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I looked at him then. Really looked at him. His clothing was as ridiculous as always—his jeans too tight and his shirt adorned with crystals that winked in the sun. He’d tied a scarf around his sequined hat, the tails of which trailed down his back. It was all so completely out of place out here in the scrub, but it was also so undeniably Richard.
I placed my hand on his knee as I passed him back the phone. “Thank you,” I said earnestly. “That’s really helpful.”
His grin faltered slightly, as if he suddenly didn’t know how to respond to appreciation or a genuine compliment. He glanced down at where my hand rested. Suddenly, I became acutely aware of the heat of him burning through his jeans and warming my palm.
Without thinking, I curled my fingers slightly, pressing into his thigh. He tensed, his legs squeezing tighter around Branson, causing the horse to sidestep and pull him out of reach. My hand fell to my side.
In the absence of his touch, my head cleared enough to realize I’d wandered into dangerous territory. I coughed lightly and stepped back toward my own horse. “Anyway, did Jed send you with a radio?” When I saw him nod, I continued. “Tell him Number 9012 isn’t close to delivering. He can pick her up tomorrow along with Number 9026 and her calf. Meanwhile, Number 9033 isn’t here, which means we’re going to have to keep looking.”
I quickly mounted Victory and skirted toward the edge of the field toward the gate, needing a bit of distance. I heard Richard on the radio as he trailed after me. He was all business, asking questions that Jed put to him and doing his best to help us communicate while I continued cutting through the herd with Birdie’s help.
After at least another hour of searching, I finally had to give up. “She’s not fucking here,” I muttered.
“I feel like you’ve already looked through this group three or four times,” Richard called out. “No luck?”
I shook my head. “We’re going to need to search some of the other pastures.”
“Could she have gotten out? Even with all of this fencing?”
I shrugged as I led Victory back to where Richard and Branson waited. “Not really, but she’s not here, so she has to be somewhere.” I was sure my frustration was clear in my voice, but there was no hiding it. I was angry. “Let’s take a break before we move on to the next pasture.”
I led us out of the pasture and down to the creek itself so the horses could enjoy a little cool water. When we arrived, I helped Richard out of the saddle and held his arm in anticipation of wobbly and sore legs.
He winced and nearly stumbled. “Oh god, my thighs no longer work. I’m never going to be able to walk properly again. How do you guys do this?”
I laughed and helped him over to a nearby stretch of early grass. “Believe it or not, you get used to it.”
“Listen,” he said, easing himself down to the ground. “I know you desperately wanted to have sex with me later, but I’m not going to be able to perform. Possibly ever again.”
Even though I knew he was kidding, his words went straight to my dick. I made a sputtering, choking noise and grunted out some kind of response about that not being necessary. Then I quickly returned to the horses, trying desperately not to picture Richard naked in the soft grass, a breeze teasing across his skin and drawing goose bumps.
“I was joking,” Richard called, sounding apologetic. “Sorry. It was inappropriate. You’re my boss. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
I waved my hand in the air dismissively. “Better than me saying it to you.”
I could have sworn he mumbled something under his breath that sounded like “I wish.” But I refused to believe he’d said it, much less actually meant it.
After helping the horses get a drink, I tied them to a nearby branch and pulled out a bag of sandwiches from the soft-sided cooler in my saddlebag, along with my water bottle. I grabbed Richard’s water bottle, too, and joined him on the ground.
“Stay hydrated. Your body probably isn’t used to this dry air yet,” I said, handing him his bottle and one of the sandwiches.
We ate and drank in an unexpectedly peaceful silence. Even after he was finished eating, Richard didn’t speak for a long while. He simply leaned back on his elbows, staring at the water and the mountains unfurling in the distance. Above us, the sky was an unending blue, and the spring breeze brought with it the smell of fresh dirt and the soft sound of a cow snorting in the nearby herd.
“You know what this place reminds me of?” He rolled his head in my direction. “This time when I was twelve and my parents took me to Grindelwald in the Swiss Alps. You know, with the mountains and all the green and the cows everywhere.”
