Arrogant Devil(29)

I do the only thing I can think of: hold up my book as if to say, Hello kind fellow, nothing to see here, just doing a bit of light reading.

He scowls, and just like that, the look is completed. It’s the perfect cowboy fantasy I never knew I had: he’s over there working on a farm truck with grease-stained hands, the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow on his chiseled jaw, his dark hair winging out from beneath his backward baseball hat. His t-shirt is stretched tight over his chest and his dark jeans are so worn in, I bet they’re perfectly molded to his thighs. His dark eyes warn me away. In fact, they do more than that. They’re a visual growl, rumbling in the waning light, but I can’t seem to take heed because in that moment, he’s the hottest man I’ve ever seen, and that’s a problem.

A major problem.

He catches the ranch hand still focused on me and smacks him in the back of the head, knocking his cowboy hat off. The boy scurries to pick it up and make his apologies, and I use the opportunity to turn tail back toward the shack as fast as possible. My legs move so quick, I break the sound barrier and a random window four miles away shatters as a result.

Once I’m there, I throw the door closed behind me and start pacing. I get it; it doesn’t look good. He already thinks so little of me—hell, he probably thinks I’m some kind of west coast nudist, forcing my liberalism on these good Christian people.

There’s a heavy knock on the door a second later, and I curse and squeeze my eyes closed.

“Meredith,” Jack says, pounding again. “Open up.”

“No!” I shout back. “I’m busy.”

“I just saw for a fact that you are not busy.”

“I’m busy not dealing with this right now!”

“Bullshit. We need to talk.”

“Fine!” I groan. “Okay!”

I reach for the jeans, which are still hanging up to dry, and try to yank them on. I get them up to my knees, but they won’t go any higher; they’re too wet and tight. DID I HAVE TO LEAVE MY HUSBAND IN A PAIR OF SKINNY JEANS!? I hop around, yanking as hard as I can. I’m Ross Geller trying to stuff his sweaty gams into those leather pants, but it’s no use. The jeans won’t budge, and Jack is growing more impatient outside.

“Meredith!”

“Just hold on a minute!”

I lie back on my bed and tug with all my might, and finally the denim starts to work with me. YES YES YES. I zip and button them, leap off the bed, and fling the door open with an angry huff.

Jack breezes right past me and stomps into the shack so heavily that the fragile walls quake. It’ll be a fitting end, both of us suffocating under the rubble. Just as we’re gasping for our last breaths, I’ll offer to make peace, and very quietly, he’ll whisper back, Go to hell.

“Yes please,” I mock rudely. “Invite yourself in and make yourself at home.”

He turns to face me.

“What the hell was that?” he asks, flinging his arm toward the yard.

I scowl. “That was an accident. I thought I was alone.”

“Alone!?” He shakes his head like I’m a certifiable idiot then takes two deliberate steps closer to me. I’m made aware of how small I am by comparison. I have to tip my head back to meet his brown eyes. I’m a child standing at the feet of a giant. “Let me make something perfectly clear: this is a working ranch. You’ll never be alone on this property. Also, you’re a young female employee—correction: the young female employee. It’s hard enough trying to keep the guys in line, and then you go out there dressed like that!”

I fist my hands in my damp hair, resisting the urge to scream as I shout up to him. “I get it, okay?! I’m not an idiot. It was an honest mistake and it won’t happen again.” I walk to the door, yank it open, and motion for him to get out. “Now if you’re done yelling at me, I’d like to try to salvage the rest of my evening.”

He doesn’t budge, and his angry scowl only deepens. His gaze is on his t-shirt. “I thought I told you to stop wearing my clothes.”

“I plan on it, as soon as I get some of my own.”

“When’s that gonna be?”

“This weekend.”

For a few seconds, neither one of us speaks. In fact, we don’t even breathe. We stand there, staring each other down. His hands are on his hips. There’s a deep line etched between his dark eyebrows, and that line says, You’re more trouble than you’re worth.

I’m staring up, memorizing every tan contour, when he suddenly breaks. He puffs out a heavy sigh and pinches the front of his shirt so he can tug on it and get a little air down his collar.

“Shit, it’s hot in here.”

“See?!”

I want to wrap my hands around his neck and shake him like a doll, but it would only annoy me more when he wouldn’t budge. Maybe if I throw my whole weight into it like I’m trying to break down a door…

“That’s why you weren’t wearing any clothes?”

I purse my lips, unimpressed with his hyperbole. “I was wearing clothes.”

“Not enough.”

I roll my eyes and resist the urge to plunk him on the forehead. “I feel like we’re going in circles.”

He shakes his head and slowly spins, taking in the shack with fresh eyes. I wonder what he thinks of it now that I’ve been here for a few days. My clothes are hanging on a line near the window. My cream-colored lacy bra flutters beside his t-shirts and I blush, resisting the urge to yank it down. If he notices it, he doesn’t say anything. His gaze sweeps over to the twin bed and then down to the floor.