Page 2 of Ready, Willing and Abel

“Just getting some prickly pears, but your beasts are attacking me,” he says. His voice is a rich baritone that makes my insides feel squishy.

I move closer. “The goats are not attacking you. They’re just curious. Wondering if you brought them any snacks.”

He takes steps backward away from the goats. “No snacks!”

“This is private property,” I tell him. I’m close enough now to see that this stranger is smoking hot. Which is an unnecessary observation considering he’s a stranger, trespassing on my property. He’s wearing all black, which is just stupid most of the year in Texas. Too damn hot to wear a color that just sucks in more heat.

“I just need some of these fruit things, then I’ll be on my way,” he says.

“First of all, those fruit things are mine because they’re on my property. Secondly, what do you want with them?” I cross my arms over my chest and resist the urge to get even closer to him. There’s something about him that’s oddly familiar.

“I can pay you for them. I just need to have them,” he says. He’s still backing away from the goats. One of them, I’m pretty sure, is trying to nimble on the guy’s jeans.

“Why do you need them?” I find myself asking.

He blows out a breath and looks up at the sky for a moment. “I fucked things up with my brother because I tried to pay his girl to leave him.”

“What?”

“I know! It was a really shitty thing to do, but I was trying to protect him. People take advantage as soon as they know you’re famous. I didn’t want that to be the case for him because I could see that he really liked her. Turns out he loves her. They’re expecting a baby, and now I’m trying to get into the good graces of my soon-to-be sister-in-law, and she’s craving prickly pear jelly.”

I stare at him, processing all of his words. A few of them stick out. Protect. Famous. Good graces. Okay, so I don’t know who this guy is, but I can appreciate someone trying to fix things with family.

“You know how to make prickly pear jelly?” I ask.

“No fucking clue. But I have a private chef on call.”

A private chef? Seriously, who is this guy?

“Well, it’s your lucky day because I happen to make the best prickly pear jelly in the entire state of Texas. I’m known as the Cactus Girl, so consider me a convenient expert. I’ve got a fresh batch at home I can sell you for your soon-to-be sister-in-law.”

He takes another step back, and I open my mouth to warn him, but I’m not fast enough. He wobbles on his feet, then falls, kinda sideways onto the ground.

“Fuck!”

“Yeah, you landed right on that cacti,” I tell him. I close the distance between us. “Lucky for you, you only fell on the dying paddles that are on the ground.”

He’s squirming, trying to get away from the pain of the cacti spikes embedded in his hip and butt. The goats are being super helpful and sniffing all around him.

“Can you call off your attack animals?” his voice sounds nearly panicked.

“They’re goats, and I promise they’re not attacking you.” But I take my hat off and shoo them away, nonetheless. That’s when I realize who is sitting at my feet.

Abel Cartwright.

Abel—HOLY SHIT--Cartwright.

Big time movie star, and no wonder he’s so damn pretty.

He manages to pull himself to his feet, but he’s wincing with every movement.

“You need to stand still,” I tell him.

I’ve lived in Texas my entire life and I’ve stumbled into my fair share of cactus spines. It's an occupational hazard. So I know he’s in pain.

“I need to get these fucking blades out of my ass.”

That makes me snicker.