing that I was kind of sleepwalking through the past few years.
That’s why I decided I wanted to learn barrel racing when we hired Ava and started our training program.
Seemed like a random idea at the time—most girls, you know they start that shit young, training as soon as they can stay upright in the saddle.
Thinking back on it, though…I knew I needed an outlet.
Something to wake me up. Being in the arena, having an excuse to work with Ava and her team, being on horseback again—it was what kept me from losing my mind sitting at a desk all day. Having that to look forward to.”
“And now that you don’t have that outlet…” I glance at the arm she cradles carefully against her chest. “It’s really hitting home how unhappy you are sitting at a desk.”
A look of almost pained relief washes over her face. “Yes. Wow, Ry, for someone so good-looking, you’re awfully intuitive.”
“Deadly combination.”
“Makes sense why you had to resuscitate me that one time.”
I roll my eyes. My face hurts from smiling so much.
“So now you want to cut some hay with me because you can’t get on a horse, and you also can’t stand the idea of going back to work and entering expenses into a spreadsheet for eight hours straight because it makes you feel like you’re asleep at the wheel again. ”
Now the look on her face is one of utter delight. “You really are deadly.”