Page 25 of Wild Rose (Blue River Springs #1)

Rose is propped up on a wooden worktable, laughing. The guys are leaning against stalls, tossing jokes her way like it’s some kind of social hour.

Barry and Nelson are shooting the breeze with easy laughter. But Randy—he’s standing in the middle, his gaze lingering on Rose in a way I don’t like. Not quite with longing or attraction. But more questioning and judgemental.

Heat burns in my veins.

Partly because I never liked the guy.

“Y’all still here?” My voice cuts into the open space, silencing them all—almost exactly the way I intended.

From the corner of my eye, I see the men straighten.

But my eyes are on Rose.

She’s hot and sweaty, with strands of hair sticking to her flushed cheeks as she turns to me.

She’s still catching her breath from laughing, the deep smile lingering.

She looks good right there. With those mid-calf boots, her pink cowgirl hat and a plaid shirt—like she damn near belongs on this ranch.

“Hey, boss. Your assistant just finished up inventory over at the Lockup. Asked about your horse, so we brought her over here to meet him,” Barry tells me. A little too quick. A little too nervous.

That doesn’t add up. She already has.

Rode on him with me too. But I suppose she wouldn’t offer up that information.

The air in the room is thick. And I’m going to get to the bottom of it.

I avoid turning my glare over to my newest employee and address the guys. “Day’s over. Go on home.”

Barry and Nelson spring forward, each tipping their hat over at Rose. “We’ll, uh .?.?. talk later, Ms. Rose.”

Talk later? The hell about?

Randy hesitates, watching Rose. “You need a ride back?” he dares to ask.

Before I can process what Randy’s intentions are toward Rose—and none of them good—I answer for her. “She’s not done. You are.”

His gaze flicks to me. Randy isn’t a fan of mine. He respects Dallas to hell, but apparently his loyalty doesn’t spread to the rest of the Thorne family. Just the man who gave him some sort of superior title.

I’d fire him just for these last sixty seconds if I didn’t need him. There’s a bit of a stare-off until he winks at Rose. “Yeah, we’ll catch up later.” He nods to Barry and Nelson like he owns them and the three march out of the stables, boots scuffing deliberately against the dirt.

I curse under my breath and turn to Rose. She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, lips quirking as she jumps off the table.

“Did you get any work done?” I don’t know why I’m being a dick. Rose has yet to slack on the job. It might take her a while to understand what we do here, but she’s not one to bullshit around.

But hell .?.?. she hasn’t laughed with me like that.

She blinks, then licks her lips like she was caught doing something wrong. “Not only did I make a list, I ordered everything.”

I take the clipboard she hands me and scan it. The order list looks all right, I suppose. But something is still off. She’s nervous about something. “From who?”

“Sal’s Saddles,” she says quickly.

Wait. What? “They weren’t on my list of approved vendors.” I’ve heard of them, but Dallas and I never used them. They’re too new to be trusted with quality supplies.

I lower the clipboard. “Why?”

She shrugs like they were the obvious choice. “They were cheaper.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re better, Rose. And you can’t go using vendors not on the list. We vet them. We check their manufacturers first. If there were any recalls. It’s not like buying a pair of shoes.”

She doesn’t seem the least fazed by my frustration. Tilting her chin, she sets her hands on her hips. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have gotten rid of me for the whole day.”

“What are you talking about? We had work to do.”

“We just did inventory last week. We were fine.”

I hold up the clipboard of newly ordered supplies. “Then what was all this?”

She shrugs. “So you’ll be a little overstocked. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before giving me busy work.”

I close the small distance between us but nothing about my advance is inviting. Rose backs up until she hits a stall. The horse rustles behind it.

“Why don’t you tell me what you four were talking about before I got here.”

Her eyes widen, but she answers quickly. “Rodeos.”

My jaw clenches. “What about them?”

“Why don’t you hold any here at Blue River Ranch?”

I inhale and decide I’m too tired for this conversation. “Rodeos are a lot to plan. And I’ve got my hands full this summer. Let’s get you home.” I turn toward Tuscan’s stall.

I half expect her to push me on the subject, but she doesn’t.

She’s definitely nervous about something. She’s avoiding my eyes and there’s an unease about her, I feel it down to my bones.

“You comin’?” I ask, leading Tuscan outside.

She watches the horse with new interest and nods.

We ride in silence as the sun sets. She’s watching the road. She doesn’t lean into me the way she did a few nights ago. In fact, she’s stiff as a board.

Hell, why does this feel like our first fight?

Is she being a brat because I gave her busy work today to avoid her? Or is it a decoy from whatever it is she’s hiding?

I try not to focus on the distance—since I’m the one who put it between us to begin with.

We’re not a couple.

But the hurt in her eyes when she confronted me about getting rid of her today said otherwise.

I haul the horse to a stop in front of her cottage and help her down. “Thanks for your help today, even if you did google a random vendor in Colorado,” I mutter.

“It wasn’t random,” she mutters back.

“No?” I linger in front of her door, not wanting to leave with the tension between us.

“When I called Hideaway Springs Ranch by accident last week thinking they were a supplier, I spoke to a woman named Tessa. She was really cool. Said if I’m looking for someone reliable, I should try Sal’s.

They’re new but they’re trying to make a name for themselves.

So I knew damn well they weren’t on your stupid list.” She pouts.

I rub my jaw, covering the humor I find in her attitude. “Levi’s ranch, huh?”

She rolls her eyes. “Is that another rival?”

I nearly laugh. “Friend, actually. Competitor, but the owner’s kinda hard to hate. Keeps to himself, doesn’t start trouble. We trade and help each other out. Good man to have on your side.”

“Well then, glad I could help. Good night,” she says abruptly and turns to head up the porch steps.

I grab her arm. “You upset with me?”

She barely meets my eyes. “No.”

I let go slowly. “Then what’s going on?”

Her eyes are on the grass between our feet. “If, um .?.?. if you had the choice to help someone but you knew they wouldn’t like it—would you still do it?”

“What?”

She shakes her head. “Forget it. It’s nothing.”

I resist the impulse to ask for more. But it doesn’t sound like a work-related conversation, and I need to keep things professional.

That word needs to be stitched to my damn shadow since I keep forgetting it.

I clear my throat and glance back at the house. “Listen, I wanted you to feel safe here at night. I’ve added two porch lights on either side of your door and, uh .?.?. a few extra locks.”

She frowns. “Wha—today?”

I nod. “Sometime after lunch. It’s not seven, but it should do the trick. Keep ’em all locked for me, OK?”

Her lips part as she gazes up at me, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. “Thank you.”