Page 33

I realize show jumping takes intense focus and endurance, especially competing at the level Hattie does—Poppy filled me in this morning on all the competitions she’s won, and her Olympic medal. So, despite not being able to untack her own mare, she obviously knows what she’s doing in other areas.

But this is a ranch. Not a show where you win ribbons and medals.

I think of the coveralls and work boots Poppy let me borrow for today and how much Hattie is going to hate putting them on to help us chore.

What was Hank thinking? Why didn’t he just schedule a spa day for her in Missoula?

Once everyone’s done eating, Hattie surprises me by gathering the dirty plates. In my head I have a picture of her in a fancy Californian mansion surrounded by servants, but here she is touching everyone’s dirty dishes. That’s not what I was expecting of her.

With a blink, I shove thoughts of the woman out of my mind. The last thing I should be thinking about is my boss’s daughter.

“You don’t need to do that,” Otto argues.

She waves him off. “Nonsense. I know how to load a dishwasher with the best of them!”

Hattie smiles at the old man, and he smiles back, totally charmed with his granddaughter already.

My mind quickly forgets we’re not supposed to be thinking about Hattie as she bends at the waist to load the dishwasher. Staring at her perfect ass and long legs, I wonder if she cross-trains, maybe weightlifting. She’s incredibly fit, with a tight little body; there’s no argument there. It takes considerable leg and core strength to train and jump horses, and she’s obviously honed her body for it. The damn coveralls will swallow her up.

Hattie finishes, unfortunately, and stands up straight again. Hank clears his throat, and I look over to find him glaring at me. I straighten immediately and look away. Sheesh, he’s already perfected the dad glare.

“Okay, so what are we doing today?” Hattie asks, planting her hands on her hips.

Hank claps his hands together and slides off the bar stool. “Great, I had an idea for today, actually.”

“Okay,” she says in a chipper voice. I have a feeling she won’t be so chipper once she’s heard his great idea.

“So, I had Linc here bring you some gear, courtesy of his sister, Poppy. And I thought you could spend the whole day with us on the ranch. See how we run the whole operation? Really get a sense of what we do.”

There’s a pause as Otto and Hank wait with bated breath before she nods slowly. “That sounds great. Let’s get to work, boys.”

Hattie walks toward the front door and the three of us stare at each other for a long moment, then get up and follow her. We find her standing in the entryway, staring down at Poppy’s tan coveralls and insulated chore boots.

Hattie crosses one arm across her torso and taps her chin with the other hand. “Is this what I’ll be wearing?”

“Afraid so,” Hank admits. “It’s muddy out there, and you don’t want to ruin your nice clothes.”

She looks up at me with one of those perfectly groomed eyebrows arched. It’s like she’s challenging me to make a rude comment or call her princess. I roll my lips together and keep my mouth shut.

Hattie leans down and pinches the collar of the dusty coveralls, lifting it up to get a better look. “Huh,” she muses. “How, exactly, do you put it on?”

There’s something vaguely coy about her expression that has me wondering if she’s toying with me.

“I’ll let Linc here help you with that.” Hank pats me hard on the back, then steps toward the front door and pulls it open. “Dad and I will meet you in the broodmare barn.”

They leave quickly before I can argue.

I stare at the woman in front of me in her expensive clothes. She unbuttons and removes her navy riding vest, leaving her in only her long-sleeved shirt and riding pants.

Hattie looks at me, one of her eyebrows still arched. “Are you going to help, or what?”

I blink and breathe out a sigh, grabbing the coveralls from her and unzipping the large silver zipper along the front, then getting down on my knees for her to step into it. It’s like dressing Tripp when he was a toddler—except that’s a lie because this is nothing like that.

I’m all too aware of her shapely legs, the sweet scent of her perfume, and the way her shirt clings to her small but perfect breasts.

Hattie grips my shoulders and steps into the garment. The sensation of her fingernails digging into my shoulders has thoughts of her in bed with her eyes rolling to the back of her head as I pleasure her filtering through my mind. Would she scratch my back and whisper my name?

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the fantasy out of my head. What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t be picturing this woman like that. She’s my boss’s daughter…and she’s not sticking around.