Page 9 of The First Day of Breeding Season (Wildfire Ranch #4)

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After the world’s fastest shower, I twist my damp hair into a bun and put on my favorite sundress, and my “going to town” cowboy boots, which look cute with the dress and keep my ankle covered.

He’s going to see it at some point .

But that doesn’t need to be right now.

The house is quiet, so I think maybe Drew has headed across the driveway to the bunkhouse already, but when I step onto the front porch I find him sitting on the front porch, his hat in his hands.

“That was fast,” he says, standing quickly and jamming the hat onto his head.

“Dinner won’t wait for me.”

“Spoken like a true ranch kid.” He clears his throat. “You grow up on a place like this?”

“A bunch of them, yeah.” I gesture across the way to the lit up bunkhouse. “My parents were both ranch hands for hire. We moved every year or two, wherever they could find work. I know how to handle myself.”

He falls into step beside me. “Still wouldn’t want you to have to share a bathroom with the guys.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I do.”

When I look sideways at him, his cheeks turn ruddy, which I imagine is blushing for a rugged a cowboy.

Oh .

“Thank you,” I murmur. “That’s very sweet.”

He stops in front of the bunkhouse door and loops his fingers around the handle, but doesn’t pull it open. If anything, he’s holding it closed, and if anyone pushed against it from the inside, they’d meet a brick wall. “I’m not sweet.”

I sweep my gaze up to meet his eyes squarely. “And I’m not fragile. You don’t need to save me from rough cowboys.”

He pulls the door open, and as I brush past him, I catch the scent of clean laundry and something else beneath that, something distinctly like the roughest of cowboys.

That sharp, should-feel-dangerous-but-I-like-it energy rolls off Drew all through dinner.

He sits next to me, and his big arm keeps brushing mine, so as soon as he’s done eating, he leans back and stretches it out across the back of my chair instead.

When I turn to answer a question from Inez on my other side, my shoulder brushes his fingertips, and sizzling energy crackles over my bare skin.

There are eight ranch hands and wranglers hired on for the summer. Other than Raul and Inez, the Lowry brothers don’t keep full-time staff year round, so everyone is still in the getting to know each other phase. It’s not just me who is new, and conversations ping in all directions.

Through it all, I’m achingly aware of Drew beside me.

Silent.

Hot blooded.

Not sweet .

When I finish eating, he briefly tries to bring up the topic of new bulls for the herd, but we keep getting interrupted.

So when Inez brings out rhubarb pie for dessert, I say I’m full and might head to bed.

Drew squeezes my shoulder. “That’s a good plan. We can discuss this in the morning. I’m going to call it an early night, too.”

We push away from the table at the same time, and I don’t miss the curious looks Theo and Benji give Drew—or the way they both snap their attention back to pie when he glowers at them.

Heat races up my neck as we step out into the growing dusk and I force my shaking legs forward. I’m going to bed. In the morning, I’ll wake up and put on my jeans, and I won’t see Theo or Benji for days.

Maybe by the time they arrive up in the hills, all of this weird chemistry between Drew and myself will have burned off.

As we approach the main house, the porch light flicks on.

“Be careful about the wasps, they like the light,” Drew says as I race up the stairs, my heart rate driving me a little too fast and I don’t really register what he says until I hear the angry buzz.

“Fuck, sorry,” he mutters as he climbs the steps behind me.

“It’s okay.” I turn and back up, waving my hand, but that’s the wrong thing to do, because it drives the defensive insect down along my skirt—and then up, under my sundress. “Oh God!”

I can feel it against my leg. I lift my skirt and jump, trying to get away from it before I get stung.

All I succeed in doing is capturing it in the open top of my boot—and then I feel the sharp, sudden pain on the back of my calf.

I hiss in shock and bend over, kicking off my boot.

The wasp buzzes angrily away, leaving a burning sting in its wake. A red welt is already swelling, I can see the edge of it.

I’ve been stung more than once—it’s not the end of the world—but the sting is hot and insistent, and I know it’ll only get worse.

“I need…” I trail off as Drew kneels in front of me, his hands reaching for my leg before I can protest.

“Let me see it,” he says firmly, lifting my foot to rest on his bent thigh.

My sundress slithers along my skin.

“Drew, really, it’s?—”

“Hush,” he says, his tone low but not unkind. His fingers gently brush my hand aside, and my breath catches as his calloused palm cups my calf, tilting my leg slightly to get a better look.

This is ten times more intimate than his fingertips on my shoulder at dinner, and the jolting energy that courses through me is ten times stronger, too.

“It’s already swelling,” he mutters, his thumb circling the welt. My head spins. “Damn wasps. They’re everywhere this time of year.”

I swallow hard as his fingers linger on my leg. I can feel the heat of his breath against my skin as he leans in closer, inspecting the sting with an intensity that makes my cheeks flush.

“You aren’t allergic?” he asks, his gaze flicking up to mine, concern etched into the lines of his face.

“No,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “I’ll be fine.”

He doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he nods anyway, his hand still resting on my calf like he isn’t ready to let go. “All right. But we’re still gonna take care of it. Come on.”

Before I can protest, he slides one arm behind my knees and the other around my back, lifting me off the ground.

I squeak, my hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as he cradles me against his chest. “I can walk.”

He doesn’t argue that point, but he doesn’t put me down, either.

As he carries me inside, his muscular arms holding me securely against his chest, I don’t protest again. Why would I when he’s so warm and strong, the heat of his body radiates through the thin fabric of my sundress? It’s so nice, it helps me forget about the aching sting.

And makes me very aware of other aches, higher up my legs.

He takes me all the way to my room and sets me on the bed.

I lean back on my elbows and look up at him as he braces himself over me.

He’s so close I can see unexpected little flecks of gold in his eyes as his gaze searches my face like he’s making sure I’m really okay.

“You didn’t have to carry me,” I say softly. “But thank you.”

“I’ll get you something for it,” he says.

But he doesn’t pull away.

For a moment, I forget how to breathe altogether. I think he might kiss me, and I can’t pretend I don’t want him. I want him to kiss me more than I want my next breath.