Page 91 of 11 Cowboys

“Good to know,” Grace says with a wink, then she bends down to brush dirt off the top of her pink boots.

Yeah, I think to myself.Good to know. When I got thoseboots, I wasn’t thinking about romance, but I guess when she received them, she was.

Romance. Fuck. Romance doesn’t have much of a place on this ranch. Nora wasn’t into gestures of any kind. Bought her flowers once, and she laughed. Said there were flowers in the yard. Romantic gestures only work if the person on the receiving end is feeling romantically.

McCartney heaves another bale and sneezes like a man possessed.

“Are you dying over there or just being dramatic?” Grace asks.

“I’m beingactively murdered by dust,” he chokes out.

Grace unties the bandana and passes it to McCartney, who ties it around his face and continues. Her hair is now loose, framing her sweet face and resting over her shoulders. For a moment, my heart seems to falter in my chest, then restarts with a double beat.

I could be romantic for this woman. I could romance her so hard she wouldn’t walk for a week, but she’d be smiling, nonetheless.

Lennon, bless him, finds an ancient radio and coaxes it to life. Music spills out, crackly, loud, and perfect, and a job that should feel like nothing but hard work inexplicably takes on an element of fun and flirtation.

Grace squeals, climbing the loft ladder two steps at a time, and dances like she’s at a bar, not a barn. Lennon joins her as they both twirl in beams of dust-heavy light.

I pause, elbow on a rafter, watching her spin.

She’s all sweat, straw, and sunlight, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so alive.

***

The loft is stacked, the barn smells like sun-warmed hay, and someone’s thrown a blanket down. We crash onto it like fallen soldiers, too tired to move, too content to care.

Grace lands between me and Harrison, arms flung over her head, breath coming in happy, heavy bursts.

“My spine is hay now,” she says.

“My brain is dust,” McCartney adds.

Lennon sighs and sarcastically says, “Best day I’ve had in a long damn time.”

Grace turns her head toward me, eyes soft. “I’ve never been this exhausted and this happy at the same time.”

I reach out and tuck a piece of straw behind her ear. “Get used to it, darlin’. You’re one of us now. Exhaustion is a constant bedfellow of happiness on this ranch.”

Her eyes flash, and I know this is my moment. I can let it pass me by, thinking about all the ways I tried to do right by Nora but was burned in the process, wondering if I’m tossing more pennies into a dry well, or I can take what’s mine, lay my heart on the line again and pray.

Grace’s shirt’s clinging to her from the heat and work, a smear of dirt on her cheek, and all I can think about is how goddamn good she looks in this life. Inourlife.

I prop myself on my elbow and gaze down at her. She watches me, and there’s something in her eyes I’ve never seen so clearly before.

Want. Not only the physical kind. The deep kind. The kind that scares the shit out of me. There’s a flash of hesitation there, too, like she understands what it would be like if we finally gave in to the connection that tugs between us.

I use my thumb to wipe the dirt from her cheek, holding her gaze hostage as my heart beats extra in my chest.

“You know what we do when we’re done hauling hay?”

She frowns. “No.”

“Come outside and let me show you.”

I glance at Lennon, who gives me a quizzical look, but he and the rest follow me and Grace outside and round the corner to where the hose is hanging. Her shirt stuck to her back, hair damp from heat and work. We’re both filthy in every fold of clothing and crease of skin and ready for a good washing.

I unhook the hose from its loop. Grace is already shaking her head, so I toe off my boots, turn the spigot, andwater bursts from the hose in a wild spray that’s cool and shocking. Holding it over my head, I let the water cascade over my face and hair. Water beads and runs over the hard lines of my chest, over the curve of my shoulders, and down the plane of my stomach, tracing every cut and contour. My jeans hang low, darkened by water, clinging perfectly over the swell of my cock. I tip my head back under the stream, eyes closed, and drag a hand through my hair, slicking it back, opening my eyes to find Grace watching, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, her lids lowered over eyes that are smoldering. I keep my eyes on hers as I rub my hand slowly over my abs.