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“Tyler Becker.”
I’m so intrigued by this man. By this Tyler Becker. He seems to be in his early thirties, thirty-four if I had to guess. I’m only twenty-two and never thought I’d be into an older man, but I’m starting to rethink that. He’s got such a confident assuredness about him. It’s incredibly sexy.
He continues backing up, and again, he’s showing complete confidence in his abilities. The fear of tumbling off the mountain dissipates a little with each skilled movement of his truck.
“So, what do you do for work up here? Or, do you just live off the land?” I wouldn’t be surprised if he said that he built this truck from scratch.
“I own a business.”
“Oh yeah?”
He nods as he maneuvers around a steep bend. There’s about a foot of shrubs past the road and then the land falls off into a foresty abyss. My stomach sinks. I have to close my eyes so I don’t scream.
“I’m a wrangler.”
“A what?”
He chuckles. “I have twelve horses and a few employees. I carved out some trails through the mountain and we take tourists on them. Some of the sights are breathtaking.”
I swallow hard as my eyes roam down his chest while he’s turned, looking out the back windshield. “I bet.”
“It’s an easy-going life. I like being in nature every day.”
That’s what I would like. To be around horses. To be more in touch with nature. Well, if I had a strong capable man to do all the stuff I don’t want to do like pushing my car out of the mud and other dirty stuff like that.
“And what about you? Tell me all about yourself, princess. Sorry, I mean, Carrie.”
I’m not minding the princess thing so much anymore. If he thinks I should be worshipped, then who am I to argue? I kinda wish I just kept my mouth shut about it.
“I live in Calgary.”
“Canada?” he asks, whipping his head around. A look of disappointment fills his brown eyes.
“What? You don’t like Canadians?”
“It’s not that… It’s just…”
“What?”
He huffs out a breath as he turns back to the road. “Nothing. What do you do in Calgary?”
“I work in a boutique marketing firm. Do you know that jingle for Watson’s paper towels?”
He just looks at me.
“You know that song that goes ‘Counters, floors, and tables, Watson’s is able, Paper towels on the scene, To keep your house clean.’?”
He keeps looking at me.
“It’s pretty popular. It played during the World Cup. It was trending for an afternoon on YouTube too.”
There’s zero recognition on his face.
“I don’t have a TV.”
Of course, you don’t.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Well, I came up with it.”
