Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
SAMMY
I woke up, confused and buried under a pile of blankets. I yanked them off me and sat up, looking around. It took me a moment, and then yesterday came back to me.
All of it.
The airport. The altercation with Luke. The apology. The storeroom. Gingerly, I touched my head, wincing at the lump. I padded over to the mirror and looked at the bruised flesh. Luckily, the skin hadn’t broken, but it was going to be sore for a while. Behind me, the curtains waved in the breeze, and I walked over, studying the ingenious locks I’d never noticed. I had flipped the ones on the sash open, but these were hidden in the handles. Clever.
I recalled looking for the screwdriver. Being startled by Luke’s voice. How he had caught me. The strength of his arms cradling me. The warmth of his skin seeping into mine. How he had woken me in the night, checking on me. Glancing down, I felt myself blush. My tank top and shorts didn’t leave much to the imagination—and he had seen it all. And thanks to my little fall, I knew he’d been up all night, waking me, making sure I was okay. No doubt he was the one who had bundled me up like a burrito in the blankets.
What an impression I must have made on him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he asked me to leave again later today.
I got ready in jeans and a light T-shirt and headed to the kitchen, realizing it was past eight. I assumed Luke was long gone and thinking I was being lazy. I was surprised to find him at the table, eating a plate of eggs and toast.
“Morning,” I muttered, slightly embarrassed.
“Well, if it isn’t my little cat burglar. Going for the gardening shears, were you?”
I huffed out a laugh. “Sorry about that. I thought I saw a screwdriver handle. To help open the windows.”
He waved me off, grinning around a mouthful of eggs. “Nope. Trowel. Wouldn’t have helped you much unless you decided to head outside and weed the garden.” Then he frowned. “I’m sorry for startling you. How’s the head?”
“A bit sore.”
“No doubt.” He indicated the stove. “I made eggs. You’ll have to look after your own toast.”
I scooped some eggs onto a plate and waited for the toast. I carried my plate and coffee to the table. He finished his breakfast and grabbed an apple, biting into it.
“Thanks,” I said, indicating the food on my plate.
He smiled. “I always eat after the first round of chores.”
“I don’t expect you to cook for me.”
“I eat a big breakfast every morning. A decent lunch. Supper too. I work hard. We all do.”
“How big is the ranch?”
“Over six hundred acres.”
“Wow.”
“That’s considered an average size.”
“Hmm. How many cattle?”
“I have five herds—about eighty in each. The number varies as they are born, sold, et cetera.”
“What does a typical day look like?”
“Up early, coffee. Rotating the herds, checking the health of all the animals, mending fences, milking the cows, gathering eggs, checking on the sheep and moving them, to name a few. Plus, there is paperwork, sales, budgets, running the ranch, payroll, and so on.”
“Wow. You have help, I assume?”
He nodded, chewing the last of his apple and swallowing. I tried not to notice how his neck muscles shifted and pulled as he ate. The way his Adam’s apple bobbed and moved. It was surprisingly sexy. “I employ lots of people. The numbers vary, but I have a foreman, two, in fact, plus other full-timers. My dad always believed in working smarter not harder. I can spend all day mending fences, or have someone do it and concentrate on other, more important things. Some things I can’t hand off, like the paperwork or budgets, but I work on those with Rachel, and I have an accountant who helps.”
“And cooking meals?” I asked, finishing my eggs. “This was delicious.”
“There’s a cook and a cookhouse. Everyone works hard, and I feed them breakfast and lunch. Dinner when need be or snacks. But the cookhouse is open all day so the crew can eat.”
“All men?” I asked, curious.
“No. I have cowgirls too. Some of them are better than the men I hire. I believe it’s your heart, not your dick, that makes you a cowboy.” He winked.
I laughed.
“What are your plans?” he asked.
“I’m going to scope out the ranch. Look at the buildings Rachel thought would make great bunkhouses. Gather some ideas and then meet with you or Rachel and get a plan together.”
He nodded, draining his cup. “Rachel says people are willing to pay a lot of money for an experience like this.”
I nodded. “They are. But you have to give them what they want, plus some unexpected perks.”
“Like?”
“Rustic but modern. Ride a horse, but a comfortable bed. Easy meals, but delicious. Sleep under the stars, but no snakes. A real campfire, but marshmallows to roast. Glamping.”