12 #2
But honestly, it was more than that; it was the fact that she was there.
She could have hung out at his house while he fed the herd, but instead, she’d parked her car and come directly to his truck, climbing inside without question.
She’d come not just as a sightseer, but as another set of hands—tromping through the mud, hauling feed buckets and calmly ushering too-curious heifers away from the truck’s open windows.
She hadn’t complained about the smell. She hadn’t whined when she got mud on her shoes.
And somehow all of that together was doing interesting things to his insides.
The cab lights came on as the passenger-side door opened.
“Alright, where to now?” she asked, climbing inside. She snapped the door shut, plunging them back into semidarkness.
“Home,” Drew answered on an exhale. He’d been working since before dawn, and the thought of a warm house and a hot shower brought his guard down enough to recognize the exhaustion that ran bone deep.
He glanced at Savannah and noticed the streaks of dirt on her cheeks and forearms that hadn’t been there earlier.
They made her look charming, while he probably looked like a goblin.
She chattered on the ride back to his house, and he wondered, again, how many words she said in a day.
But he didn’t mind. He liked hearing all about her coworkers and clients and the messes she got herself into and out of on a regular basis.
It made him feel like he got to spend more time with her than he actually did; though, now that harvest season was almost over, he hoped that amount of time would go up a bit.
“. . . and apparently Julie never learned how to make kitty burritos, so I had to teach her,” Savannah said, and Drew made a surprised sort of noise.
“Kitty whats?” he asked.
“Kitty burritos,” she went on, unperturbed. “It’s when you have a spicy, angry kitty, and you catch it in a blanket and wrap it up tight so its murder mittens are on the inside and it can’t claw your face off.”
She said it so matter-of-factly that Drew was torn between laughing and wondering why a person would voluntarily work in a field where being maimed by a cat was an actual possibility.
Of course, the other day he’d looked behind him and realized the combine he was driving was on fire . . . so everybody had their challenges.
He turned down his driveway and soon came to a stop in front of the cabin. Ryker must have heard the truck because Drew could see the dog’s square head silhouetted in one of the living room windows. He started to bark, obviously glad to see his favorite person, as Savannah slid to the ground.
Not that Drew could blame him.
“What are the chances I can wipe this mud off?” Savannah asked. She crossed over to her car and pulled a plastic grocery bag from the back seat—probably the change of clothes she always brought when she came straight from work.
“You can shower, if you want,” Drew offered.
“Are you saying I need a shower? Do I smell like cow?” she shot back, and Drew mentally backtracked.
“Uh, no, I just mean—”
Savannah reached where he was standing and pushed up on her toes, leaving a kiss on his jaw as she went by. “A shower would be fantastic, if that’s really okay,” she said with a smile. “And I don’t mind waiting if you want to go first.”
Drew turned to follow her up the porch stairs. “Is that a hint? Do I smell like cow?” he asked.
Savannah looked back at him as she reached the front door, her eyes bright. “I mean, I’m not saying that, but I’m not not saying that,” she said.
Drew poked her in the ribs, and she giggled. “I see how it is,” he muttered, but he didn’t get to say much else before a furry missile shot from the now-open door and nearly knocked Savannah over.
“Hello, handsome!” she fussed, barely fending Ryker off as the dog did his best to wash her face with his tongue.
Drew grabbed his collar in one hand. “Ryker, down!” he ordered.
The dog’s haunches hit the ground, but only for a second. Then he was moving again, following Savannah into the house and sniffing her pants and shoes with every step.
She made her way down the short hallway. “Did you decide if you’re going first?”
“You can go,” he replied, but then something occurred to him.
“Uh, give me a second first.” He thought he heard Savannah chuckle as he slipped into his bedroom ahead of her and hurried into the adjoining bathroom.
It wasn’t too bad, but he did scoop a pair of dirty jeans off the floor and rinse a smear of toothpaste out of the sink.
The shower curtain was open, and he glanced inside to make sure he hadn’t left the soap lying on the bottom.
“Alright, coast is clear,” he called, raising his voice so Savannah could hear him from the other room.
She trailed in behind him and put her bag on the floor. “Thanks,” she said. “Ten minutes, tops.”
“Take your time,” he assured her, “and use anything you want, shampoo or whatever. You’ll smell like me, but it’ll be fine.”
The corners of her mouth quirked up, and Drew mentally smacked himself. Way to really highlight the fact that this was his shower. That he used. Every day.
Oh, man . . . Savannah Reynolds was going to use his shower!