Page 58

Movement outside caught my eye. Through the window over the sink, I spotted Wells out in the yard, tossing a ball for Granger. The sun was still tucked behind the horizon, but a soft, silver light stretched over the fields.

I sighed. No more stalling. Time to get out there.

Sliding on my flip-flops, I stepped outside, the morning air cool against my skin.

Wells turned as I approached, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. His brows shot up. “What in the hell are you wearing?”

I glanced down at myself. “Clothes?”

He let out a slow exhale, shaking his head. “Yeah, that won’t work.”

I balled my fists defensively. “What do you mean, ‘that won’t work’?”

Wells crossed his arms, looking me over like I was some kind of lost cause. “Sunshine, you’re wearin’ flip-flops and somethin’ that looks more suited for yoga than farm work.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Well, forgive me for not having a closet full of cowboy couture.”

He smirked. “Yeah, we’re gonna have to fix that.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Fix it how?”

“Trip to town,” he said simply. “Boots, jeans, work shirts—the whole deal. Unless you’d rather step in goat shit with those flip-flops.”

I glanced down at my feet and wiggled my toes. Not exactly ideal farm gear.

“Fine,” I muttered. “But you’re paying.”

Wells snorted. “Nice try. You agreed to work here. That means dressing the part.”

I huffed but didn’t argue. There was no winning with him.

“I’ll level with you—I’ll buy your boots, but everything else is on you.”

I rolled my eyes. Generous.

Wells tipped his head toward the truck. “Let’s go.”

I folded my arms. “It’s six-thirty in the morning. Nothing is even open yet.”

He smirked. “I know a guy who sells boots.”

“I’m not wearing cowboy boots.”

“Blythe has them.” He countered.

“I don’t care.”

“Suit yourself. But don’t come crying to me when you step in shit.”

I opened my mouth to argue but thought better of it. With a sigh, I climbed into the passenger seat, while Granger leapt into the back, tail wagging like this was the best thing to ever happen to him.

As Wells started the truck, I glanced over. He looked perfectly at ease, one hand on the wheel, the early morning sun casting a light over his face.

This was going to be a long damn day.

As Wells pulled down the gravel path, I noticed him grab his phone and type out a quick text.

“To your boot guy?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.