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“Fuck.” Ridge bites back a hot, angry look. “I hate that shit. People who don’t look after their animals properly ought to get the same treatment. Call me old fashioned.”
My heart skips a beat. Ridiculous or not, there’s something extra sexy about the way he tenses up and scowls when he goes all Captain America.
It’s one of the mysteries of the universe.
Why do some guys look so hot when they’re pissed?
“Exactly. Rosie came around rather quickly, but Stern, well…besides being brushed, he doesn’t like tons of attention. He just—”
A noise like a bellowing trumpet makes me jump out of my skin.
“Told ya,” Ridge says. “Set of lungs on that boy could wake the damn dead.”
Shaking off the adrenaline rush, I laugh as I look up. Cornelius flaps his wings overhead, perched on an open crossbeam, looking down at us with his beady black eyes.
“He doesn’t have an internal clock. He just belts out a wake-up call whether it’s eight a.m. or noon or two in the morning.” Ridge gazes up at Cornelius with an icy scowl as the rooster struts along the beam. “He doesn’t much care where he shits, either. So watch out.”
“Oh? So you’ve taken a direct hit?” I lift a hand, trying to push the giggle back into my mouth.
“A few too many,” Ridge grunts. “I swear he just does it for amusement, too, the cheeky bastard. That’s the worst part. Just my luck that I wound up with one disturbed, nasty-ass bird.”
“How’d he even get up there? Seems awfully high.” I glance around the barn and don’t see a direct route the rooster might’ve taken to get on the beam. I know they can’t just get that high straight off the ground.
“Who knows,” Ridge says, stepping gracefully out of Cornelius’ range. “He’s had the run of the barn for months now, and he’s been in every nook and cranny. He’s probably got a secret passage or something.”
My curiosity keeps growing by the minute.
“So, you retired and wanted a little peace and quiet,” I wave the brush. “Why North Dakota?”
He pats Stern on the rump one more time before stepping out of the stall, dusting himself off.
“Got a good deal on the land. With the kind of agents who deal in high-end real estate back in L.A., it’s not a question of if you’ll land what you want, but when.” He pauses to set the brush he’d used back on the shelf. “Dallas is a nice little town. It already had its fair share of drama over the local oil company and the chick who inherited it a couple years back, so I knew moving here wouldn’t raise many eyebrows.”
I put away the brush I’d used on Rosie. “Raise eyebrows?”
“Being famous will do that. People will mob you for selfies or go through a gauntlet just for a handshake and a smile,” he tells me. “Mom raised me to appreciate the fans, and I do, but I’m no saint. It gets old real fast having to chart out your whole day’s routine just to make sure you’re not drowning in legions of screaming people or assholes with their cameras when all you want is a beer and a burger.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry, dumb question.”
Again, I’d forgotten just how famous he is.
“No need to apologize.” He shrugs and steps away, heading for a large stack of hay bales where he plucks out a long straw and sticks it in the corner of his mouth to chew on.
Holy hell.
Forget Pissed Off Ridge.
I think Cowboy Straw-In-His-Mouth Ridge might be my new favorite.
Which, I guess makes me no better than the admirers who can make his life miserable in the space of a heartbeat.
“Frankly, I’m not sorry. Not for retiring or moving out here.” Glancing around and still chewing on the straw, he waves me closer, gestures to have me sit on a smaller square bale next to him.
“Well, looks like you’re set up for the long haul. How’d you even find a lot with this much land?” I ask, careful not to let myself gawk at him too long—especially when a sunbeam falls across his face, turning him into an image straight out of a Western flick.
“The people I bought this place from only owned it a little over a year. A new field manager over at the North Earhart oil fields who’d bitten off more than he could chew with an acreage this size. Nothing else my crew had to do except tear down the old structures and get to work building. I told them to give me everything plus the kitchen sink. Tobin warned me not to go crazy. Surprise—I didn’t listen.”
I bite back a grin.
Guess that explains why there’s plenty of hay for Rosie and Stern, and why the house seems so sterile.
No one’s ever made it a home.
