Chapter Four
A pair of mossy green eyes stare up at me. Her hair is long and wavy, a golden blonde shade. She’s got lightly tanned skin, and…damnit. She’s the furthest thing from a cowboy. Definitely dressed like one, but I haven't seen a face like hers in a really long time.
Shit. She’s stunning, and I’m fucked.
Not for myself—I can keep it in my pants.
That’s what hard work, and the gym is for.
No, I’m screwed because I know I’m going to have to play bodyguard.
Even good guys like mine can be weak around women as pretty as she is.
Putting Dixie Wilder in this bunkhouse is like putting a lamb in a wolf's den.
Chris, you fuckin’ idiot. Should’ve left her down in Texas.
“New hires, stand up.” I’ve got to lay down some ground rules before anyone gets any ideas. I watch Dixie and two other boys stand.
“Introduce yourselves. Let’s start with you in the back.” I point to the guy standing furthest down the row.
“My name’s Clancy. Rode with an outfit over in Oklahoma for about five years.”
I point to the next cowboy standing. “Ashley. My mom was a fan of Gone with the Wind. Y’all can call me Ash.”
He’s confident in himself. I like that. I nod and so does the rest of the room. I’m about to point to the cowboy in front of me but she speaks up before I can.
“Dixie, sir. And I only fight when someone decides they wanna fight me. I keep to myself and I’ll ride as long and as hard as any of these pickle peppers you got around here.”
I’m trying to stay stone faced because I’m the boss and it’s my job. But damnit my chest heaves and I chuckle. Pickle peppers. And that accent she’s got…it’s thicker than tar in a bucket.
I put my fist to my mouth and grunt, clearing my throat. “Good.” I keep my eyes on her. “You can sit down.”
“Yes, boss.” I watch as her ass hits the bench below and it’s like I’m watching her in slow motion. The men call me boss, but when she just did it—whatever tune she sang hit me like a hoof to the jaw.
I shake my head and rub my hand over my face, then down my beard before I hear Grady pipe up with, “It’s Pickled Peppers by the way.”
Why is that guy such a stupid son of a bitch? “Grady, shut up. If Dixie kicks your ass, it’s your own fuckin’ fault.”
“You said no fighting!” He snaps.
I narrow my eyes at the man who dares sass me. “You’re worse than my girls, Grady. And since you wanna talk back, you’ve earned yourself a night of muckin’ stalls all by yourself.”
I look around the room. “Any man wants to fight, you fight me! But if any of you boys pick a fight with this one…” I point to Dixie.
“I’ll hold you down while she whoops your sorry ass, then uses the branding iron on it.
Questions?” I hear muffled grunts and yes sirs, before I turn and walk back through the open door.
But as I make my way toward the main house, I hear a door slam, and footsteps running up behind me.
“Boss!”
Damnit, I wish she’d stop calling me that. “Yeah…” I say as my eyes connect with hers.
“I don’t need you or anyone else fightin’ for me. I won’t hesitate to pull my gun if I feel threatened. As long as they do their job and leave me alone, I won’t cause any grief.”
She’s got grit and I don’t doubt she can hold her own.
But I hired her, and she’s my responsibility.
I stuff my hands in my pockets to avoid the sudden urge I have to reach out and touch her.
“If your gun doesn’t work, I’ll use mine.
” I look away, then my eyes come back to her when I say, “You’ve got a really pretty face, and you might need someone to watch your back.
So don't be too much of a hardass to the ones who are just trying to help, okay?”
Her once determined face turns shocked and a little hurt too. “Hardass? Did you just call me a fuckin’ hardass? To my face?” She scoffs.
Shit. Now I’m the asshole. I thought if I treated her like the other guys, I’d get rid of whatever this fuckin’ feeling is she’s throwing at me.
“I didn’t mean to…”
“You know what, boss? I’ll just head back. I don’t need you watching anything. Maybe I’ll end up being the hardest ass workin’ this outfit. The only back you need to watch is your own.”
My jaw hardens as she turns on her heel and stomps back toward the bunkhouse. Did that woman just threaten me?
“Hey, blondie…” She halts her march and stands still. “If that was a threat, I’ll take it seriously. Just remember who signs your paycheck.”
Her stance stiffens before I see her hands clench into fists.
Her feet move again, and I don’t look away as she reaches up to pull the handle on the door then slips inside.
I doubt anyone will try anything after what I said, but you never know.
In her attempts to be intimidating she might end up making herself a challenge instead.
She could hate me for it, but I’ll be there if it happens.