Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
What I need right now is a long soak in Epsom salts, surrounded by scented candles and whale music. Or maybe a very oily massage at the hands of a strong and willing cowboy.
Instead, I’m saddled with Brody, who’s more Terminator than human. I glance up at him, expecting him to offer some instruction, a suggestion, anything. But no. He works in silence as if I don’t even exist. I may as well be another stray dog following him through the dust.
Fine.
I grit my teeth and keep going, determined not to ask for help.
Beau flops down under the shade of the truck, watching us like he’s our overlord. I swear he’s smirking at my awkwardness and Brody’s disinterest.
We work side by side for nearly two hours. The sun climbs, the sweat rolls, and my back aches. Brody works relentlessly, and the silence stretches so thick it squashes my chest.
I can’t tell if this is a test or if he really doesn’t give a damn I’m there. It’s probably both.
And it’s turning into a battle of wills. Who’ll break first?
I know it’ll be me.
Dust kicks up with every heavy step of Brody’s boots. I have to jog to keep pace. The sweat beads along my spine, sticking my T-shirt to my back as Brody carries a coil of fencing wire on one shoulder as if it weighs the same as a down quilt.
I don’t know if he picked the hardest job on purpose, but it feels intentional. “So, what’s the plan?” I ask, trying to be cheerful.
Brody grunts. “You hold. I fix.”
That’s it. No friendly banter. No playful teasing like Levi or Cody. He’s like a caveman. Me man, you wo-man. I press my lips together and follow instructions. Holding heavy wooden posts steady as Brody muscles wire into place and hammers staples into the wood with brutal, punishing force is hard. Every time I think we’re done, he moves to the next section without a glance back.
His body is a pure distraction. All lean muscle and sun-browned skin, moving with effortless strength that makes it impossible not to stare. Veins trace down his forearms, his jeans hang low on narrow hips, and every time he drives the digger into the ground, his abs tighten in a way that should be illegal under the open sky. I shift awkwardly, the sweat on my lower back worsening. There’s raw, physical gravity to Brody. Primal and unpolished, he has no business being this sexy. He doesn’t flirt. He doesn’t smirk. Just works and works and works. In all this heat, he never once complains, letting every hard line and silent flex of his body bear the burden and do the talking.
Finally, I break. “Do you hate me, Brody? Because that’s what it feels like.” God, I sound pathetic, but how the hell am I supposed to get to the bottom of this ranch’s most elusive cowboy in this heat and with his attitude?
His hammer freezes mid-swing. Slowly, he looks up at me, brow furrowing under sweat-damp curls. “What?”
“You barely talk to me,” I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. “If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”
He doesn’t.
The next stretch of fence feels even longer, but I keep my grip on the post, sweat dripping down my temple. Brody loops and tightens the wire with those rough, capable hands, his forearms flexing under the sunlight, marked with faint scars from years of hard physical work.
At the next post, the wire slips awkwardly through my gloved hands. It tangles. I mutter under my breath and wrestle it back into place.
Brody growls. “You’re gonna lose a finger if you don’t pay attention.”
The words snap like a whip. My back stiffens. I straighten, fold my arms across my chest, and meet his glare dead-on. “You done?”
The unexpected steel in my voice makes him blink. His mouth tightens like he wants to argue, but something flickers behind his eyes instead. Maybe surprise. Maybe respect.
He exhales, and the tension visibly drains from his shoulders. “Didn’t think you’d last this long.”
I shrug, still holding his gaze. “You don’t know me.”
He nods, then tosses the wire down and leans against the fence, finally wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist. For the first time all afternoon, his posture softens as he takes a rare moment of relaxation.
“You think we’re crazy, don’t you?” Brody says, eyes scanning the endless rolling hills ahead of us.
I hesitate before I ask him to clarify. He could only be talking about one thing, and I don’t want to waste my words. He uses them so sparingly, so maybe that’s the approach he’ll respect. “I thought I did. Now I’m not so sure.”
Brody nods once, still staring out at the pasture and avoiding looking at me. The breeze ruffles his hair, cooling our sweat.