Page 7 of Wild Hearts (Ruby Ridge #1)

carter

. . .

C atalina is late.

I knew from the second I laid eyes on her that she wasn’t going to be cut out for this. She’s all designer labels and expensive perfume—the kind of woman who probably considers “work” planning her next bar crawl.

And now I’m supposed to teach her responsibility? Fuck, I’d have an easier time spotting Bigfoot than this shit.

The front door finally swings open, and there she is, sauntering down the steps. She ditched last night’s disaster of an outfit, but whatever she threw on this morning isn’t much better. Leggings hug her like a second skin, outlining every curve I have no business fucking noticing.

A cropped, black leopard Louis Vuitton sweatshirt rides high on her waist, leaving a peak of bronzed skin on display, glowing in the morning light like it’s trying to test me.

And those fucking sunglasses? Ridiculous.

My eyes drop to her shoes.

Heels? She’s wearing heels, she has to be fucking joking.

I scoff under my breath, shaking my head, already questioning what the fuck I did to deserve this .

She’s going to fucking learn today.

She finally reaches me, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Okay, cowboy, let’s get this shit over with. I have better things to do with my time.”

I push off the fence, the wood groans beneath my weight as I straighten up, ignoring her little nickname for me.

“We’ll be done when I say we’re done, and you’re starting with the stalls.”

She squints at me from behind her ridiculous sunglasses. “And by stalls, you mean?”

My lips curl into a devious grin. “Shoveling horse shit.”

Her mouth drops open. “Excuse me? Absolutely not.”

I toss her a pair of gloves. “You heard me, princess.” Pointing towards the barn. “Grab a shovel.”

She wrinkles her nose, staring at the gloves like they’re last season’s fashion statement. “You can’t be serious, can I just go brush their hair or something?”

“I’m dead serious,” I say, walking towards the barn. “That manure isn’t going to clean itself.”

She gags at the word, her nose scrunches up like she smelled something foul, which she’s about to.

“I don’t even know,” she says, gagging. “How to do that.”

Jesus, talk about never lifting a fucking finger.

“It ain’t complicated. Scoop, toss, repeat.”

I walk past her, leading the way inside. The scent of hay and leather mixes with the more unpleasant stench of manure, but to me, it’s just another part of the job.

The second Catalina walks into the barn, she gags again.

“Oh my god,” she whimpers, clutching her stomach. “I’m going to fucking die.”

“You’ll live, drama queen. ”

“Will I, though?” she mocks, lifting her sunglasses just enough to shoot me a glare. “Because I feel like I’m being poisoned right now.”

I hand her a shovel. “Start with Midnight’s stall.”

She takes it like I just handed her a live snake. “This is a crime against humanity. What’s next? You’re going to tell me there aren’t any Erewhons in Tennessee? Where else am I going to buy my twenty-dollar strawberry?”

A twenty-dollar strawberry? Is she mental?

“I don’t know what the fuck that is, but we have Piggly Wiggly here and they sell packs of fucking strawberries not a singular one.”

She looks at me in pure horror, clutching her necklace like the world is about to end.

My shoulder leans against the stall as I adjust my elbow on the open gate and watch her in her ridiculous heels as she inches toward the pile of manure like it might attack her.

She pokes it with the shovel, her face twisted in disgust.

“Catalina, it isn’t going to explode.”

“Yeah, okay,” she mutters, gagging again.

Carefully, she scoops up a pile, holding it as far away from her body as possible.

I nod toward the wheelbarrow. “Toss it.”

She hesitates. “What if it, like…. Splatters?”

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Just fucking toss it, we have other chores to do today.”

She flings it a little too aggressively, and a piece splatters along her cheek. Her eyes go wide, and she begins to dry heave and scream at the same time.

“Oh.My.God!!!” she squeals, dropping the shovel.

“Welcome to ranch life, princess,” I say, nodding to the smear of horse shit on her cheek. “Suits you. ”

“I fucking hate this place!” she snaps, glaring daggers at me.

I put my hand against my mouth, stifling a laugh creeping up my throat. She looks absolutely ridiculous in her heels with horse shit on her cheek.

“Well, princess, you’ve got six months. Might want to pace yourself.”

She groans dramatically, dropping her head back. “I’m going to have nightmares about this.”

I shake my head, turning away, and leave her there to suffer. Maybe by the end of this, she’ll learn something. Or maybe she’ll learn not to piss me off before sunrise.

I wipe a layer of sweat from my forehead, glancing over at Catalina, who looks about three seconds away from a full-body collapse. Her hair, which started as a perfect, effortless ponytail, is now a mess of loose strands sticking to her flushed face.

Her heels are thrown in the barn somewhere, her sweatshirt is long gone, tossed over a stall hours ago, leaving her in a thin black, bedazzled tank top that says “fuck it”, clinging to her perfect curves.

Her tits are practically spilling out of her tank, beads of sweat sliding down the curve of her chest, making it impossible to look anywhere else.

My muscles lock up, my cock’s hard against the rough denim of my jeans. I shift, adjusting myself under the bullshit excuse of getting comfortable, praying she doesn’t catch me.

Seriously? What the fuck is wrong with me .

I’m taken out of my gaze as she clears her throat, leaning against the fence.

“Take a picture, it’ll fucking last longer,” she snarks.

I grunt under my breath, dragging my gaze back to the pen. I don’t give a fuck she caught me eye-fucking her.

“Anyways,” she scoffs, kicking at the hay. “Since you’re done mentally undressing me... I’m officially over this shit.”

I keep shoveling fresh hay into the pen. “Don’t flatter yourself, princess. You still have an hour left, and Toffee needs some love.”

She lets out a sound, somewhere between a dramatic whimper and a dying animal.

“I’m not giving Toffee love. You’re trying to kill me, just admit it.”

I smirk, rolling my eyes without breaking rhythm. “If I were trying to kill you, princess,” I mutter to myself, “you wouldn’t be standing there. You’d be flat on your back, begging for mercy.”

I glance over at her, oblivious to what I just said, waiting for me to answer her back.

She clears her throat, breaking the silence. “You do realize I am not staying here all day, right?” Her voice rings throughout the barn like a damn siren.

Fuck. Can she talk any louder?

I pause just long enough to glare at her from under the brim of my hat. “Where the hell else would you be going?”

She wipes sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand, muttering under her breath. “I need to go into town, like I told you earlier today. Don’t you listen?”

I arch a brow, letting the silence stretch a little too long just to piss her off.

“For what? An emergency shopping spree? Spa day? Another excuse to waste my fucking time? ”

She rolls her eyes so hard I’m amazed they stay in her head. “No, asshole. I need to look for a job.”

That makes me stop what I’m doing. I straighten, resting the shovel against the fence, and turn to face her full on.

Vartan never said a goddamn thing about her needing a job out here. All he told me was to keep her busy, teach her responsibility, and to work her ass off until she straightens out.

“A job?” I repeat.

She shoots me a pointed look like I’m the dumbest thing she’s ever laid eyes on.

“Yeah, you know employment? Earning a paycheck? Basic survival?” she snaps, hands gesturing wildly. “My father cut me off, so unless you’re planning to give me money, I need to make money somehow while I’m stuck out here in cow town.”

I narrow my eyes, studying her carefully. “And what exactly do you think you’re qualified to do?”

She practically vibrates with offense, her whole body going rigid.

“I’ll have you know," she says through gritted teeth, “I am very skilled at many things. Just because Daddy threw hush money at me to shoo me away doesn’t mean I’m helpless.” She points her finger at my chest. “My mother taught me plenty.”

The minute she says it, she shuts herself off, quick to slap up a wall I wasn’t even reaching for yet.

Before I can dig into that landmine, she barrels forward.

“Anyways, can I borrow your truck?”

“Absolutely not.”

She plants a hand on her hip, the other flicking up like she’s ready to punch me in the face. “And why the hell not?”

I rake my gaze down her infuriating body, letting it linger long enough to make her squirm.

“One,” I say, counting it off with my fingers, “you look like you just lost a fight with a pigpen.” I point two fingers up.

“Two, I don’t trust you not to crash my damn truck into the first boutique you see.

” I breathe out. Lastly, I lift the third finger, wiggling it.

“And three,” I lower my voice, stepping closer just to watch her bristle.

“I’m not letting you wander off alone when you don’t know jack shit about this town. ”

She stares at me like she’s debating whether to claw my eyes out or choke me.

I cross my arms over my chest, unmoving.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” I growl, not budging an inch.

I grab my flannel off the fence post, turning my back to her without another word, and make my way toward the house in long, heavy strides.

“I’ll take you, be ready in ten,” I call over my shoulder, not bothering to wait for a response.

“Pinche cabrón,” she mutters under her breath.

I don’t know what the fuck she just said—but it sure as hell doesn’t sound like a compliment.