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Her mind shot to Tripp. And last night.
“And honey, Tripp is a good friend to have,” her grandmother said as if reading her mind. “I urge you to mend your differences.”
Charlotte glanced at the notepad again, wanting to talk about anything but the sinful Tripp Montgomery and “mending” their differences.
“Hey, Grammy?” she asked, examining the paper again. “Who’s Wynonna?”
“She’s my dairy cow. Gotta relieve her every day and get that milk.”
Mental note: YouTube how to milk a cow.
Chapter Four
Charlotte slipped and fell on her ass for the third time in as many hours. Three days into life in Cheyenne and she was already rocking some serious bruises on her butt.
She was ready to burn her boots in the fiery pits of hell. Or a bonfire. Which would require YouTubing “how to build a bonfire.” Yes, they were cute, but they had no traction. And between running around, feeding chickens, and trying to corral Wynonna the barn, she was slipping, sliding, and cursing all over the place.
She was also covered in chicken shit and smelled like the back end of Wynonna. Not her best look.
She needed new boots. Sturdy ones. Clearly she’d have to add “trip into town for boots” to her list. A pair of sturdy jeans wouldn’t hurt, either. Her designer jeans were taking a beating.
She blew a lock of hair out of her face. It was 10:00 a.m., she’d been awake for hours, and she was determined to get this damn cow milked by noon. There was an extensive list of instructions on how to pasteurize the milk, but she’d worry about that later.
“Can you please just get your big ass over there?” Charlotte grumbled at Wynonna, and pushed her again. She’d almost gotten her to the stall where the bench and pail were waiting. She’d seen movies. Did some quick Google searches, and had the gist of how to milk a cow. Couldn’t be that hard.
She just needed the stubborn cow to scoot.
“Seriously, you are the biggest diva I’ve ever met. Do you think this is fun for me? Hauling your massive ass around this damn farm?”
Wynonna just mooed at her as if she were giving her a big middle finger.
“Yeah well, mooo you, too,” Charlotte said.
“Those are pretty tough words coming from a woman who’s easily a thousand pounds smaller than that old girl,” a husky voice said from the barn doorway.
She looked over the cow, blowing yet another lock of hair out of her face, to see Tripp standing there, looking hot and calm and cowboy as hell.
“Are you making a habit of sneaking up on me in the middle of a rant?” she asked. “If you’re here to snap at me again, save your breath, I’m busy.”
He winced. “Showing up when you need help isn’t a habit—it’s a happy coincidence. Like last time, I’m here to save the day.”
“No saving needed. I’ve got this.” She pushed Wynonna again and around a grunt, said, “So move along to your own cows.”
Tripp strode into the barn, took Wynonna by the neck, and angled her snout to where he wanted her to go…and that bitch went.
At least now she could milk her. Didn’t mean she needed his help. All she knew was Tripp looked way too good to be this close to her in a private place. The man knew how to rock a T-shirt, worn jeans, and day-old stubble like no one else. His biceps were tan from days spent working in the sun, and the muscles were even more dominant that she remembered. He was solid, built, and oh so capable of a lot.
She had a vision of him taking her over the hay bale—
Stop.
She needed to get him out of there and stop their encounters before she lost her cool, or her panties.
“I trust you can see yourself out?”
…
“You’re salty today,” Tripp said, leaning an elbow on the back haunches of Wynonna. He deserved it after what an ass he’d been the day before, but still.
