Page 8 of Stirring Spurs (Rainbow Ranch #1)

BOONE

Over the next week, Wylie Anderson acclimates to life on Rainbow Ranch.

After the bathroom run-in, the tension thicker than molasses in a jar, I expected him to keep his distance.

But ranch life doesn’t really allow it. We’re all sleeping on the same floor of the house.

Sharing two bathrooms. Meals. Laundry. Everything is communal here. It’s the nature of ranch life.

Wylie’s never late for a meal. He’s polite—puts his napkin on his lap and always says please and thank you. He compliments every new dish I serve him with an adorable half smile, like a puppy having his first bite of kibble.

At breakfast one morning, knowing Wylie likes more salt than I use, I reach for it—at the exact same time as him. Our fingers brush against the cool ceramic of Ma’s favorite cow shakers—white for salt, black for pepper.

“Sorry. You take it,” he mumbles.

He does this thing where he dips his head whenever he speaks first.

“No, I was grabbing it for you,” I reply, placing it by his plate .

We meet outside the bathroom nightly. I’m not sure if he’s trained his bladder to pee at the exact moment I’m done showering or if it’s just a lucky coincidence.

I use the bathroom near his room, regardless of whether the one close to mine is occupied.

The last person I see before retiring each night is him.

And the tight tank and boxer briefs that leave very little to the imagination. My spank bank runneth over.

During breakfast on Thursday, Beau, with a smile I know all too well, says, “Wylie and I are working late.”

I’ve heard them talking about a new paddock for Noodles. They’re constructing something smaller than the existing one.

“We can finish today, but we may be late for dinner,” he says.

“Noodles needs a little space to himself.” Wylie adds a spot of sugar to his coffee.

He doesn’t lower his head as much, and I can almost see his entire face.

“No trouble at all.” I take the last waffle and dish it out to Benny, who quickly pours syrup over it and begins cutting. “Why don’t I bring you lunch? It’s the least I can do for… Noodles.”

Billie laughs, almost choking on her waffle. “Since when do you care so much about the horses?”

I shoot her a death glare, but she only tilts her head, waiting for my reply.

“Hey, my job is to take care of all creatures on the ranch. That includes the animals.”

She furrows her brow and rolls her eyes before returning to her breakfast.

After clearing the table, cleaning up, and prepping lunch, I load up my old wagon. Knowing they’ll be hungry, I prepare four sandwiches and four pieces of cake, and I fill a small cooler with bottles of sweet tea and chilled water.

“Got some fresh apples and pears.” Pepper plods into the kitchen, setting down a large basket of fruit.

At sixteen, Pepper, one of the teens from the foster home in Johnson Springs, already has a strong sense of self.

With deep auburn-dyed hair and baggy overalls, Pepper started coming to the ranch almost two years ago.

Those first few weeks, their nails were always perfectly painted—until they realized that working on a ranch doesn’t exactly lend itself to manicures.

“Amazing. Can you bag up a few?” I nod to the wagon.

Pepper nods quickly, grabs a brown bag from the counter, and selects pieces to pack.

“It’s for Beau and Mr. Anderson,” I say. “They’re building Noodles a new paddock.”

“Noodles?” Pepper and the horse both arrived at the ranch within days of each other, and as a welcome gesture, Beau let them choose the horse’s name.

“Yup. Mr. Anderson has been making progress with him. Slow and steady.”

“The new guy? Really?”

I nod and a smile tugs at my lips.

“Why you smiling?” Pepper asks. “Oh. Oh.”

“Never you mind.” I empty a small bucket of ice into the cooler. “Grab me some napkins.”

“Yes, sir,” they say with a huge grin.

With a glance out the window over the sink, I notice the sun’s high in the sky, real fierce, and even with their hats on, I reckon it’s mighty hot out there.

Before I head out, I quickly check my face in the bathroom mirror.

Every now and then, when I catch a glimpse of myself, I swear I’m looking at Beau.

When we were just knee-high to a grasshopper, we’d mess with folks, tryin' to fool them about who was who. But as the years pass, we sure do look less alike. At least to me. Strangers still tell us we’re a spitting reflection of each other, though.

As I get closer to the horse barn, the new paddock in progress stretches out ahead of me, along with a mix of scattered piles.

There’s a heap of rough-cut wood, cans of paint stacked haphazardly, and a mound of pea stone, its smooth edges catching the light like a thousand little polished gems. Pa always swore by pea stone instead of gravel, saying it was gentler on the horses' hooves.

Beau insists on using it, just like Pa did.

When I finally spot my brother and Wylie working over by the paddock, a warm sensation spreads through my body, the kind that sits heavy and sweet in your belly, like the sun on your skin after a long stretch of rain.

Something about seeing them there, in the middle of all the dust and hard work, fills me with a quiet satisfaction.

“Anyone hungry?”

The wagon squeaks up to the finished portion of the fence.

They’ve brought Noodles and tied him up under the massive oak tree, presumably for shade.

Beau’s holding a plank while Wylie hammers it in place.

I’ve seen my brother do this alone, but there’s something sweet about watching them collaborate and witnessing the quick progress they’re making.

Wylie throws the hammer, the loud thwack echoing against the barn exterior, and I glance over at the horse, who doesn’t seem fazed. When I return my gaze to him, Wylie removes his large hat, and the sweat beads off his forehead. He grabs the sleeve of his white T-shirt to wipe it.

“Here, I brought a few extra,” I say, grabbing a pack of bandanas from the wagon. “For both of ya. ”

I pull one out and hand it to him. He’s so damn sweaty that his shirt has soaked through. I should’ve brought extra shirts and gotten a full show.

“Thanks.” He nods, then grabs the dark navy bandana, wiping it across his face and neck. Then, for the love of Dolly, he lifts his shirt and swipes at his stomach. It's covered in thick, dark hair—a rich, tangled carpet I can’t help but imagine rolling through.

“You didn’t have to deliver lunch.” Beau takes a bandana from my hand, wiping his forehead. “I need to go to the house to get more nails anyway. Didn’t expect us to get this far this fast.”

“Yeah, you guys are killing it. This will definitely be done soon.” I toss Beau a water from the cooler in the wagon, and he gulps half the bottle. “And it’s my pleasure. It’s good for me to get out in the sun occasionally.”

Beau gives me a knowing smirk. “What’s for lunch?”

“Sunshine,” I reply with a wink. “Can’t let you be the only twin with that sun-kissed glow. I’m just getting my daily dose so I don’t look like the pale, leftover half.”

Beau laughs, shaking his head. “Well, at least we know what’s cooking. Boone sandwiches.”

“You wish,” I say. “Actually, your favorite. Egg salad. The hens are laying overtime and we have an abundance of eggs. Benefit to not having to buy eggs in town at those ridiculous prices. Pris says spring sun is to blame, so scream at the sky if you’re not a fan.”

I shrug at Wylie, attempting a smile.

“Not me. Love eggs.” He eyes the bags of food in the wagon.

“Good, because you’re getting French toast for dinner. Quiche for breakfast. Maybe omelets for dinner tomorrow. We’ll see what I wrangle up. ”

Wylie looks at me with soft eyes, the faintest hint of a smile creeping up on his stubbly jaw.

Beau checks his field watch—the one he inherited from Pa—and gazes toward the sky.

“Best run and grab those nails. Check a few emails. I’ll be back in twenty,” he says.

I hand him a sack with two sandwiches, fruit, cake, and bottles of tea and water. My brother eats up a storm when he’s working hard.

Beau shoves his shoulder on mine and gives me a quick peck on the cheek. He turns toward the main house, but before he moves, he slaps my ass—our inside joke to sass each other.

“Mr. Anderson,” I say, handing him a bag.

“Care to join me?” he asks, nodding toward the tree. He gestures to Noodles, who, sensing him nearby, shakes his head, his long mane catching the breeze.

“Sure, I’ve got a few minutes.”

There’s never really down time on the ranch, but even I need to eat.

Dragonflies swarm in my stomach as I grasp the handle of the wagon and roll it under the oak.

Noodles takes a tentative step back as the wheels squeak, and I make sure to park it as far as possible from him while keeping it in the shade.

“Damn wheels sound like they’re about to fall off,” I say. “Sorry about that. Not trying to scare him.”

“Just needs a little oil. I can lube it up for ya tonight.”

My eyes go wide, but Mr. Anderson doesn’t appear to notice or get the humor in what he’s offered.

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll get Winnie to do it.”

He shrugs, then mumbles, “Suit yourself. More than happy to, though.”

Happy. I’m not sure I’ve heard him use that word since he arrived just over a week ago. There’s been the occasional trace of a smile. A laugh. But nothing to show he’s actually content here on the ranch.

“Okay. Winnie’s gonna be busy peeling potatoes. Hash browns, for the eggs.” I grab the cooler and place it near the tree, sitting next to it.

He nods, and the smile that’s been doing its best to stay undercover breaks free. I swear I spot a few teeth, and my own mouth, unable to contain itself, kicks up. We’re under the tree, two grown men exchanging goofy grins like kids on Christmas morning.

“Sit.” I pat the short grass next to me. The shade keeps it from growing as tall as the rest of the field. “If you want.”

Wylie removes his hat, places it on the handle of the wagon, and joins me. He’s sprawled out, legs wide and leaning back, like he’s hoping a swift breeze will arrive any moment.

“Always cooler under the tree.” I take a plate from the wagon and start unpacking items for his lunch.

“As kids, we used to spend a lot of time here under the guise of staying cool. We were also trying to avoid chores. We had climbing contests.” I lean back like Wylie, my eyes tracking the trunk up to the long branches covered in new leaves.

“Billie always won. She climbed higher than all three of us boys. Higher and faster.” A lopsided grin takes over my face.

“She’d stay up there daydreaming for hours.

Beau and I would end up laying here.” My hand grazes the grass where we’re sitting.

"There." Wylie reaches over the plate I’ve set before him, his index finger drifting toward my face. He doesn’t touch me, but there’s a spark between his skin and mine, something electric that leaves me breathless for a split second .

“Do I have something on my face?”

I already checked, of course—just to be sure. But maybe I missed something.

“Flour? I made bread this morning, and the flour was flying everywhere. Me and that rolling pin have been known to tussle.”

He shakes his head, a small smile yanking at the corner of his lips.

“Nah. This. Right here.”

His eyes meet mine, searching, asking, and I give a barely perceptible nod. Then, with a tenderness I wasn't prepared for, his finger touches the curve of my cheek, tracing the soft dip of the indentation I forget is even there.

“You have this dimple,” he murmurs, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary, as if it’s a secret he’s just discovered.

My breath catches in my chest at the closeness.

And for a heartbeat, everything else falls away—the partially built paddock, Noodles breathing ten feet away, the entire world—and it’s just us, quiet under the tree.