Chapter 13

Iwas wrong. I was so incredibly wrong.

When the alarm blares at four in the morning, I throw myself wildly from bed, my heart in my throat. It’s still dark outside, the sun yet to rise, and even William peers at me through cracked eyes when I slap at my phone. I sit up and attempt to rub the sleep from my eyes, stretching. At least the bed is comfortable. I slept much better here than the cheap motel rooms I’ve been staying in.

If my alarm scares me awake, the alarm that blares across the ranch thirty minutes later nearly makes me shit my pants. Like some sort of trumpet sound at a military base, it booms outside, letting everyone know it’s time to get up if they haven’t already. The roosters start to crow right after, despite the sun not yet cresting the horizon. Even when I tell William to behave and head out of the cabin at five, the sun still hasn’t risen. It’s practically still night. What’s the point of waking up so damn early?

I’d pulled on some shorts and a t-shirt, but when I walk outside to find Wiley waiting, he looks me up and down and grimaces.

“You’re gonna wanna wear pants,” he says. “Jeans if you’ve got ‘em.”

I stare at him. “Really?”

My jeans are pretty limited to black pairs and edgy cuts. Most of them have expertly cut holes in the knees. Of course, none of them are super thick jean material like the Wranglers and Levis everyone else is wearing. Mine are mostly meant for going out or for dressing up. Still, I dutifully go inside to change when he nods and pull on a pair of stretchy skinny jeans I have. They’re black and there’s some sparkly designs down the sides of them and in the tears along the thighs, but it’s the best I’ve got. I might have to get some other options if I stick around.

When I step back outside in the jeans, Wiley’s eyes fall to the tennis shoes I’m wearing.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any boots?” he asks. Clearly, I’m in no way prepared for this. I should have asked if there were specific clothes I needed.

I hesitate on the small porch of the cabin. “What kind of boots?”

I have winter boots and a few pairs of cute calf-high boots inside. Maybe those will work? But when he taps the side of his boots with the stick he’s holding, I grimace and shake my head.

“No. I’ve only got. . . well, not those kind.”

Wiley shakes his head. “We’re gonna have to make a trip into town to get you what you need. We can’t help it today, but we’ll get you figured out. We’ll keep you out of the worst muck while you’ve only got sneakers. Your kitty gonna be okay in the house all day?”

“William?” I blink. “Yeah, he’s content. I fed him and he’s happy to stare out the windows at the cows. He’s never seen them before.”

I’m surprised Wiley even remembered to ask about William. Most men dismiss cats entirely, preferring to having nothing to do with the beasts. I’ve had plenty of boyfriends who completely ignore the fact there was a cat in my apartment, whether William liked them or not. So for Wiley to even ask is nice.

“Alright. Well, come on then, city girl. You’re with me today. Consider yourself lucky,” he says with a grin.

“Oh, I’m the luckiest,” I tease back, following him over to a small truck thing. It looks like it’s capable of going off-road, but I don’t know what it’s called. I’ve certainly never seen one outside of movies and TV shows.

Wiley hops into the driver seat, so I climb in the passenger side and look around. “Are there seatbelts?”

Wiley snorts. “In a side-by-side? No. No seatbelts, I’m afraid. That there handle,” he says, pointing to a plastic handle above my head. “That’s the Jesus handle. Hold onto that real good.”

“Why do they call it the Jesus handle?” I ask, frowning as I grab it. I’m okay with it being like a subway. It can’t be that bad.

“Oh, because you pray to Jesus to save you when you’re holding onto it,” Wiley muses.

I whip my head toward him. “What?”

But before I can ask any more questions, he takes off and my hand tightens on the handle. I squeak in surprise, staying tense as he goes driving over bumps that feel like they’re going to throw me from the thing.

“Jesus!” I shout as he takes a turn too fast.

“Ah, see! I knew you’d get how the Jesus handle works.” He’s laughing at me, his eyes bright with mirth as he pulls up to a large barn and parks the small truck. “Come on. Let me show you what you’ll be doing.”

I climb from the side-by-side, my ass a little rattled from the ride, and follow Wiley toward the large open doors. Inside, the building is full of horse stalls. At our approach, a bunch of heads peer out at us and whiney in welcome. I smile and pet the nearest one, happy my first day will be spent with them.

“The open stalls will need cleaning out. There’s a broom, shovel, and wheelbarrow around the corner. Go in, scrap out the stalls and haul everything out through those back doors and dump them in the pile.”

I wrinkle my nose up at the smell inside the first stall but don’t complain. “Only the open stalls?”

Wiley nods. “The closed ones have horses in them. We alternate, cleaning half first and then cleaning the other half the next. Jamie may come in and take some of the horses out while you’re working, but pay him no mind. I’ll come back in an hour to check on you.”

Wiley leaves me there, so I immediately grab the shovel and count how many open stalls there are. Twelve. I need to get twelve of these things done. Sighing, I walk into the first one and start pushing everything inside to one side of the stall. I place the wheelbarrow outside the door, ready to be filled. It smells bad, but ultimately, it’s not that difficult. I make sure to clean the stall entirely, revealing the concrete floor beneath. I clean it as thoroughly as possible before moving onto the next, and then the next. I have to cart the wheelbarrow to the pile twice every stall. I’d tried to take it once at first, but I’d made the wheelbarrow too heavy for me to cart, so I’d had to half empty it back into the stall to get it there. I’m sweating like a pig by the time I’m halfway through the stalls. My hair is falling out of my ponytail and I’m really wishing I could have worn the shorts instead of jeans, but at least I’m making progress.

When Wiley shows back up with a grin before seeing my progress and frowning, I know I’m doing something wrong. “You’re gonna have to move faster than that around here,” he warns. “Ole Dakota will throw a fit if everything takes twice as long.”

“I’m going as fast as I can,” I grimace, scrapping the floor harder.

“I don’t throw fits,” Dakota announces as he appears behind Wiley.

I curse my rotten luck. Of course Dakota would show up when I’m clearly doing something wrong. I don’t stop working, not wanting him to think I’m slacking. I shovel another scoop into the wheelbarrow and go back for more.

Dakota leans in and inspects the stall I’m working on. I’ve scrapped everything into a pile and am currently loading that into the wheelbarrow. Already on my seventh stall, I think I’m doing pretty decent all things considered. It’s not like I’ve ever done something like this before.

“You’re thorough,” Dakota nods. “But slow.”

I shove my hair back from my face and look up at him. “I’m doing my best.”

He meets my eyes. “Do better.” And then he turns and starts walking away, leaving me to stare after him. Over his shoulder, he calls, “Wiley, the new horse needs its hooves looked at.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Wiley answers, his eyes watching Dakota the same as I am. Once he’s gone, he smiles apologetically at me. “He’s not always such an asshole.”

“You sure about that?” I huff before getting back to work. My arms are screaming at me, and my back is pinching, but I push through, if only to prove that I’m not completely useless. I really am going as fast as I possibly can. It takes me too long to cart the wheelbarrows over to the pile. I realize I’m not nearly as strong as I need to be for this job, but I’m trying. The least he could do is acknowledge it. It’s my first day for fuck’s sake.

“There’s a lot riding on his shoulders most of the time,” Wiley offers as an excuse. “You’ll have to give him a little grace.” He comes over and pats my sweaty head. “Once you’re done cleaning them out, take that fresh bedding over there and lay it down. There’s another clean wheelbarrow beside the pile to use.”

I blink at him. “Fill them back up after I just cleaned them out?”

“Fill ‘em back up,” he says while nodding. He winks. “You’re doing great, city girl! Keep it up!”

I continue to scoop as he leaves, grumbling about cowboys under my breath. Still, despite being too slow, every horse that sticks their head out for a pat as I pass gets one. Surprisingly, it makes me feel better.

At least the horses aren’t assholes.