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At least, that was what I told myself as I handed Drake and Paul tools half an hour later.
“Ever been around a tractor?” Paul asked.
I stayed silent, leaning against the toolbox as I stared off into the horizon.
“Earth to city girl, hello?” Paul asked.
“Yes. I’ve been around a tractor,” I said.
“Did ya think it was sexy?” Drake asked.
“Shitty song reference, but thanks for trying,” I said.
“That hurt. That song’s a classic,” Paul said. “Could you hand me a bigger wrench? This ain’t doin’ it.”
I took the wrench Paul was holding up to me as I traded it for one a few sizes up.
“You looked good wranglin’ that calf,” Paul said. “Took off pretty quick.”
“Because you were too busy whining about needing a horse while that poor thing wandered toward wildcat territory,” I said.
“Man, she’s a spitfire, ain’t she?” Paul asked.
“Told you,” Drake said. “Pass me the pliers, would ya?”
I grabbed the pliers and tossed them at Drake, watching as he caught them expertly in the palm of his hand.
Pity. I was hoping they’d smack him right in his smug face.
The entire day went like that. I didn’t get one solid break to call Hank at all, and something told me Drake had planned the day that way. I was really going to hate this fucking job. If Drake wasn’t bossing me around like some fucking ranch hand on his farm, he was drinking from the flask he thought he was hiding. I saw him tip it back at least twice before he went back up to the house unannounced.
If I had to venture a guess, I would say he had been filling the damn thing back up.
That was probably how he had worked all day without stopping to eat. He drank water and booze like a fucking camel, but shit like that suppressed the appetite. And depending on the concentration of the alcohol he was consuming, that was probably how he stayed so fit. Farm life like this, plus not eating the calories he needed to keep up with the energy he exerted, resulted in the sinewy body plastered on the few magazine covers he had done over the course of his career. Though nothing could hide the bags under his eyes.
I guess dehydrated alcoholic was the new sexy.
As the sun started to set, my shirt was plastered to me. I was soaked to the bone with sweat as I stumbled to my truck. I flung the door open and dug through my truck, finding a box of granola bars I’d tossed in there. I unwrapped three of them and scarfed them down, trying to get my stomach to stop growling long enough for me to wrap my head around things. I found a bottle of lukewarm water tumbling around in the back, so I grabbed it and twisted the top off.
I threw it back, chugging it down as sweat dripped down my neck.
I was exhausted. My feet hurt, my back hurt, and my stomach was still growling. My head was dizzy from the lack of food, and my throat was still burning for more water. I leaned against my truck, polishing off the water bottle as I heard footsteps approaching me.
I didn’t have to look over to know who it was.
I tossed the empty bottle into the bed of the truck and turned my eyes toward Drake. I wiped the sweat off my brow as the sun continued to sink below the trees. Night time was coming, blanketing the whole of Nashville in a cool evening breeze. At any other time, I would’ve tilted my head toward the sky and counted the stars starting to pop up overheard. I would’ve tried to find my favorite constellations and recall the stories my father used to tell me about them.
I shook my head, shoving the painful memories to the back of my mind.
Drake crouched down beside me, knocking his knuckles up against the tires of my truck. He looked up at me, an impressed little grin on his face. I wanted to stick my muddy boot right in his ass.
The breeze was blowing, making me cold as fuck, and his grin morphed from impressed to devious as I bit the inside of my cheek.
I wasn’t a violent person, but I considered it with him.
“Well you weren’t totally useless today,” he said, as he stood up.
His gaze fell over my chest for the briefest of moments.
