Page 57 of The Cowboy and the Stray

I slid behind the wheel again and, out of pure stubbornness, mashed the clutch and tried to remember what gear was what. The engine coughed to life, and for a minute, it looked like maybe I wouldn’t humiliate myself.

That lasted all of twelve seconds, until the transmission ground, the clutch stuck, and the whole rig lurched backward right through a section of the barbed wire fence that kept the livestock out of the hayfields.

The wire twanged, and two wooden posts toppled dramatically. I froze, hands locked on the wheel, like maybe if I didn’t move, Calder wouldn’t see it. As if the loudest fence-crash in Texas wasn’t obvious.

Gray lost his composure and howled with laughter. Even Reid cracked a smirk. Calder just dragged a hand down his face and muttered something that sounded like, “One more day,” before turning to the damage.

I climbed down, cheeks burning. “Do I get points for originality?”

“Points for something,” Calder said. He stood, stared at the mess, and then at me. There was a twitch at the corner of his mouth he was fighting hard. “That fence was ugly anyway.”

I couldn’t tell if he was angry or just resigned, but he didn’t yell. I don’t think he ever did, actually. Instead, he grabbed a pair of wire cutters, a post-hole digger, and a battered toolbox from the shed. “Come on,” he said, handing me the digger.

“Am I on repair duty?” I asked.

“You broke it, you fix it,” he said. “I’ll supervise.”

Gray offered to help, but Calder sent him and Reid back to the barn to finish up the chores. “We’ll catch up,” he said. There was something almost mischievous in his eyes, which made me way more nervous than if he’d just told me to go home and never touch his tractor again.

The walk to the fence was awkward. I kept replaying the crash in my head, wondering how long it would take me to become less of a disaster. I watched Calder out of the corner of my eye, how the line of his jaw was set but not sharp. “Sorry,” I said.

He glanced over, a half-second’s pause before he answered. “Not the first fence I’ve lost to a rookie,” he said. “Won’t be the last.”

“I just wanted to help,” I mumbled.

“You are.” He gestured to the ruined wire. “Not a lot of people would stick it out past the first week. Most would have left by now.” He watched me then, a strange intensity in his gaze. “You’re not most people.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just stared at the hay bales until the silence became unbearable.

We got to work. Calder showed me how to set the new post, how to pack the dirt around it and thread the new wire through the barbs. His hands worked fast and sure, and I watched him, trying to memorize the movement. The sun was up high now, making everything shimmer.

At some point I wiped my brow with my arm and realized I’d gotten sweat in my eyes. I blinked and it stung, and for a minute it seemed like I might cry, which would have been the absolute cherry on top of my morning.

Calder caught me blinking and rummaged in his pocket for something. He pulled out a bandana, red and stained with what I hoped was grease, and offered it to me.

I reached out to take it, but my hands were filthy, so I hesitated. He noticed, and without warning, he used the bandana himself, reaching out to wipe the sweat from my temple and down my neck. The touch surprised me, not because it was forward but because it was so gentle.

His thumb grazed my collarbone, and I forgot how to breathe. When he realized what he was doing, he jerked his hand back with the bandana, like maybe he’d burned himself.

“Sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay,” I managed, clutching the bandana to my face so I didn’t have to look at him.

We worked in silence after that. I hammered in the last staple while Calder tightened the wire with a tool that looked medieval. I watched the muscles in his arms as he cranked the handle, and tried not to think about how my heart was beating out Morse code.

When the fence was straight and true again, I dusted off my hands. “You gonna tell everyone I killed your tractor and your fence in one day?”

He tilted his head, considering. “Might leave out the tractor part,” he said. “But only if you promise not to do it again.”

I grinned. “Deal.”

We stood there for a second, staring at the fence like maybe if we looked away it would fall over again. Calder rocked back on his heels, hands in his pockets. “You did good,” he said, so quietly I almost missed it.

“Even after I destroyed it?”

“Especially after.” He looked at me then, and it wasn’t the same look he gave his horses, or the ranch, or even his grandmother. It was something that hit lower, right where my courage lived. I had the sudden urge to say something big and bold, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Thanks,” I said, which was laughably inadequate.