Page 48 of Heartstrings & Horseshoes

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“Show us your tits!” Livy hollers as we sip iced tea from camping chairs shaded from the harsh afternoon sun.

“Yea baby! Take it off, cowboy! But leave the hat on!” Isabelle piles on, cat-calling her fiancé.

Reid, James, Greyson, and Connor are framing the first new guest house at Lucky Spurs Ranch. Contractors will build the remaining cabins, but it was important to everyone they have a hand in building Sam’s cabin.

Thank god for that because let me tell you, we have front row seats to the gun show. Greyson’s rightfully perturbed. His baby sister has the most vulgar mouth of us all and is currently using it to harass his best friends.

It’s hot as sin out today, so I can’t blame the guys when shirts come off one by one. Tanned, muscular mountain men in only jeans, cowboy boots and hats, sweating, doing hard labor, is better than any Magic Mike show.

James rips his sweat-drenched shirt off, swings it around his head and flings it right into Olivia’s face.

I’m laughing so hard I nearly fall out of my chair and the three of us devolve into a heap of hysterical, hormone-raging, horny females.

“Oh my god, James! Are you kidding me? This shirt reeks! I’m going to smell like your sweat for days!” Olivia complains.

“Just how I like it, kitten,” James retorts.

The flirtatious familiarity between them is nothing new, but it never fails to send Greyson into a murderous rage. He’s already got a hand clamped around the back of James’s neck, leading him away from the peanut gallery.

Reid twists his soaked shirt and snaps James and Greyson in the ass in rapid succession, both men yelping like little girls and chasing after him. Boys, I swear.

A water fight ensues, and we try to take cover from the onslaught, but it’s too late. Izzy gets a bottle of water splooshed into her face and she tackles Reid to the ground. They’re covered in dirt and sawdust, but my sister’s never been happier.

Greyson continues chasing James because James is an idiot and keeps poking the bear, making lewd comments about Olivia, which she joyously joins in on.

Amidst the chaos, Connor’s doubled over, laughing his ass off as these men ten years older than him act like children.

I don’t dare voice what I’m thinking, because I’d earn a first-class ticket to horny jail.

Connor’s downright edible today. Those goddamn cut-out tank tops—they’re Connor’s stripper uniform during the summer. He looks like a tall drink of water on a hot sunny day, and I’m dying of thirst.

His skin turns the perfect golden tan during the summer, decorated like a mural from his tattoos, and the sun streaks his hair with lighter blonde.

But I only get to see his hair when he takes of his FUCKING BACKWARDS HAT to wipe his brow with his forearm and fit it over his head again.

I swear to god, I drool over him so much I’ve become dehydrated.

Connor’s eyes catch mine and flit away as the water fight continues. Greyson’s fuming mad, having returned to hammer the shit out of some nails, but Connor’s leaning against the cabin framework, arms crossed, serenely watching the scene.

My hands ache to touch him, to trace the swirls of his tattoos, follow the path of each drop of sweat down the grooves of his abdomen, smooth back his sweat-soaked hair before putting that slutty little hat back on his head.

It’s not fair! Why does my best friend have to be irresistible? And why does the most caring, sweet, attentive man I’ve ever met, have to be off limits?

I can’t take the sexual tension clouding the worksite, so I gather the discarded water bottles and empty pitcher of tea and head for the kitchen.

The walk isn’t far, but it’s not exactly close either. I don’t mind, I need the time and space to get my head on straight. I’ve spent the summer here, learning everything I can from Reid, shadowing Olivia and Izzy, and helping with chores around the stables. I’m much more comfortable around the horses. I’ve become a half decent rider, if I say so myself.

My mornings are spent at the ranch. Afternoons are filled with consuming everything I can get my hands on about equine therapy. And evenings are spent drowning in loneliness, even when I’m surrounded by people.

Some nights there’s a barbeque or bonfire at the ranch, and we always have Sunday dinner at the main house. Other nights, Connor and I cook dinner, eat together with forced conversation, and pretend I didn’t leap into his arms and kiss him.

I asked him to forget it happened, and it seems like he did. But I think about it every day. His hard body pressed against mine, soft lips molded to mine…and how badly it hurt when he didn’t kiss me back.

With each awkward day that passes, I’m convinced moving in with Connor was the worst decision I’ve ever made. To be so close to but not have him is torture.

When he’s at work, fear claws at the back of my mind that he’s going to get trapped again or hurt, taking my heart with him.