not. We ate our breakfast as we drove down the driveway toward the barn. It rested a ways back from the house, the red paint silhouetted by a light gray sky.
The heater had reached full blast, cocooning us in a shelter of warm air, and the scent of Ray’s cologne mingled with dust within the cab. It made me feel more at ease than I ever expected to feel here. With Ray.
How had he gone from my annoying project partner to someone who brought me comfort? How could he go to more?
We reached an area behind the barn lined with rows of stacked hay bales, a pile of feed, and even a tower.
“Is that for water?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Grain.” He parked, killed the engine, and said, “Let me get your door.”
I waited until he came around, and he took my hand to help me down. Except, when my feet touched the ground, he still didn’t let go.
My heart leapt to my throat. Ray and I were holding hands. His were big, hard, where mine were small and soft. But somehow the differentness of them made them fit that much better. Made the connection that much stronger.
The sounds of the farm hit us, soft mooing and the brush of wind over the grass. We walked slowly, adding our footsteps to the music, toward a green tractor parked near the pile of feed. He had me climb up the ladder in front of him, bracketed by his arms.
I was acutely aware of the view he had, and it made my cheeks flush. I’d worn my jeans, the ones that stretched around my curves and hugged my hips. At the heat in his eyes when we reached the top, I didn’t think he minded.
He opened the door for me, and we stepped into the cab. The shutting door muted the sounds around us so all I could hear was his breath. It tickled my ears and made goosebumps rise on my skin, even under my coat.
He sat in the main seat, and I took a smaller one next to him. The tractor roared to life and vibrated underneath us, and it struck me just how high we were off the ground. At least eight feet—maybe more.
In a calm, even tone, Ray explained each of the gears and then set us in motion. The big tractor tires rolled us. He used the scoop bucket to put hay and other feed items into the back of what he called a feed wagon. Once it was full, he said, “Your turn.”
My stomach bottomed out at the idea of driving this giant thing. “That’s okay. I’m good.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Ginger Nash, backing down from a challenge?”
Okay, he got me. “You know what? Scoot over. You can take the little seat.” Except his butt probably wouldn’t be hanging over the edge like mine had.
“I’ll survive,” he said, making sure the tractor was parked.
I got up, and he began shifting over, but I tripped over his boot and landed right in his lap. His firm arms kept me from falling over completely, but now, I was pressed up against him, feeling his breath on my neck and his hands on my waist. My heart stalled, sputtered, and I bit my lip, trying to quell the reaction I had to him. I needed to move before he learned how truly pathetic, how completely hopeless, I was.
I moved to get up, but his hands stayed firm, sending butterflies racing through my stomach and hot blood pumping through my veins. I turned to face him, for an explanation or a kiss, I didn’t know.
His dark blue eyes were hooded, but his lips turned up in a smirk. “You might want to watch your step.”
My breath caught. I did need to watch my step, especially around Ray Sadler, when my heart was at risk of falling right along with me.
Thirty-Seven
So I survived driving a tractor, and Ray even took a selfie with me to commemorate the moment. Then we got into a truck Ray called the feed wagon and dropped off food for all of the cows. He said there was supposed to be a winter storm tonight, but they’d move them to the pasture the next day.
“If you’re not moving them yet, what do we do now?”
His eyes sparked. “I want to show you the hayloft.”
Remembering what Zara had said about Ray kissing me in the hayloft, my cheeks heated.
He drove the pickup up to the barn and