Sing for Your Supper (6 page)

“That’s rare in young guys these days. Mostly good for a lot of brawn,” there was a slight pause and Jim’s eyes darkened, his tongue darted out to lick his lips, “not much else.”

Fuck me. Did I mention? Any time…

“Right.” I knew I was staring, that straight guys do not stare at other guys’ lips, hoping for another teasing glance of red, agile tongue. Struggling, I tore my gaze away, swiftly turned and dove under the water. I made it to shore with a few strong kicks and hauled myself up onto the grass.

“Don’t let him see,” I muttered. “Fuck.” I snatched up my shirt and ran the soft cotton over my face.

“Problem?”

“Fuck!” with a start, I straightened, holding the shirt firmly in front of my completely out of control hard-on. “No!”

Jim smirked, shrugged, and ambled over to his own pile of clothes. He didn’t seem the least bit worried about his own half-hard cock jutting into the afternoon breeze.

I pulled in a steadying breath, which didn’t stop my head spinning, or keep me from eyeing the way Jim’s body flowed into every movement as he bent to pick up his T-shirt and proceeded to use it to wipe the water down his legs. For a big guy, he had a lot of grace. He moved like a man at ease with himself and his body.

Like someone who knows just what he’s got and how to use it. Fucker.

We dressed in silence and by the time I was retrieving my hat I had regained some control over my body.

“You should know,” Jim turned as he buckled his belt, to face me. “Jeb has been on this ranch since I was a kid. Practically raised me after Ma left. He and my father are partners. In everything. This place,” he indicated the barn and fields beyond with a nod of his head, “and life. You got a problem with that, you should haul your ass on out of here now.”

For a flabbergasted moment I just stared at him.

“Well?”

“No! No problem.”

He stepped close, well inside my personal space and I gazed up at him. “Good.” His eyes were dark again, the glitter gone deep, hot and straight to my dick. “We let folks be who they like around here. Matt knows that. Probably why he sent you. If you can work, you can stay.”

I nodded, sure I couldn’t force words through my dry throat if my life depended on it.

Jim reached past me, bringing his body, along with the very masculine scent that the pond water couldn’t wash away, within inches of me. He snagged his hat and plopped it on his head. “I’ll leave you to muck out the stalls, feed the animals. Get to know them. We’ll tackle the fences first thing tomorrow. The bunk room’s pretty much buried under junk, so you’ll have to clean that out before you can sleep there.”

“S-sure.”

He backed a step away, a slight grin on his face. “Won’t get the plumbing hooked up till tomorrow or the next day. You’ll have to shower at mine tonight.” He pointed down the long lane I’d recently driven up. “You see the cottage back towards town about a half mile?”

I nodded.

“That’s me. After you’re done, you can clean up there. Use my couch tonight. Tomorrow, Jeb and Rob can swamp the junk out of your room and get it ready for you.”

“I can—”

“You’ll be busy.”

“Right.”

Busy with you, please…

Don’t even go there, Taylor.

The never-ending dialogue in my head was getting confusing, and I never listened to my own advice, anyway. I would have been a lot easier to follow if he wasn’t standing so close, looking at me with that expression I couldn’t quite decipher, but was clearly not idle curiosity.

Chapter Six

I’d mucked and fed everything that needed mucking and feeding and it was too early to call it quits. Instead, I made a tour of the vegetable garden and decided the tomatoes were in most need of care. An hour and a half later, I had most of the plants staked and caged with rusty old cages I’d found at the edge of the garden. The weeds were giving way to my determined attack when an elderly gentleman hobbled out onto the back porch to peer at me over the rail.

“Hey there!” he called.

I straightened and nodded to him. “Hi.”

“Mighty generous of you to help, but if you don’t mind my asking, what the fuck are you doin’ in my vegetables?”

I blinked at him a moment, then squared my shoulders and pulled off my gloves. A few steps brought me to the grass beside the porch and I held up a hand to him. “Name’s Taylor Anderson. Jim just hired me this afternoon. He told me to muck the stalls and feed the horses. Did that. I’m just waitin’ on him to go git cleaned up.”

“Hired you, huh?” He looked me up and down and nodded, as though he’d confirmed something to himself. “‘Nuther one of ol’ Matt’s cast-offs, then.”

“Cast-offs?”

Fucking old bastard.

I dropped my arm to my side and took a step back. “Matt helped me out,” I said, stiffly. “He’s a good man. No need to speak of him like that. I’ll leave your tomatoes alone, sir.”

I heard him chuckling as I walked off.

“Hey!” he called after me, amusement still etching his voice.

“What?” I turned, irritated at the old guy’s attitude.

A heavy hand smacked across the back of my head. I whirled, my heart thudding heavily somewhere in my throat, hands raised. Nerves twitched and jangled, making my skin sizzle with fear.

Jim glared down at me. “Show some respect.”

I gritted my teeth, still jittery, and backed away from them both. “I apologise. Was there something else?” I tried my best to hide the nerves behind the ire. The old man’s knowing gaze told me he didn’t buy it for an instant.

“You can tell my idiot son dinner will have to wait. Weather’s moving in and the horses need lookin’ to.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, Dad.”

Jim and I answered at the same time, and his dark eyes smouldered as they met mine. I had no idea what was going through his head, but he was not smiling.

“Also, Anderson, I could use some help with the cucumbers, when you get a chance. Old knees. Just don’t bend like they used to.”

“I’d be happy to, sir.”

“Good.”

Jim stomped off towards the barn as I hauled the weeds I’d picked away to the compost pile. The back door of the house slammed behind me.

Jim was waiting at the compost. He watched, arms crossed, ass resting against a fence post, as I worked. “I appreciate you putting in a word for Matt,” he said at last.

“Wh—” I busied myself with the compost, turning the weeds under while I figured out where that came from. “It was just the truth. He helped me. More than he had to.”

“More than you put out for?”

Gritting my teeth around any number of ways to cuss him out, ignoring the way my insides liquefied into humiliation, I stirred, jamming the fork into the steaming pile of shit and hauling it over, burying the fresh, green wildflowers under the crap. “Don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“So you don’t deny it.”

“Matt is a good person.” I stuck to that fact, that decent truth so it didn’t get buried under the rest. “He went above and beyond for me. He didn’t have to do fuck all—”

“He’s like that.”

“Yeah.”

I didn’t notice he’d moved until he had a hand on the pitchfork and I could feel his body heat, even through the humid heat of the day. This time when my heart sped, the blood rushed decidedly south. I didn’t look at him, afraid he’d see the state of my cock in my eyes. Afraid he’d see I wasn’t anything more than a hired hand and a libido.

“Matt. He’s good people.”

“No argument here.” My voice lacked any kind of firmness. So much for hiding anything.

“He doesn’t send just anyone my way.”

“‘Matt’s cast-off’—”

“Don’t be puttin’ my father’s words in my mouth. He’s old fashioned. He doesn’t understand.”

Maybe it only bothered me so much because it was so close to being true, despite what I knew about how Matt and I had left things. “What’s to understand?”

His hot breath blew over my neck and his body pressed lightly against my back. “Matt would never send you here if he didn’t think you were good people, too. No matter what you might think to the contrary. He’s a very good judge of character.”

“Good enough to let you know I’m an easy fuck?”

Fuck. Think you’d have learned your lesson, Anderson.

I didn’t need to turn or look at him to feel the chill. “You’d like that.”

Maybe
.
Maybe not.

My breath came fast and hard, and damn if it didn’t turn me on, hard as I tried to not to let it. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” I snatched the fork out of his hand and tossed it in the wheelbarrow. Hard to storm off pushing a creaking old barrow, but I managed. “Rain’s comin’ We’ve got horses to look to.”

“You make friends with that grey yet?” he asked as he sauntered into the barn behind me, as though nothing had happened.

I swallowed my pride and played his game. “Not enough to ride. Not yet. He’s bitchy.” I turned a glare on Jim as he took a saddle off the rack. “Wonder where he gets it.”

He actually chuckled. “He’s dad’s horse. Ornery since he doesn’t get out any more.”

“That little red head looks likely,” I mentioned, wanting to keep my balance under his gaze. I could talk about horses. Just about anything else seemed to slide into innuendo I wasn’t quite sure either of us were comfortable with.

Jim nodded. His eyes narrowed slightly as he sized me up, probably deciding if I was small enough to ride the delicate animal. “She could use the exercise.”

Why did I get the feeling he was reluctant to let me ride the pretty little mare? She was friendly and seemed easy-going. “You have another ride in mind, just say the word.”

“No. Ride Kallie. She doesn’t get enough attention since—She needs to get out.”

Since what?

He picked out a saddle for her and dumped it on me.

“Let’s move out, then.”

The saddling up progressed in silence. Jim avoided looking me in the eye, and, oddly, also avoided looking at the little red horse I was saddling. He greeted his own with a warm word and quiet, undivided attention. He ignored the red.

“Ready?” he asked at last, as he swung up into the saddle. He tossed a speculative look at the sky. I followed his gaze. The clouds glowered down, a menacing weight above us.

The ride was quick, thankfully, though we didn’t escape the rain. The little red proved as sure footed and agile as she looked, and she didn’t show any signs of minding the rain. The other horses came willingly, answering her nicker long before they came to Jim’s calls. She confidently led the way back to the barn, stepping proud around the puddles, just like a lady.

Wiping down a dozen wet horses took more time than bringing them in had. That task was accomplished mostly in silence, as well. By the time we were done, I was exhausted. My arms ached, and I had to wonder where the fabled Jeb and his willowy, good-with-the-animals nephew were.

“So.” Jim tucked the curry combs and brushes away as I handed them over. “It’s late.”