Page 9 of The Rancher’s Bride

I came for thirty days. And Damian Nash is getting more than one.

Before sunrise, heavy footsteps cross the hallway and descend the stairs. The back door closes a few moments later. I wait until the house goes quiet, then get dressed and head outside.

The morning air is already warm. I follow the scrape of metal against wood and find Damian inside the barn, working a pitchfork through dirty bedding. His hat is pushed back, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, and the muscles beneath his shirt shift with every movement.

He glances over. “You lost?”

The tension from last night remains between us, nearly as unpleasant as the smell in the barn. I resist matching his tone. “Is there something I can help with?”

His eyebrows rise. “You really offering?”

“Yes.”

He nods toward another pitchfork. “Muck out the next stall. Dirty bedding goes in the wheelbarrow.”

It takes less than five minutes to realize the job is much harder than Damian makes it look. The fork is heavy, the bedding fights every attempt to lift it, and sweat gathers at the back of my neck before I’ve filled half the wheelbarrow.

Damian finishes his stall while I’m still struggling through mine. I can feel him watching me, but I refuse to slow down.

When the wheelbarrow is finally full, I grab the handles.

“Leave it,” he says.

“I can manage,” I insist.

“You’re going to dump it.”

“I’m not.”

One wheel catches on the uneven floor, and the load tilts. I wrench it straight before anything spills. Damian lets out a low sound behind me.

I send a look over my shoulder. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.” He comes closer and reaches for one of the handles. “Move.”

“I’ve got it.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m working.”

“You’re killing yourself trying to prove something. Take a break.”

“I’ll decide when I need a break.”

He huffs a laugh. “You’re going to be too sore to move tomorrow.”

“That’s my problem.”

“Not if I have to listen to you complain about it.”

“I don’t complain.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

I release the wheelbarrow before I’m tempted to shove it into him. Damian takes it from me without another word and wheels it out of the barn. By the time he comes back with it empty, I’ve managed to cool off.

“Honestly, I don’t know why the agency thought we’d be compatible in the first place,” I say.