Page 1 of Ready, Willing and Abel (Dog Tags #6)

chapter

one

Esme

“You can’t quit,” I say to my sister. “Seriously, Mia, you cannot quit. I need you to figure out a way to work with Mr. Ego until he signs off on my deal.”

Okay, I know how it sounds. Like I’m trying to convince my sister to stay in an abusive relationship for my benefit. It’s not that. Mr. Ego isn’t her boyfriend. He’s her boss. In my defense, he pays her really well. He’s not abusive. He’s just a Grumpy Gus.

From the other end of the line, she makes a sound that’s somewhere between a growl and a curse. “He is such a jerk.”

“Just give it two more weeks. A month at most. As soon as he’s signed the paperwork to produce Cactus Girl- branded Prickly Pear Shandy Ale, you can quit.

That way, he’ll be buying the farm’s juice, I’ll be able to expand my line of jams, and I won’t have to sell the farm. Then you can quit and join the circus.”

Despite her earlier grumbling, my sister Mia chuckles. “Pretty sure they don’t have circuses anymore because of the unethical treatment of animals,” she says. “Except for maybe those creepy small ones that travel around with their own tents.”

“Whatever. And obviously I don’t want you to actually join the circus. Or a cult or anything else crazy. I just want you to get your boss to ink this deal.” I blow out a breath. “I’m sorry. I know it’s a lot of pressure on you.”

“He’s such an ass.”

“And has such a fine ass,” I add.

“Completely irrelevant,” she says.

“Sure. Have you tried my suggestion?”

“Which one? Blowing him under his desk? No! Because he’s a tyrant.”

“A tyrant clearly in need of a good orgasm. It would blow off some steam.” I snort laugh. “Get it? Blow off? Didn’t even mean to make that pun.”

“Esme, focus!”

“I’m sorry. You know how I love a good accidental pun.”

“Where even are you? You sound like you’re in a wind tunnel.”

“I’m in a wind tunnel.” When I’m pretty sure I can hear my sister roll her eyes, I giggle. “Only kidding. I’m walking the property. The goats escaped again, and I’ve to get them back in the yard before they eat all the fruit I still need to harvest.”

“Those goats are a menace,” Mia says.

“You love them,” I tease.

She does love the goats, as well as everything else on this farm that used to belong to our grandmother. It’s the perfect little slice of Texas hill country heaven.

“How’s the harvest look so far?”

“Pretty good,” I admit. “I’m not harvesting today. Just following the goats and trying to steer them away from my fruit and onto the ivy.”

Something catches my eye off to my right, and I turn, expecting to just see a wayward goat. Instead, I see a man. My heart swoops low in my belly.

“Uh, someone’s here,” I say into the phone.

“One of the neighbors?” Mia asks.

“Nope. I’ll call you back.” I disconnect our call and turn in the direction of the stranger.

He appears to be talking to the goats.

“You lost?” I holler. I’m not close enough to see his face, but I can see when he turns at the sound of my voice.

“Just getting some prickly pears, but your beasts are attacking me,” he says. His voice is a rich baritone that makes my insides feel squishy.

I move closer. “The goats are not attacking you. They’re just curious. Wondering if you brought them any snacks.”

He takes steps backward away from the goats. “No snacks!”

“This is private property,” I tell him. I’m close enough now to see that this stranger is smoking hot.

Which is an unnecessary observation considering he’s a stranger, trespassing on my property.

He’s wearing all black, which is just stupid most of the year in Texas.

Too damn hot to wear a color that just sucks in more heat.

“I just need some of these fruit things, then I’ll be on my way,” he says.

“First of all, those fruit things are mine because they’re on my property. Secondly, what do you want with them?” I cross my arms over my chest and resist the urge to get even closer to him. There’s something about him that’s oddly familiar.

“I can pay you for them. I just need to have them,” he says. He’s still backing away from the goats. One of them, I’m pretty sure, is trying to nimble on the guy’s jeans.

“Why do you need them?” I find myself asking.

He blows out a breath and looks up at the sky for a moment. “I fucked things up with my brother because I tried to pay his girl to leave him.”

“What?”

“I know! It was a really shitty thing to do, but I was trying to protect him. People take advantage as soon as they know you’re famous.

I didn’t want that to be the case for him because I could see that he really liked her.

Turns out he loves her. They’re expecting a baby, and now I’m trying to get into the good graces of my soon-to-be sister-in-law, and she’s craving prickly pear jelly. ”

I stare at him, processing all of his words. A few of them stick out. Protect. Famous. Good graces. Okay, so I don’t know who this guy is, but I can appreciate someone trying to fix things with family.

“You know how to make prickly pear jelly?” I ask.

“No fucking clue. But I have a private chef on call.”

A private chef? Seriously, who is this guy?

“Well, it’s your lucky day because I happen to make the best prickly pear jelly in the entire state of Texas. I’m known as the Cactus Girl, so consider me a convenient expert. I’ve got a fresh batch at home I can sell you for your soon-to-be sister-in-law.”

He takes another step back, and I open my mouth to warn him, but I’m not fast enough. He wobbles on his feet, then falls, kinda sideways onto the ground.

“Fuck!”

“Yeah, you landed right on that cacti,” I tell him. I close the distance between us. “Lucky for you, you only fell on the dying paddles that are on the ground.”

He’s squirming, trying to get away from the pain of the cacti spikes embedded in his hip and butt. The goats are being super helpful and sniffing all around him.

“Can you call off your attack animals?” his voice sounds nearly panicked.

“They’re goats, and I promise they’re not attacking you.” But I take my hat off and shoo them away, nonetheless. That’s when I realize who is sitting at my feet.

Abel Cartwright.

Abel—HOLY SHIT--Cartwright.

Big time movie star, and no wonder he’s so damn pretty.

He manages to pull himself to his feet, but he’s wincing with every movement.

“You need to stand still,” I tell him.

I’ve lived in Texas my entire life and I’ve stumbled into my fair share of cactus spines. It's an occupational hazard. So I know he’s in pain.

“I need to get these fucking blades out of my ass.”

That makes me snicker.

He shoots me a glare.

I cover my mouth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. I know they’re painful. But they’re not blades.”

“What the fuck ever.” He takes a step and grabs at his hip. “If you’re such an expert, what do you suggest?”

I grab his arm, trying to keep him from backing away. “The problem is, the spines have pierced your jeans and your skin. So every time you move, you’re making it worse.”

He tosses his arms up. “So I just live here now? In this field?”

I wipe my mouth to try to hide my grin. “Not what I meant.” I stare into his face, and it’s almost like looking directly at the sun.

I avert my gaze down to his jeans. “The jeans are making it worse because they’re pushing the spines further in.

If you keep walking around, those spines are going to tear your skin to pieces. ”

“I do not want that to happen. So what’s the solution?”

“I can call EMS and they could bring a stretcher to pick you up.”

He rubs at the back of his neck. “That is not an option. Talk about a publicity nightmare. What’s your next idea?”

“I cut your jeans off here, then you walk back to my house, and I pull the spines out myself. I’ve been pricked enough in my line of work to know how to treat them.”

“Cut off my jeans?” he repeats.

“Yes. That thick fabric needs to be eliminated so I can see the spines to remove them.”

“This is ridiculous,” he mumbles. “I’ve done my own stunts for years. Fucking plant.” He stares at me for a moment, then nods. “Do it.”

So I fall to my knees and pull my garden shears out of my back pocket. With the wide brim of my hat and from my angle at his feet, I can no longer see his face. Which, frankly, is a blessing because his eyes make me forget my own name.

I swallow all the giddy girliness that’s swirling around inside me because… Abel Cartwright!

This close, I can see the majority of the cacti spines are on his hip, some on his thigh, and some on his very fine bottom.

Not that I’m noticing that. I’m doing my damnedest to focus on the job at hand.

Since the spines are mostly on his left buttocks and hip, I figure I can just slice his jeans up the outside of his leg and then peel them away from his skin.

With any luck, most of the spines will come out on their own.

“So, uh, there’s probably something I should tell you,” he starts.

But I’ve already made the first cut into the denim. My garden shears make quick work, and I’m focused on my task, clipping the material to remove it from his body.

When I slice up to the waistband and the fabric peeks open, I’m face-to-face with skin.

I quickly glance up at him. “Commando? Really?”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you.”

“Who wears jeans commando?” I shriek.

“I do.”

“I mean, I will admit they feel unlike any blue jeans I’ve ever owned. How are they this soft?”

Do not look at his dick. Do not look at his dick.

“They’re Brunello Cucinelli, of course, they’re soft.”

“Makes it make a little more sense that you’d go sans underwear,” I quip, as if I know the brand he’s mentioned. Which I do not. With the bulk of the denim cut away from his body, I can’t help it. I look at his dick.

His not-so-flaccid dick.

What is happening right now?

“Fucking perfect,” he mutters.

I take my hat off and cover his junk.

I meant for him to take the hat, but instead it just hangs on his impressive erection like the world’s most obscene hat rack.