traipsing through a barn after a stubborn cowboy.”
I stormed toward my car and got in. There was already a disturbing amount of mud on the doors and wheel wells from my last trip out to the stables. When I got back to Edmonton, the first order of business was getting it cleaned and detailed. It was probably in my head, but I was sure the distinct smell of horses had embedded itself into the leather of the interior.
I gave myself a pep talk as I drove, veering around Easton and his horse as I came upon the dirt road leading to the farm. Beyond it was a long driveway.
I parked by the house like before and scanned the property. The same truck sat in the same spot. A dingy 1990s Ford Ranger in a fading red with plenty of rust and a nasty dent in the front fender. The hood was slightly crumpled and lifted like someone had been in an accident. Beside it was a shiny silver economy car that seemed out of place. The sticker on the bumper explained it. A rental. He probably had family from out of town staying.
Checking my rearview mirror, I didn’t see Easton, so I remained in my car where it was safe. The landscape beyond the multiple barns and stables was untouched. Nature in its raw state. No buildings and no presence of humanity. It was acres and acres of mountainous land and evergreens for as far as the eye could see.
Horses grazed in a faraway pasture, and I watched a small group of people trot down a path and up a gentle incline into the mountains. Trail rides. I knew the stables offered those activities. I’d never been on a horse in my life and had no desire. Where was the appeal?
After ten minutes, Easton and his horse came into view at the end of the driveway. I got out of my car with my briefcase in hand and stepped carefully, edging my way along the dirt road to meet up with him.
Easton paid me no attention as he trotted right by the vehicles at a fast clip, a partial grin on his face informing me he had every intention on being difficult.
“Lovely.”
There was a lot of uneven ground between me and the yard where he was taking his horse. I wondered if I waited if he’d come back and we could chat where it was relatively cleaner. Like in town at a coffee house. Or at the very least inside the old farmhouse.
I was a fool if I thought for one minute Easton would take pity on me. I might have only just met the guy two days ago, but I knew he wasn’t about to cave and make this easier. Begrudgingly, I followed after him.
At least it hadn’t rained recently, so the rough dirt wasn’t as muddy as it could have been. I avoided most of the filth as I approached the fence where Easton had dismounted and was unhooking the saddle from his horse.
He nuzzled the animal’s face and talked too low for me to hear. Then he guided her to the open gate and let her go inside. He tipped his chin up, looking off into the distance toward a building. Using the fence for leverage, he hiked up onto the lower rail to give himself more height and let out a whistle.
My spine stiffened. Wide-eyed, I searched for that beast of a dog he owned. He was nowhere to be seen. Easton waved a hand in the air and called out to a guy farther down the fence who’d appeared.
“Imma send Baylor out to take care of the girls. Gots me a meeting with a suit.” He thumbed over his shoulder, and my muscles tensed at the quip.
“Jackass,” I muttered.
“You callin’ me names now?” Easton asked as he hopped down off the fence. “That’s mighty professional.”
“I wouldn’t dare call you names, cowboy.”
“Good. C’mon.” He hiked a fast pace toward the stables we’d passed earlier.
“C’mon,” I mocked. Apparently, enunciation was too much to ask for.
I tried to watch my step and keep up with his long strides, but it was impossible. His fucking ass in those faded Levi’s was like a magnet to my eyes. I couldn’t stop staring, which meant I didn’t see the only puddle in a ten-mile radius and landed in it with a splash.
Mud splattered up and along the bottom of my pant leg, and I cursed under my breath. “Fucking figures. Goddammit.”