Page 35 of Wrangled and Tangled (Raven Peak Ranch #1)

S pencer must be at the barn since he’s nowhere in the house, and it’s not like there’s a lot of space to go. After he dropped Pen off yesterday, Briar said she wanted to stay the night one more time with Mawmaw, so this is our last morning, just the two of us.

I know he lives on coffee for the first few hours of the day, and the pot looks dry as a bone. Grinding up the coffee he keeps above the fridge, I make a full pot and dig around the cabinets for a mug or something to carry it in.

Finding a tall thermos, I wait for the coffee to finish and fill the thermos all the way to the brim.

He doesn’t like anything in it, so I forgo sugar or cream.

I’ve seen him eat these protein bars that he keeps in the fridge, and part of me wonders if he skipped his coffee or whether he’s had anything at all to eat.

Deciding to throw one in my back pocket, just in case, I head out in search of him.

He’s usually working close to the barn, I’ve not seen him run any cattle at this hour.

Luck’s on my side, he’s tinkering with the Massey beside the barn.

Laying on his back, on a tarp covered in questionable dark liquids I can’t name.

“Hey,” I start, not wanting to scare him into hitting his head under there. “I figured you might need a little breakfast.”

He stills for a second, then shimmies out from under the tractor, covering his eyes with one of his big ol’ tattooed arms.

“I already ate,” he says, eyeing me as if I have three heads.

“Bullshit,” I challenge, “Not even the coffee pot was used this mornin’, and I know if you don’t drink your quota of caffeine, you sure as hell haven’t eaten.”

Sitting up, he laughs, “When did you become so perceptive?”

“I pay attention when I care,” I argue, knowing damn well I’m about to blow his mind with the protein bar. Pulling it from my pocket, I wave it around. His eyes widen, then narrow.

“How–”

“I told you, I pay attention.”

Spencer pats the tarp beside him, and I sit, bumping my hip into his. Popping the travel mug off the top of the thermos, I pour him a cup of the dark roast and inhale the scent. I don’t care much for the taste, but the smell is divine.

He takes the cup and smiles. Those sexy little dimples flare, and I have the urge to kiss him. I won’t, though. There’s something wholesome about this moment that feels fragile. New and… loving.

“I’ve got to head into the garage after this. Colt said something Friday that I never got around to,” he says after finishing one cup of coffee, nudging me to pour another, and I do so happily.

“I’ll go with you,” I offer, putting the cap back on the thermos. “Maybe you could teach me somethin’ useful?”

Spencer laughs, one brow tugged down as if he’s not sure what that could be. “Like what, changin’ oil?” He keeps laughing like he thinks it’s a joke, but when I simply continue to stare at him, he coughs and asks, “You don’t know anythin’ about cars?”

“Not a damn clue,” I admit without shame. “I never drove ‘til I was eighteen. Didn’t have a car or any money to buy one, so it didn’t seem that important to know things about them.”

He leans back against the tractor, eyes looking me over.

“I know just the thing,” he smiles, and his whole face lights up.

We stand not long after our conversation, and I wait as Spencer puts the tractor away and tidies up the barn. When he’s done, he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into his body. “You ready to learn somethin’ Cowboy?”

“Yes, Sir,” I nod, licking my lips and waiting for him to plant his lips on mine. Instead, he swats my ass and takes a step back.

“Be good,” he warns, “Or I’ll have to punish you.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” I warn with a sly smile.

He shakes his head and pulls his keys from his pocket. Heading for his house, we drop in for just a second before we head out again. This time, Spencer walks to the old red truck, and I have a flashback to the night he rocked my world.

Stroking my beard, I smirk and he rolls his eyes.

The drive’s silent but not awkward. Sometimes words aren’t needed to fill every space.

He pulls the truck up to one of the bays, and the big metal door opens. Inside, I can see Brent, the mechanic who has a new baby, rolling up the door. He’s wearing coveralls like Spencer’s, but he doesn’t look nearly as good wearing them as my man.

“Hey, boss,” Brent says as Spencer steps out. “Didn’t think you’d be in today.”

“Colt called about somethin’, and the ol’ girl needs an oil change,” he says, clapping Brent’s shoulder as he walks by.

“Huh,” Brent says, eyes looking up as if he’s trying to figure something out. He snaps his fingers and looks back to Spencer, “Colt needed help on the Malibu in bay one. I already fixed it and contacted the owner, you just missed them.”

“Oh, okay, great, thanks, Brent,” Spencer laughs and heads around the first two garage bays to a closet. Emerging within the minute, he’s carrying a few things I don’t recognize and lays them out on a rolling cart he pulls from out of nowhere.

“Alright, you ready to learn something useful?” He asks, throwing my words back at me with a smirk.

“Really, changin’ the oil?” I tease him, remembering that was what he laughed about me not knowing earlier.

“I feel like an asshole for laughin’ at you, so yes, I’m gonna teach you how to change a vehicle’s oil.”

“Alrighty then. Teach me your ways, oh wise one,” I quip in return.

He looks at Brent, who’s pretending not to listen, and turns back to me with an expression I imagine is supposed to be angry but just looks delicious.

Ignoring my comment, he tells me what he’s got on the cart and how this is supposed to work.

By the time he’s run through his spiel, I feel pretty confident I can do this.

Still, his hands close around mine while we’re both laying on what I’ve since learned are called ‘creepers’ and not little rolly body pads.

Under the truck, he points out various things I probably won’t remember but still pay attention to.

Guiding my hand, he pulls the plug, and oil shoots out in a steady flow.

It’s dark and slippery, coating our hands since we didn’t move fast enough. The pan Spencer brought under with us serves as a catch-all, and I’m glad for it. If not, that stuff would be everywhere.

Once it’s slowed to a drip, he shows me the proper way to pull the filter out and replace it with the new one. His words are sure as he tells me how it works, and I ask questions while I do what he says to make sure I don’t mess up. He looks my way once the plug is firmly back in place and smiles.

“Now we go up top,” he says, rolling out from under the truck and standing. Following his motions, I meet him under the hood, where he’s already pointing at the oil cap. “This is where you’ll pour the new oil.”

Nodding, I grab the funnel. I remember him saying we would need it, and his smile grows larger.

It makes my heart pump faster, knowing I made him happy doing something he loves.

“Put the small end here,” he says, pointing where to go, “and make sure the funnel’s up before pouring the oil.”

“You got it,” I click my tongue and pour the appropriate amount of liquid into the truck. He laughs when I finish and tests the oil level with the dipstick like he showed me. Putting the hood down, he claps his hands together.

“Congratulations, you just changed the oil in a truck.”

My smile grows, and I feel a little silly, but I want to shout that I did something useful. Walking by me, he places a swift kiss on my lips, and I melt.

“Come on, Cowboy, let’s go get Briar and bring her home.”