Roped Tight (Ryker Ranch #4) - Kim Loraine Page 0,25

post. Then he turned to her. "I'm ready to start. There's a lot of work needs doing around here. Especially with our ranch hands slacking off." His voice was hard, cold, and directed at me.

I didn't argue with him. There wasn't anything to argue about. He was right; there's always work to do. I grabbed my shirt off the fence post where it had been laid and made quick work of putting it on, even over my oil-covered chest. That was gonna be uncomfortable, but I couldn't spend another minute with Sam's icy glare on me.

An assistant bustled around us, getting things ready for the rest of the shoot. It was obvious the crew wanted a sunset shot for the promo, because what was more a more perfect display of a cowboy than the backdrop of the beautiful Montana sky at sundown? Nothing. I had to admit, if I saw an ad for Saddle Up with Sam standing in front of the painted horizon, I wouldn’t even ask what I was signing up for. I’d be there.

Without another word, I moved away from the people and cameras, making my way back to one of the many projects that were waiting on me.

As I worked, I found myself taking time to glance at what was happening outside the door. Sam, dressed in his absolute nicest hat and boots, with a crisp shirt that advertised all his biggest sponsors, sat atop his horse while the camera shutters clicked. Then they must’ve asked him to ride because he did. His hips moved with the horse, just like they always had. With the saddle, not against it. Sam always just let it happen. He took his hat off and held it in the air as his horse reared. He was showing off, a little reckless, but that was part of who he’d become. I shook my head, chastising myself for thinking back to the young man he’d been. That was a lifetime ago. Sam was ten years older—a different person.

This man was not someone I knew. He wasn't the gentle, kind, hard-working soul I spent two weeks in the mountains with. He was cold and hard. Someone who closed himself off and abandoned the idea of ever opening up again. But that didn't mean he didn't affect me.

Male voices coming close caught my ears, causing me to step outside of the stable with a bridle and a cloth covered in leather conditioner in my hands. I watched as twelve guys sauntered along the road toward the arena. They were dressed in suits, their shiny shoes already covered in a layer of dust and dirt. It was ridiculous, dressed up on a ranch. I couldn’t wait for the moment one of them stepped in a pile of fresh horse shit. No matter how good we were at cleaning up after ‘em, you never knew when the horses would leave a parting gift on the ground.

They positioned all the men around Sam. I had to admit, it posed a striking difference, him in his hat and boots, them in their suits.

The blonde woman shook her head, then said, "Sam, can you take off the shirt? Then we’ll get you in some spurs and chaps.”

He bristled. I saw it in his eyes, but to my surprise, he agreed. He began stripping out of his shirt, that ripped physique of his doing very little to help ease my attraction. A short man with curly red hair ran from where he'd been sitting on the sidelines to the pile of cowboy paraphernalia I now saw sitting on the periphery. A well-worn pair of chaps and a pair of Sam’s spurs. The woman was right. It was going to be a big selling point.

I couldn’t stand watching him, not when he wouldn’t even talk to me. With unease poking at my brain every passing moment, I made my way back into the tack room to finish my job.

An hour later, they’d finished and started packing up. I couldn’t wait to get out of there, to rid myself of the sight of Sam and maybe drink him away for just a little while. Low voices rumbled around the corner near where my truck was parked. One of the men—handsome in a chiseled, romance novel kind of way—hung around while Sam was changing out of the chaps and putting his shirt back on. I didn't mean to spy on them. Okay, that was a lie. I didn't eavesdrop, but definitely watched them