Page 113 of Cowboy Daddies

“While that may be true, I’m here now,” he said, still unbothered. Glimmer nuzzled him again, probably liking the way he smelled. “Aren’t you a beauty? So sweet and well-mannered, unlike your owner.”

“I beg your pardon? I’m exceptionally well-mannered, thankyouverymuch.”

“Well, Glimmer does seem to be an excellent judge of character,” he said more to her than to me. “Must be the stress.”

Callum released her and stepped backward, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his tailored slacks. They weren’t designed for mucking out stalls or getting dirty on a ranch. He needed a real-life lesson on what life on the ranch looked like.

No time like the present.

He had no business being sexy while my brain spiraled. Picking up the bucket of water I’d been using to rinse Glimmer’s hooves, I ‘accidentally’ on purpose knocked into him. Muck, dirt, and water sloshed over the side, soaking his pants and shoes. A muscle in his jaw ticked. Glimmer pawed the stable floor once. As if she knew I’d one hundred percent smacked into him with intention.

Which I had.

“Whoops! Clearly not enough room in this stall for both of us,” I said, failing to hide my amusement as I set the bucket down.

“You pull a stunt like that again and I’ll bend you over a hay bale and teach you a lesson in respect,” he growled.

I’d be lying if I said his tone didn’t shoot straight to my core. No one had ever spoken to me with such authority wrapped in dominance. Certainly not some prodigal son who’d left our small town for bigger pastures only to return spoiled and wholly out of his element. A tiny bit of guilt swirled through my tummy because I’d ruined his outfit.

“Respect has to be earned, Versace. You don’t get to waltz in here and change the rules,” I said, hoping that my face stayed neutral and didn’t betray the havoc he’d created inside me with his threat-slash-promise. “To your offer? I don’t need any sort of lessons, not the kind you’d be teaching anyhow.”

“I want to work with you, Quinn. In the past I’ve pretended to have the skills that I lack for corporate mergings and proposals, but I’m out of my element here,” he said as if he’d heard the thoughts I’d kept to myself. “I’m not pretending to understand the inner workings of a ranch.”

I ran the brush over Glimmer’s flank, giving her extra attention because she had to deal with our bickering. It wasn’t his fault he suddenly had a ranch to manage. I tried to remind myself that he was grieving too. Nana had been his last living grandparent. Her full name was Geraldine Rosalee Parrish, but I only knew that from tracing her handwritten signature on my custody papers in my teens. Everyone in town called her Nana. She wasn’t biologically family, but she was in my heart where it mattered. The memory of her tightened something in my chest.

Glimmer shined from the brushing, and I finished with a few rubs on her hind quarters. Callum watched me, as if calculating his next move.

Finally I spoke. “Listen up, Cal.” I called him a short version of his name and knew he hated it. “If you want to work with me you’ll need clothes that you can move in. Ones that you won’t mind getting dirty. Jeans. T-shirts. Boots. Do you know what those are?”

“My, my, my, you’re quite the spitfire tonight, aren’t you? Yes, Quinn. I know what casual clothes are, but I don’t typically wear them. Power suits are what I’ve lived and breathed in most of the time. Not that you seem to care, but even when I wasn’t working, it was virtual client meetings at all hours. Never business-casual, at least on the top.”

The thought of him wearing a dress shirt and suit jacket on top of pajamas painted him in a picture I didn’t want in my brain. His question was hypothetical so I didn’t say anything else. I also didn’t care what his wardrobe entailed, but he should own jeans. Grabbing two sugar cubes into my hand from my pocket, I paused when Callum touched my elbow.

“Tell me something,” he said, rubbing his thumb across my skin. “Is your attitude because you don’t like me personally? Or are you worried I’ll see some crack in the foundation that you’re not prepared for me to fill?”

“If I had any cracks that needed filling, I’m certain you’d be the last man on earth I’d call.”

Glimmer nickered. I told myself it was because of my perfect comeback and not the post-brush treat routine we’d established. She was waiting for her sugar, obviously, but it broke the tension.

“Is that so?” He let go of my elbow.

The tension returned tenfold. Another question that didn’t warrant a response. Not that I had anything good to say. My attitude toward him left much to be desired, even though I knew that I wasn’t ready to cave.

Callum rubbed a hand over his beard. It was well-trimmed and polished like the rest of him, not that I was staring. Definitely not because I was wondering what it would feel like with my fingers buried in it while we kissed. I fed Glimmer the sugar cubes then brushed off my hands. Callum stepped backward toward the opening of the stall as if he knew I wasn’t going to engage with him anymore.

“My offer to teach you a lesson stands, short-stack. Tossing your attitude in my direction is not likely going to end the way you think it will.”

He pivoted on his heels, stalking out of the enclosure like he hadn’t turned my entire day on its axis. I was mortified from the way my body was behaving. The sass. The attitude. Drenching his clothes and wrecking his outfit! What was my problem? I hated that he had the last word.

Instead of following him and giving him another piece of my mind, I clucked my tongue at Glimmer.

“Hrumph. You like him. Don’t pretend you don’t. You think my disdain is ill-placed. You don’t know him like I know him,” I whispered to my sweet mare. “He’s not even that handsome.”

But my assessment wasn’t entirely fair. I had known him when we were growing up in Brighton Creek. We hadn’t been friends exactly, but we ‘d hung out at the ranch. We’d spent our days and evenings together for years. I’d harbored a crush on him, not that I’d ever voiced it out loud. Maybe that’s all this was, leftover unrequited fantasies.

My childhood diaries held scenarios of Nana leaving Violet Meadows to us. But in those pages, my secret notes held dreams of a girl who’d dreamt of riding into the fields with her cowboy husband and not some smooth-talking executive in a suit.

His threat lingered along with the fading scent of his cologne. A lesson in respect while bent over a hay bale. If I wasn’t so aroused by the mental image, I’d have been more annoyed.