Page 47

“Doing what?” I glance at her pink dress and brown boots. The boots have red and pink hearts on them.

Ridiculous, but cute.

Bending down, she picks up the Goldfish. “Barging into rooms and scaring the shit out of people.”

“I’m in a bit of a rush.” Pulling up my shirt, I use it to wipe my face as I point to the juice boxes behind her. “Can I grab those?”

Mollie is staring at me as she straightens.

Specifically, she’s staring at my naked stomach, eyes raking over my skin.

My body pulses. I try to ignore it, but the prickling awareness in my thighs and groin won’t quit.

“You…need a new shirt.” She licks her lips.

I look away, smoothing my shirt back over my belly. Itsticks to me like a second skin. “Don’t got time. The juice boxes, please. Kids’ll be here any minute.”

“You’re going to scare those kids off with that stink. You smell like poop. And horses.”

“Dealt with a lot of both this morning. Kids need their snacks.”

“The juice boxes and the Goldfish?” She holds up her packet. “There were, like, seventy packs of these, so I figured it was all right if I stole one.”

“Ella’s obsessed. So are Duke and Ryder. The juice boxes, please.”

Mollie sets down her Goldfish and wipes her hands. “How about you grab a new shirt—or better yet, a shower? I’ll take the snacks over to the barn.”

I put a hand on my hip. “I got it.”

“You’re always saying that. Trust me, you want a new shirt. I’ll meet you at the barn.” She tucks the carton of juice boxes underneath her arm. “Anything else you want me to bring?”

For a second, I just stare at her. Stuck-up City Girl is actually offering me help?

She’s beingthoughtful?Kind, even? Same as she was with Patsy this morning in the kitchen and the other day with Wyatt and Sawyer in the barn?

“There are some picnic blankets I was hoping to find,” I say.

“I’ll poke around.”

I turn my head. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. I just wanna see some babies of the human and goat varieties. Go shower, Cash. Now.”

“You sure you got that?” I nod at the juice and the Goldfish.

Rolling her eyes, she steps around me. “Jesus, thatsmell.”

I hop in an ATV and hit the gas. Ten minutes later, I’mback in the ATV, showered and pulling a fresh shirt over my head.

The barn is a hive of activity when I pull up. My chest swells at the sight of ten tiny three-year-olds crowded around the nearby corral, where Wyatt put the goats and their babies. Parents stand nearby, sipping on glasses of Patsy’s lemonade.

Lemonade that—holy shit—Mollie appears to be pouring for our guests. She scoops ice into glasses and then fills them, handing them out to parents and ranch hands while she chats them up.

“What are you doing?” I ask her.

She glances up at me as she dumps ice into a glass. “You showered. Good. You smell better.”

To be honest, I feel better too. The perpetual grit I have in my eyes from not sleeping feels slightly less sandpapery after a quick rinse.