Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 47222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
“Oh well, I found you a few hours ago,” I try to sound relaxed. “And I’m guessing since I didn’t see you yesterday, you probably got here some time last night?”
“Okay, I guess that was last night then. I stumbled in here, once that storm started kicking up.” His deep voice is resonant and I do my best to focus on his words, but I’m distracted by his proximity. Although he looks tired and somewhat pale, it’s easy to see that when fully healthy, this is a man to be feared and admired.
We sit in silence for a few moments, the man eating his soup and me trying to control my unexpected lust.
After a beat, the man speaks again. “Well I guess, first things first: thank you.” I look into his brilliant blue eyes and see genuine gratitude in them. “That gash was nasty and by the time I realized it needed attention, I wasn’t in a good state to take care of it.” His voice is deep and smooth, the kind of voice that commands a room and reminds me of caramel sauce being dripped over ice cream.
“Of course, I’m happy I could help,” I manage to stutter. Handing him some bread, I steady my own voice to ask, “So what happened exactly? How’d you get here, to my farm? I have a gate and everything…”
The man laughs, a hearty, throaty sound that makes my whole body shiver. Like an angel playing a harp was how Pa would’ve described it.
“It was my damned horse. He bucked me clear off and I must have landed on some branches or something. The horse ran off and I found my way here.” He looks around the old barn. “I’m grateful I found shelter because that was a hell of a storm last night. Not the kind you’d want to be caught outside in.”
I nod in agreement. “But what brought you out this way? There’s nothin’ much around these parts for miles. Just farmland.”
“I’m a traveling ranch-hand,” the man responds in a smooth tone. “I was headed through town looking for work, and on my way to offer my services to some of the ranchers out thisaway when I got bucked.”
“Well, I’m afraid you’re out of luck. It’s only my place for miles around. Of course, there are the McLaughlins, but they’ve got an army of laborers to help them.” A hint of bitterness sneaks into my voice, and I try catch myself. “Glad you seem to be feeling better. Sorry about your horse.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve seen a wild stallion running around these parts, have you?” he asks in an amused voice. I shake my head.
“No, nothing. Storm probably spooked him off. Plus, the perimeter fencing’s still up, even if everything else looks a little rundown.”
The man nods and starts eating again. He’s not ill mannered like I would have expected a ranch hand to be. He doesn’t slurp or wipe his face with his sleeve. In fact, the strange cowboy actually uses his napkin, and takes slow, thoughtful sips of the broth, his gaze contemplative. How interesting. He doesn’t seem like a threat.
The bowl of soup now polished off, I ask him, “Would you like some more? There’s plenty on the stove.”
“No, but thank you. If you don’t mind, I think I need to lay down again. A hearty meal and loss of blood make for a fine combination of exhaustion.”
Searching his handsome face, I echo the sentiment that the mysterious cowboy needs to rest.
“Sure, just sit tight and I’ll put together something a little more comfy.” With that, I go to the first stall by the bench. It also happens to be the cleanest, filled as it is with a few new straw bales. Snipping the binding on one of the bales, I take clumps of straw and shake them on the soft ground. I grab another horse blanket and lay it on top of the straw, making a sort of makeshift bed. As I work, I can feel the handsome stranger’s eyes on me, strangely hot yet calming all the same. I turn back with an apologetic smile.
“It’s not much, but it’ll be cleaner and less musty than the back of the barn.” I stand in front of the man and help him rise from the bench. He keeps a hand gripped tightly around the horse blanket at his hips as I do so, and we stumble over to the newly made bed. He lies down carefully and sighs with relief.
“You need to rest. You lost a lot of blood.” I tell him as I fluff up the straw around him. I try to ignore the fire that surges through me from our brief touch. He just needed some help, silly.
“I’m okay. Nothing that sleep won’t cure.” He smiles at me, and I feel my knees go weak at the grin. Oh good lord, he’s too handsome for his own good.