“I’m not telling you anything. But let’s say I did. I knew you were bad in bed, Sean, but I didn’t realize how selfish you were until Seth.” She turned on her heel and started away.
He sneered after her. “I can get you fired over that.”
Ryan whirled, anger flashing in her eyes. “Try it. Doris likes me a hell of a lot more than she likes you, you fake jerk.”
Sean opened his mouth to say something, but when he looked behind her, she glanced over her shoulder to see Seth approaching through the dusty afternoon light, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the floor of the barn.
“You were going to say something?” She smirked.
He leaned closer to her, close enough that she could smell his cologne mingling with leather and horse. “This conversation isn’t over.”
“Oh, trust me, it is. You should soak your feet. You can barely walk.” Her eyes dropped to his gleaming black boots; the leather creased with fresh wear. “No wonder they hurt. Did you have to buy a pair with those pointed toes that look like miniature daggers? I bet you wanted them because you think they’re more stylish than anything practical for ranch work.”
“I thought they were sharp looking,” he said, shifting his weight uncomfortably.
Ryan laughed. “Oh, they’re definitely sharp looking. In more ways than one.”
“Roach killer boots,” Seth said as he reached them, wiping his hands on his worn jeans.
“Roach killer boots?” Sean’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.
“Yeah, the name comes from the idea that the boots’ needle-sharp toes could be used to kill a roach if it ran into a corner.” Seth smirked.
Ryan burst out laughing, her shoulders shaking. “Perfect. Roach killer boots,” she said, laughing as she moved around him.
****
Seth folded his arms across his chest, shoulders blocking out the sun. He cocked his head, eyes narrowed and studied Hayes under the barn’s dusty eaves.
Hayes shifted his weight, smoothing the crease in his crisp shirt. “I hope to get in some good questions today, Seth,” he said against the low murmur of restless horses.
At the formal use of his name, Seth’s brows shot up. He glanced down at Hayes’ polished boots, then shook his head.
“Are you sure you’re up to it?” Seth’s tone was low.
Hayes forced a grin. “Yes. I’m a professional. Nothing’s going to interfere with my work.” His smile faltered, revealing anxiety.
“Alright,” Seth said. “But it’ll have to be from horseback.” He almost laughed when Hayes’ face went pale.
“I’d rather not.”
“No? You said you’d ridden before.”
“It was a long time ago,” Hayes admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
Seth nodded. “I see. Well, if you won’t, I’ll have to have the magazine send someone else. I do a lot of riding when I check the fields and fences.”
Hayes’s jaw clenched. “Couldn’t you use one of those four-wheelers you have?”
“I could,” Seth said, inhaling the sweet, dusty scent of hay, “but there are areas they can’t get through, whereas horses can slip through nearly anywhere. I need to inspect the fence lines.”
Hayes’ voice dropped. “Can’t you send someone else?”
Stepping closer, Seth’s boots crunched on straw. “I could. But I do my part on this ranch. So, either let me saddle you up, or you call your boss to get someone else here. I’m not trying to be a prick about it, but as I said, I do my part and it’s my turn to check the fence.” He stared at Hayes.
“We could do it this evening.”
“Look, Mr. Hayes, I work from dawn to sometimes long after the sun sets. When I get done for the day, I sure as hell don’t feel like doing an interview that late.”
