Page 103 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

“How does lunch sound?”

I narrowed my eyes. “For a fence?”

“You said I had to give you a price.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“I love food, and I don’t need your money, sweetheart.”

Of course he didn’t. Meanwhile, I’d spent half the night calculating whether Marigold Ranch could afford to replace a cooling unit without sacrificing something else.

“Lunch doesn’t pay for lumber.”

“No, but I get parts at cost, we’ve probably got half of what we need lying around the shop, and Jax owes me.”

“For what?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

I stared at him.

There was no pity in his expression, which somehow made arguing harder. He wasn’t looking around Marigold Ranch like he’d found some poor woman incapable of keeping her own property standing. To Beau, it seemed as simple as having two capable hands and knowing where they could be useful.

I still hated it.

Just not enough to say no.

“One lunch.”

“Deal.”

Chapter

Twelve

BEAU

By ten-thirty Saturday morning, Jax had threatened to murder me twice, sell our half of Jones Automotive once, and leave me stranded at Marigold Ranch no fewer than four times.

We’d been there three hours.

I was having a pretty good day.

“You’re enjoying this.”

I glanced across the section of pasture we’d been working on since shortly after sunrise. Jax stood beside the truck with his T-shirt darkened down the center of his chest and dirt streaked across one cheek. The September sun had burned through the thin layer of clouds hours ago, leaving us without so much as a breeze to cut through the thick Georgia heat.

He looked miserable.

I drove the shovel into the loose dirt around the newest fence post and packed it down with my boot. “Enjoying what?”

“This.” He waved one gloved hand at the fence, pasture, tools scattered in the grass, and possibly the entire ranch. “Manual labor we’re not being paid for.”

“We do manual labor every day.”

“In an air-conditioned garage.”

“The bays aren’t air-conditioned.”