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“Oh, I know everything I need to.”
He throws his hands out wide. “Tell me all you know then, Hellcat.”
I bristle at the nickname. “You’re… what? Late twenties? Right about when cowboying gets to be pretty hard. You’ve probably worked on ranches or guiding hunting tours for the last ten or so years. High school diploma, barely, no plans for college. I’m going to guess that your favorite pastime is walking into a bar, ordering a tall Budweiser, and when whatever poor woman you’ve suckered into companionship won’t leave at the end of the night, you tell her that it’s just how you are. Can’t keep a cowboy in one place, darlin’,” I say in a mocking tone. “No use lovin’ a man like me. We’ll only let you down.”
His smile is ear-to-ear now. “You know my lines pretty good.”
“Yeah, well. It’s bullshit. That kind of oh-I’m-no-good-for-you garbage is just a way to excuse yourself from having any kind of accountability, which means you’ll never have a meaningful relationship in your life.”
“Or it means that I’m being damn honest about who I am.”
I bark a laugh. “That’s a joke.”
“Didn’t tell one this time, Hellcat.”
“You think that telling a woman you’re no good for her, then proceeding to be good and nice and sweet for one night, making it seem like you’re in fact a little better than you think you are, is being honest? That’s manipulation, jackass. Pure and simple.”
“But the ladies do love a man they can save.”
I throw up my hands. “No matter what, you’re proving my point.”
“And that point is?”
“I. Don’t. Like. You,” I snarl. “You, or your kind.”
He edges closer, his blue eyes twinkling. “What’s my kind?”
“Freaking cowboys!”
He laughs. “Afraid to cuss a little, Hellcat?”
I ignore him and turn back to my task. I’m digging around in my stuff for the old-fashioned post-hole digger, one that doesn’t require any type of gas power, when I hear the whine of the gas motor.
I spin. “Stop it!”
The guy looks up from where he’s tinkering with the auger. “What?”
“I don’t want your help. I don’t need your help. Get off my land before I shoot you,” I snarl. I didn’t bring the shotgun, again, but out here it’s a reasonable assumption.
He places the auger down before he throws up his hands. “Okay. All right then. Danger and I will continue on our ride. But at least take my cell phone number, in case that thing—” He motions to the auger, “—blows up on you and you need help.”
“If that’s the case, I’ll call my dad, who can actually help,” I sneer at him.
He studies me for another minute. He seems to be debating something, his blue eyes a little darker and less sparkly with indecision, before slowly nodding. “Fine then. Have it your way. See you around, Hellcat. You know where to find us if you need us.”
“I don’t need you!” I practically scream. I watch him and his horse gallop off. I frown, looking down at my hands. “Who names their horse Danger, anyway?” I mutter.
A freaking cowboy. That’s who.
Sighing, I grab the gas auger again. I must have left the manual post-hole digger at the barn. I pull the cord to start it up…
And the whole thing lights up on fire.
Gasping, I drop it. Then my eyes widen as I realize that I just dropped a flaming gas motor onto a patch of grass that’s essentially just a spot of tinder.
The ranch is going to go up in flames.
My heart slams in my ribs. No. No, no, no.
