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“Hey!”
The call came from the fence. He jerked around and his gut bottomed out even as it burned with arousal at the sight of the red plaid shirt. From here, he couldn’t make out the tanned band of flesh of Meadow’s flat stomach, but his cock sure knew it was there.
She cupped her hand around her mouth so her voice would carry. “You good?”
He pushed out of his crouch and stared at her, torn between asking for her help and telling her to go home and lock herself in her bedroom where he couldn’t get to her.
As he looked on, she settled a boot on the bottom rail of the fence and launched over it, landing with the same grace her horse had after that jump.
With each step she took toward Colton, his gut tightened until she stood before him and it was a total knot.
Did her eyes have to be blue enough to match the summer sky? Did she have to give him that innocent look half-filled with what he knew must be desire?
“The cow’s in labor.” His tone came out rough, as it always did around her.
Forest’s kid sister. He had to keep reminding himself of that. But fixing that image of Meadow—freckled and gangly in youth—would not stay in his head no matter how much he tried.
To him, she was stunning. Sexy. And fucking perfect.
At that moment, the cow released another moo that rumbled with pain.
She hovered over the cow. “Roll up your sleeves, cowboy. We’re going to need those long arms of yours to help deliver this calf.”
He arched a brow.
“I’m serious, Colton. This cow’s in trouble. She needs help. My guess is that the baby is probably turned the wrong way or the legs are trapped in her pelvis.”
Her factual manner of speaking had him stripping off the chambray shirt he wore.
She froze. “What’s that?” Her whisper burned with pain.
He went still. “What’s what?”
“That. On your shirt.” She pointed at the pocket. Two initials were hand-embroidered on the pocket, small and patterned in black thread. He was surprised she saw the letters at all.
Throat working, he stared at the stitches that formed the letters F and G.
“That’s Forest’s shirt.”
Colton’s gaze flashed to hers. He could only nod.
“Why do you have it?”
He rolled his shoulders, wishing he could escape her questioning.
The spark of tears in her big baby blues made him want to run farther.
Her hand moved toward him. Realizing she was about to touch the initials on his chest, he whipped the shirt off, balled it up and tossed it a short distance away in the grass.
He hit his knees beside the cow again. “What comes next?”
She knelt beside him, close enough for him to catch a whiff of her perfume that would be driving him to distraction long into the night and cause him to toss and turn in his bunk.
Her stare burned into him. “Why are you wearing Forest’s shirt?”
“Because it felt right to take it from his personal belongings.”
“Do you know who embroidered his initials on it?”
