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I blink at her. Her defined dark eyebrows rise in a question. "Uh, well, it's not a table, ma'am. It's a spool left behind by the cable company?"
Her expression does not change. "And how many more do you have?"
I stuff my hands in my pockets and study the ceiling of the barn for answers. "Well, I think I might have a spool of rope somewhere around here but it's not this big."
Ally doesn't look upset or impatient, but all business. "Right, OK. So this is the table I want for the reception. Exactly like this. We'll need at least ten. How many can you get?"
I pull off my hat and scratch the top of my head. "I guess I can check at the utility company and see if there's something like that they're not using…"
Ally seems satisfied with that and walks off to measure the barn windows, chattering about how she'll remember to wear jeans tomorrow and maybe pick up some boots. When she senses me still standing there watching her, she turns and smiles at me. "So are you gonna call them or?"
"Oh, you mean right now?" The smile she shoots my direction says she caught me staring at her ass, and she doesn't hate it. What are we doing here? Are we working or are we flirting? Sam would have my hide if he saw me wasting her time like this.
Right. Time to stop staring at that tight little body, that skirt that's beyond ridiculous for someone to wear while trying to do any kind of work on a ranch — even if that work is wedding-related — not to mention that form-fitting blazer that looks like it's just barely constraining two softball-sized melons.
I'm the worst. I'm not the best man, I'm the worst man. I'm a pervert, still staring at that dangerous silhouette, not even trying to hide it.
"Yeah, now would be good. And if they need the tables returned to them, please tell them we're going to paint them white, I hope that's OK."
Again, I scratch my head. "I don't think that'll fly, but…"
It seems like the more she sashays those hips around the barn, the faster she talks.
"Well, that's all right, you just tell them," she says, skittering off to measure the corner of the room. "You tell them this is what we want or we go to another vendor. I know it sounds harsh so if you need me to do it, I can do it."
I hesitate, looking at my phone. "Thing is, I don't think the utility company is gonna care either way if we walk."
"Fine, I'll just buy them, I'm sure I'll be able to reuse them. As soon as I 'gram this wedding, everyone is going to want spool wedding tables for their reception."
"Gram?"
She pauses to think on that for a moment and then clears her head. "Instagram."
"Oh, right. I don't have one of those," I say, for no reason I can think of. Why am I still talking and not making calls? Good gravy, this woman. How is it that I'm the best ranch manager in three states but I can't manage to get my ass in gear with this little lady bossing me around?
She turns to me for a second, her rigid tape measure stretched out about eight inches. She taps the end of it thoughtfully against her cheek, and I feel a bonfire blazing in my belly at the things I'm thinking about. If she knew the things I'd like to press against her soft cheeks, she'd smack me clean across the face and I would say nothing but "much obliged to you, ma'am."
I am not the good boy she thinks I am.
She suspects nothing, just smiles and lifts one eyebrow. "You should, you know. Nice looking cowboy like you would have a zillion followers in a hot second. All you need is a good photographer to follow you around all day long."
I shake my head. "All of that sounds like my personal nightmare."
She laughs with a charming little snort and gets back to work. I like how she's not one of those people who covers up her mouth while she laughs. I dial up the utility company and get transferred about fifteen times before leaving a random voicemail, probably somewhere in Timbuktu. I hang up and wait for my next set of instructions.
Ally is moving efficiently as she can in those heels and I have to tamp down the urge to carry her again. Her feet must be killing her. "So the petting zoo will go over here. And the cake cutting stage over here, but we'll need to move these water troughs. Is that going to be a problem in any way?"
A petting zoo? A cake-cutting stage? I'm starting to think I should have never let her down off the horse, but instead I say, "Not a problem at all, ma'am. You'll get everything you need."
Chapter Eight
Ally
Why does the party supply store put the best stuff on the top shelf?
Story of my life.
"Here, let me."
