Page 37 of Tempting Wyatt

That’s because I was up all night, getting myself off, thinking about riding all your body parts.

“Just pacing myself,” I counter, adjusting my grip on the bucket he handed me earlier. It contains something he calledrange cubes, which I’ve since learned is just a fancy name forcattle treats. “I didn’t realize being able to lift fifty pounds was a requirement for this job.”

Wyatt lets out a soft snort. “It’ll be good for you. Hard work builds character.”

He stops at the fence line, resting his forearms on the top rail as he surveys the herd of cattle spread out in the pasture. They’re huge hulking animals with multi-colored coats, and despite his assurances that they’re “mostly gentle,” I’m still not convinced.

“You see that big one over there?” Wyatt nods toward a particularly stocky bull standing off to the side, watching us with a lazy sort of curiosity. “That’s Duke. He’s the oldest and our herd sire. That’s why he’s out here with a few young bulls instead of in the main bull pasture.”

I check out the bulky black animal, grateful he’s a safe distance away. “Herd sire. That meanswhat exactly?”

“He’s in charge of making sure we’ve got new calves every spring,” Wyatt explains, reaching into the bucket and tossing a handful of cubes over the fence.

A few cows perk up, ears flicking toward the sound as they amble over.

I glance at Duke again. He doesn’t look like he has the energy to repopulate a herd.

“So, basically, he’s the ladies’ man of the ranch?”

Wyatt grunts, but his lips lift on one side. “I think that’s Isaac. But Duke is a close second.” He steps aside and gestures toward the bucket in my hand. “Go on. Your turn.”

I hesitate, then scoop up some of the feed and toss it over. The moment the pellets hit the ground, more cows start moving in, their heavy hooves stirring up dust. One gets a little too close for comfort, and I instinctively step back, bumping into Wyatt’s solid chest.

“You’re fine,” he murmurs, steadying me with a hand atmy waist. His voice is softer now, lacking the teasing edge from before. “They’re just curious.”

I exhale slowly, nodding. “Okay. I can handle curious.”

Wyatt’s fingers linger for a second longer before he steps back.

My breath is coming in short bursts from the contact. I try to focus on anything other than where his hand was mere seconds ago.

“Don’t they make, like—I don’t know—automatic feeders for this or something?”

His eyes go hard. “Had one. It’s down at the moment.”

I don’t want to pry, but from what I’ve seen, this man already has a million things to do every day. He doesn’t have time to hand-feed hundreds of cows.

“Can it be fixed?”

He nods. “Yeah. Just expensive. May have to replace it. If Asher were here, he could get it up and running in no time.”

There’s a twinge of sadness in his voice that I suspect comes more from missing his brother than it does from wishing he had a mechanic on hand to replace a feeder.

“Asher—he’s the one in the military?”

Wyatt jerks his chin once, keeping his eyes trained on the cows. “Yeah.”

“Does he get to come home much?”

“No. Not really.”

He turns to face me, and I see it. The pain in his eyes, pain he hides because he’s committed to this strong, silent thing he’s got going for him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure that’s difficult, not knowing where he is or being able to get in touch with him.”

His jaw tics as he helps me empty my bucket. “You’re better at this than I expected you to be.”

I narrow my eyes at him, recognizing the intentional subject change. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?