9. Maisie
maisie
. . .
NINE
I think I’m going to puke. I hold in my second gag since entering the barn. I will do anything to limit the intake of horse shit fumes singeing my nose. My stomach heaves, and I slap the back of my hand over my mouth when Gray turns his back to me.
I’ve always been sensitive to certain smells; turns out horse shit is at the top of that list. Not that I would ever let Grayson see how hard I’m struggling to keep my shit together.
Grayson doesn’t look fazed in the slightest. Being around this smell all day, I’m sure he doesn’t even notice it anymore.
I’m guzzling down my energy drink in an attempt to ease my stomach when Grayson turns to face me. “Easy there, killer,” he teases. “Don’t want you getting a caffeine high and tapping out early.”
I swallow the last of my drink and toss the can into the garbage. “Don’t worry, cowboy, I’ve been told I have great stamina.”
His eyes flare, his hand fisting at his side.
I wait to see what he will banter back, but the fucker turns around, heading for the first stall.
“We usually spend mornings mucking the stalls and feeding the horses. I scrubbed them down pretty good yesterday, so they just need a refresh. We let the horses run around out there while cleaning and then we round them up for feeding after.” He points to a fenced enclosure outside the barn.
“Seems easy enough.” I’ve always thought horses were majestic beasts, but they also scare the shit out of me. They spook easily and can be untrusting until you establish a connection. Now that I think about it, they kind of sound like me. If that isn’t ironic, I don’t know what is.
“You ever scooped horse shit before?”
My eyes snap up, landing on his sea green ones. “That’s one way to get a girl's attention,” I mumble under my breath.
Apparently, it wasn’t that quiet, because Grayson’s responding scoff has my pulse thrumming. “I’m here to work, not pick up chicks. That’s what the bar is for. I’m not interested in any relationships right now. I can’t.”
Ouch. Message received loud and clear, buddy.
Now, I’m getting to experience the cold shoulder side of Grayson, night and day to him last night.
I can’t keep up with his mood swings. And they say women are dramatic.
One minute, he’s whispering filthy things in my ear, and the next, he’s calling me his friend.
Grayson breezes on like nothing's happened. “I’m going to take that as a no.” He enters the first stall and opens the door in the back, letting the mare into the outside enclosure.
At some point, a pitchfork looking weapon finds his hands, a wheelbarrow propped next to him.
He thrusts the fork at my chest. “This is your new best friend. We use these to muck the stalls. Scoop up the shit and throw it in there.” He points over at the wheelbarrow.
“Pretty straightforward. Some ranch hands already did the back half of the barn, so there shouldn’t be too many for you. ”
My laugh is humorless. “I think I heard you wrong. You mean for us to do,” I correct him.
“Negative, honey. You’re on shit duty this morning. It’s a rite of passage on the ranch. Call it your initiation,” he says with a bright, toothy smile.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling loudly. Hold your tongue, Maisie. Please, for the love of— “What the fuck are you doing then, huh?” I wish I could say I regret the words, but I don’t. Not even in the slightest.
He points a thumb at himself. My eyes catch on his scabbed-over knuckles. “Me? I’m going over there to organize the tack room, because no matter how many times I ride these cowboys’ asses, they still don’t know how to put their shit away.”
I toss the muck fork back at him, stomping towards the tack room. “I’m great at organization. Perks of having OCD. Well, most of the time,” I laugh awkwardly.
Really, Maisie, you had to drop the OCD bomb?
I twiddle my thumbs. “And I don’t mind riding cowboys’ asses either. I bet they would listen to me.”
Gray does that thing where he chokes on air again. His fist pounds into his chest. It’s then I realize the very inappropriate words that left my mouth.
I like riding cowboys' asses. Fuck’s sake, Maisie.
Is it too late to pack my bags and head home? Seems I’m a bit out of practice with this whole boss ass bitch single girl life.
I’m so lost in my head, I don’t notice the tall shadow approaching me or the shovel being thrown back at me. “Start with the shit for today, and maybe you’ll graduate to organization and cowboy asses tomorrow. Only if you can prove to me you can be a good girl.”
My face drains of color. I suck my lip between my teeth.
Two little words was all it took to get my heart racing.
I don’t think he realizes what he’s even said.
My stomach flutters. Apparently, I’ve just unlocked a praise kink.
Who knew? I’m starting to wonder how many other things Grayson could teach me… about the ranch, of course.
The words don’t even sound convincing in my head.
I storm back into the stall so Grayson won’t notice my flushed face. “Yeah, I can do that,” I mumble, my back turned to him.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not afraid of hard work. I just don’t like being told what to do, and it feels like Grayson is annoyed he’s on babysitting duty, trying his best to get rid of me.
I get to work, scooping up the first pile, only slightly gagging when I bring it to the wheelbarrow. It thunks into the bin, wafting up dust. It hits my nose, and I can’t help but shift between choking and gagging from the awful smell.
A deep chuckle draws my eyes, watery and all.
“You gonna survive, honey? At this rate, you’ll be here till sundown.
” Grayson, the bastard, apparently decided to stick around and watch the shit show commence.
He leans against the stall door, a shit-eating grin on his face.
Worst of all, he has the audacity to find this amusing.
“I’m so glad one of us is finding humor in this,” I choke out between another gag. “God forbid you put your ass to work too. I’m having words with whoever cuts your checks. It seems to me they are severely overpaying you.”
“As foreman of this ranch, it’s my duty to watch over my crew and supervise where needed. Seems to me this is exactly the place I should be right now. If any of my crew were to walk in right now, they would think someone was dying in here.”
I heave again, covering my nose with the back of my arm.
I narrow my eyes at him and point in the direction of the wheelbarrow.
“Well, maybe if you cleaned that thing once in a while, I wouldn’t be struggling to breathe right now.
Sounds like a safety hazard, if you ask me. I should call the health board.”
His eyes swirl with something I can’t quite place. “We clean those wheelbarrows daily. This is a ranch. There’s gonna be dust and dirt and shit everywhere you turn. Get used to it.”
“And apparently roosters,” I grouch under my breath, blowing the hair from my face.
His eyebrows dip, but he lets it slide. “Think you can man the fort in here while I get some work done in the tack room?”
I give him a mocking salute. “Aye, captain. Your wish is my command.”
Grayson storms out of the room like a tornado through a dirt field, my middle finger following him out behind his back. Good riddance. Just as his flannel disappears, something red catches my attention, and an idea takes root.
Two hours later, I wipe my forehead off and chuck the fork into the full barrel. Thank God, because one more second of smelling horse shit, and I would have fainted.
“Well, I’ll be damned. You actually did it.” I spin on my heels, finding a shocked but also maybe impressed Grayson leaning against the door. As soon as our eyes connect, the loudest laugh I’ve ever heard fans through his lips. “What the fuck did I walk in on?” he mumbles to himself.
“What?” I reply, but it comes out mumbled through the cloth.
He circles his pointer finger at my face, trying his best to hold back another chuckle. “Are you off to battle or something? Where did you even find that? You know what, don’t answer that. It’s probably better I don’t know.” He bites his lip, his eyes light and clear for once.
I pull the red bandana down from over my nose. “You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first.”
He raises his hands in surrender. “You got me. Genius idea, really,” he mocks with a playful smile.
He shuffles closer, and I hold my breath when his thumb traces my forehead, wiping away some dirt, his eyes glazed with wonder.
We hold each other's gaze. I don’t move a single muscle, scared to break whatever trance he has on me.
It’s electric. I can see it plain as day in his eyes: he feels it too.
I take a step closer, and he blinks the trance away, his eyes flaring.
He shuffles away like I’ve scorched him and wipes the dirt on his pants.
My eye snags on his knuckles again. I can clearly see the scabs and…
are those bruises? I let my eyes linger.
I want to know the story behind them. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Grayson, it’s he’s guarded.
Grayson notices my prolonged stare and quickly slips his hands in his pockets.
I try not to let it bother me, but the thought of him hurting still lingers in the back of my mind longer than I care to admit.
“Wanna help me feed the girls?” he says with a half-smile.
I follow him out, and we make quick work gathering and separating the square hay bales, dispersing them between the stalls.
The horses stomp like crazy as we work in silence as a team.
It’s comfortable silence, and I find myself enjoying the work, letting my brain shut off for once.
After we finished feeding the horses, Grayson let me help him finish organizing the tack room, even letting me suggest a few new ways to arrange stuff to make more space.
He took the suggestions with ease, putting them into effect right away.
The feeling of his approval is something I could get used to.
Just as I’m hanging up the last rope, my phone buzzes.
Cheshire Cat
I’m taking you out tonight. Bring your dancing boots!
I slide my phone back into my pocket, eager to ask Grayson what’s next. The sun hasn’t set, so I’m sure there’s still plenty to do.
Grayson stands right behind me, already staring at me. Our chests brush when I spin to face him, and his eyes flare just the slightest. Interesting.
“You did good today,” he says, his tone breathless. “You’re off the hook for the night.”
His eyes linger on mine, bouncing between them. I know exactly what he’s studying. I should cower from the intensity with which he studies my mismatched eyes. Lord knows I’ve always been self-conscious over them. “Honey indeed,” he fans against my lips, just a whisper.
Internally, I know I'm different in a lot of ways, but my eyes are the one thing I can’t mask. The way he studies me, I don’t feel self-conscious in the slightest. My lungs heave, our chests brushing.
The contact has him flinching away, the bubble burst. His fists clench at his sides. He shakes his head, retreating into the unbothered mask he loves to wear around me now. I hate it.
I open my mouth to protest his dismissal, but he cuts me off. “You did enough for your first day. Trust me, you’re going to be feeling it by morning. Make sure you drink lots of water and take some pain meds. You’ll thank me in the morning.”
All I manage is a soft okay, nodding my head along. I make my way out of the barn but linger at the door. I hesitate before asking the question that’s been on the tip of my tongue. “Will I see you tomorrow?” The words sound pathetically desperate.
He nibbles his lip. “I’m not sure. I have a couple errands to run tomorrow, so I might be scarce.”
“Oh.” The word comes out hollow. I plaster on a smile and wave goodbye.
“Well, see you tomorrow…maybe.” I dip out the door and back to my cabin to get ready for a night out with Ches, hopefully to drown out whatever just happened.
I’m not sure there’s enough booze in the world to make me forget the way Grayson makes me feel, though.
Research notes: cowboys are more hot and cold than Icy Hot.