Cowboy Alpha Billionaire Bad Boy: F#cking Jerk 1 Page 3

Being reasonably well seasoned, the pan wasn’t totally dry. But it was pure hell getting the cooked egg off the surface. By the time I killed the heat, much of it was permanently glued to the black metal. I grabbed a spoon and scraped off as much as I could and stuffed it into my mouth. I’d tasted better but I didn’t give a damn. It was food. Protein. And right now it was all I was going to get.

  Thank God one of the girls had laid an egg for me.

  Hardly feeling satisfied, but grateful nonetheless, I headed back outside to start the chores. I found Clay sitting on top of a tractor, still stuffing his face.

  From my brief inspection of the books, I knew I was paying that man a decent amount of money per hour. As far as I could tell, he’d spent most of that hour packing away baked goods. On my dime.

  I pointed at him. “From now on, you start work at seven-thirty.”

  He checked his watch. “Okay, boss. Seven-thirty it is.” Then he took another monster bite of baked heaven. I had to swallow hard because of all the drool collecting in my mouth, watching him. Not that it was his fault I was starving and he was devouring half a dozen donuts by himself. He’d offered to share. And I’d refused. But still, did he have to eat right in front of my face?

  I headed to the barn. Nothing killed a girl’s raging appetite faster than mountains of shit.

  Inside the cool, dusty barn, I inhaled deeply. Ah, shit. I’d forgotten how bad it smelled. Potent stuff.

  I grabbed the manure rake and headed to the first stall. Crotch Rocket (aka Rocket) gave me a look I’d seen before. The Arabian with a mean streak as wide as the fucking Mississippi, Rocket and I have never been on good terms. The one and only time I rode him, he did everything he could to knock me off. Since then I’d avoided him.

  Much like Clay.

  Now I couldn’t avoid either of them.

  Hopefully those two wouldn’t make the next five years of my life absolute hell.

  Miracles could happen. Right?

  Chapter 3

  By seven-thirty A.M. I’d had enough shit to last a lifetime. But things were looking up. Way, way up.

  Maybe I’d been looking at this thing all wrong, like a prison sentence to be served. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad spending five years here.

  I’d never seen so much mantitty in one place, not even that time my bestie at school and I had gone to that male stripper show. This was a real life Chippendales review. Only better. Because I was the only girl here to enjoy the show.

  The ranch was teeming with men. Crawling with them. Young, buff, tanned, beautiful men with bodies that boasted muscles honed by real, hard work not playing with iron in a gym.

  Firm asses. Broad shoulders.

  Ohhh, yeah. Aunt Sandee sure knew how to pick them.

  No wonder her employee costs were out of this world.

  I stood in wonder and soaked in all that scrumptious beefcake.

  She loved me. By God, she loved me! Thank you, Aunt Sandee.

  “You look like the wolf that’s just been let loose in the hen house,” someone said behind me.

  Was it that obvious?

  A tiny bit embarrassed, I tried to wipe the goonish grin off my face and turned to see who had caught me drooling over the help.

  Clay. Of course.

  I gave him some squinty eyes. “Don’t you have something better to do than stand around and watch me?”

  “No, there’s nothing better than watching you. But I do have work to do.” He slapped his gloves against his rock-hard thighs. “And so I’ll be off. I’ve got to run into town to pick up some supplies. Be back in a couple of hours.” He turned and took a couple of loping steps while I waged an internal war.

  I could ask him to buy some groceries for me.

  Or I could be proud and stupid. And starve.

  “Wait!” I called out to his broad back.

  He turned, crooked smile in place. “You called, ba--boss?”

  “I need some things. A few things. For the ranch. If I give you a list would you buy them for me?”

  “I might be able to do that.”

  Might? He was on the clock, dammit. I wasn’t going to pay him any more than what he was already getting. I gave him a glare that told him so.

  He chuckled, the rumbling vibrations taking hold of my nerves and shaking them up. How I despised the way he affected me. Not just my mood or my thoughts but my body, too. He made me feel hot and twitchy and I didn’t like it. Not at all. It was as if my body remembered it had once belonged to him and it didn’t want to give that up. It warmed for him. It got damp for him. Even when I was wishing he’d fall off the face of the earth.

  “Just pullin’ your strings,” he said. “Of course I’ll buy what you need. Where’s your list?”

  “I don’t have one. Give me a minute.” I looked down at my empty hands and at his, also empty. I needed paper. A pencil. I raised an index finger then dashed into the house.

  Pencil. Paper.

  I dug through kitchen drawers. None.

  I ran to my bedroom. I knew I had some there. In one of my boxes. But which one?

  I faced Mount College Crap and ripped open the top box. Books. Books. Books. No paper. Shit.

  I shoved that box off the top. It hit the floor, thud. The second box was full of useless crap too And the third.

  I heard a chuckle from the doorway, and a little jolt of electricity sizzled up my spine. Did the man ever knock? Or did he enjoy sneaking up on me?

  “Need some help, darlin’?”

  “No. And my name is Morgan. Remember?”

  “All right, then. I’ll just wait.”

  He was waiting. Right over there. I could feel his presence. It created a warm sensation on my back. And prickles at my nape.

  I shoved box three off Mount College Crap and dug into box four.

  “What’re you lookin’ for?” he asked.

  “Paper. Pencil.” I lock of hair flopped over my eyes and I finger-combed it back into place, tucking it behind my ear.

  “Well, if you’d asked for some, I would’ve given it to you.” He stomped away, heavy boots clomping down the hallway, stopping somewhere in the house then returning to my door. “Here you go.” He rammed his arm at me, hand curled around a pencil and piece of clean, white paper.

  “Thank you.”

  “For future information, living room. Desk drawer.”

  “Of course.” I did a mental head smack. Of course that was where the paper and pencils would be, the desk. Why was I so flaky today? Overdose of pheromones? Or brain damage from yesterday’s crash?

  I plopped down on my bed and started scribbling down a list of the barest essentials I would need for the next few days. When I handed it to him, I said, “Thank you. I’m assuming you have a company credit card to pay?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. I guess that’s it.”

  He turned to leave. “Be back in a few.”

  My eyes went straight to his bluejean-clad butt.

  “Looking at my ass again?” he asked, as if he could tell exactly what I was doing.

  Jerk.

  My face flamed. “No!”

  He turned around. His grin was wider than the freaking Grand Canyon. “Gotcha!”

  I wanted to slap him. But I didn’t. For one, he was doing me a huge favor by going to the store for me. And two, I didn’t need him crying employee-abuse. I wouldn’t put it past him.

  Once Clay’s truck had skidded out of its parking spot, sending a cloud of dust into the air, I went back outside to see what all the other men were up to.

  As much as it pained me, I had to make some cuts. I couldn’t afford to pay this many men. Not the way the ranch was going now, barely making enough from the meager lease payments it was collecting from neighboring farmers for the back acreage and the little it would get when we sold the beef cattle in the fall. There wasn’t a way to make more money. So I had to spend less. A lot less.

  My eyes scanned the landscape.

  So gorgeous. L
ots of rough terraine. Hills and valleys.

  Oh, and the land was pretty too, but not as glorious as the boys working for me.

  How would I decide who should stay and who should go? And once I did decide that, how would I tell the ones I had to fire that they didn’t have a job anymore?

  Being a business owner sucked.

  I watched a few mount horses with ease and gallop off to move the herd from one pasture to another. I watched others working the land where the kitchen garden would go. And others busied themselves with various pieces of equipment--tractors, mowers. I caught sight of one guy with grease up to his elbows.

  Aha! A mechanic. Now, he would come in handy.

  I donned my best friendly-boss face and moseyed up to him, admiring the flex of sinewous muscle in his shoulder as he fought with a tight bolt. “Excuse me,” I said. “When you get a minute I’d like to talk with you.”

  He lifted his head, revealing striking blue eyes, a set of chiseled cheekbones and a big black smudge of grease across his forehead. “Sure.” He smiled, displaying a set of blindlingly white, straight teeth.

  “Thanks.”

  Stepping away from him, I continued to watch the other men. They all looked busy. Most of them were doing things I couldn’t. Like patching the roof of the barn. There was no way I’d climb up there.

  It looked like everyone had a job to do and was doing it. How would I decide who should stay and who should go? It was going to take some time to figure it out.

  “’Scuse me, ma’am. You wanted to talk to me?” My grease monkey asked, his blackened hands gripping a rag as oily as they were.

  “Yes.” I motioned to my car. “I was wondering if you could take a look at this. I couldn’t get it started yesterday.”

  “Sure.” He stopped at the front. “Go ahead and pop the hood.”

  I reached inside and pulled the lever, unlatching the hood. Then I watched his biceps flex as he lifted it. Not a bad sight at all. I lost sight of him once the hood was propped open.

  “What’s it doing?” he asked.

  “Turning over but not starting,” I answered, standing next to the open driver’s side door.

  “Okay.”

  A few rattles and clanks followed. Then, “Go ahead and try it.”

  Shocked to hear he was ready for me to try starting it already, I ran back to the house, grabbed the keys, and plugged them in the ignition. The car turned over once, twice, three times and then the engine sputtered to life.

  Was it that simple? He hadn’t changed a part.

  “It started!” I shouted as I circled around to the front. “You’re a magician.”

  “No, just a mechanic, ma’am.”

  “A mechanic who performs magic,” I confirmed. There was no way this man was getting away from me. There were far too many machines on this property to keep running, beyond my piece of crap car. “What’s your name?” I asked, extending a hand.

  “Mike.” He accepted my offer and gave my hand a firm shake.

  “Mike,” I said. “And in case you weren’t aware, I’m Morgan, the new owner of Silver Sage Ranch.”

  Smiling, Mike gave a quick nod. “I was aware. Welcome.” He released my hand then made a face and handed me a rag. “I think you need this now.”

  I laughed and checked. Sure enough, a black smudge darkened my hand. “Thank you.” I wiped off the grease and returned his rag to him. “Well, I’d better let you get back to your job. Thanks again.”

  “No problem.” He loped back to the tractor he’d been working on while I leaned against my running car and tried to decide if I there’d been any spark between us.

  The answer: not really. And I didn’t understand that. He was definitely good looking.

  And he could do amazing things with his hands.

  He was polite. He didn’t leer at me like some guys—make that, a certain guy—did.

  He didn’t make me feel like he was undressing me with his eyes.

  God help me, was I one of those girls? The kind who could only be attracted to the bad boys--the ones that would crush my heart over and over?

  Chapter 4

  I knew Clay was back before I saw him. The energy in the air changed. Electricity crackled, like before a thunderstorm. It was so appropriate. Because wherever Clay Walker went, lightning struck.

  He hauled several grocery bags inside the house.

  Trying to pretend I didn’t know he was nearby, I continued with my chores. My pitiful breakfast wasn’t holding out. Once again my stomach was voicing its anger at being empty. I had no choice. I gave in and went inside. I found him in the kitchen, unloading bags.

  He waved a package of tofu at me. “You owe me for this. I had to drive all the way to Riverton to get it.”

  “That far? Why?”

  “In case you didn’t notice, people around these parts like their meat. This vegetarian shit isn’t fit for human consumption.”

  He was doing it again, pushing my buttons. I knew it. So why couldn’t I just ignore his needling comments? “Have you even tried that ‘vegetarian shit’?” I countered before I’d been able to talk myself out of it.

  “No. You wouldn’t catch me dead eating that shit.” He crossed his arms and cocked his head. “When was the last time you ate something normal?”

  I took inventory of the spread on my table.

  Greens. Avocados. Berries. Tofu. He didn’t consider those normal?

  “I ate an egg this morning.” Surely eggs were normal, right?

  “Besides the egg?” He clucked his tongue when I shrugged. “How the hell do you live, eating this rabbit food?”

  “It isn’t rabbit food.”

  “I tell you what, you owe me for driving all the way to Riverton to buy that shit. So you can do something for me.” Evil glitters sparkled in his eyes.

  My gut twisted. Here it came. The sex demand.

  What would it be this time? A hand job? A blow job?

  I had news for him. This girl was not getting close to that dick ever again.

  Never, never, never.

  No matter what.

  No way in hell.

  Maybe if I ignored him, he would drop it.

  I grabbed my tofu and stuffed it in the refrigerator.

  “Dinner,” he said. “Tonight.”

  What’s this? He wants dinner? Not sex? I whirled around to give him don’t-shit-me eyes. “What’s the catch?”

  “Catch?” He blinked. “There’s no catch.”

  “There has to be.” I grabbed the carton of berries and waved it at his extremely guilting-looking face. “There’s always a catch with you. You’re the king of catches.”

  “I’m glad you think so highly of me,” he said, a warm chuckle echoing through the room. He gently removed the carton from my hands. Our fingertips brushed and a tiny stream of heat skittered up my spine. “A king. King of catches. I like it. I’m one hell of a catch.” He reached behind me to put the carton in the refrigerator, caging my body between his bulk and the open fridge.

  “It wasn’t meant as a compliment,” I declared to his broad chest.

  He cupped my chin, forcing it up until our eyes met. Heat whooshed through me. “Now, don’t try to take it back.” He flopped a thick arm over my shoulder, and another wave of heat pulsed through my body.

  I glared at him and shuffled to the left. “Hands off.”

  “I don’t have any hands on you…yet.” He stepped closer, trapping me again. This time it was worse. His big, burly chest was now smack dab in front of my nose and I had to crank my neck way back to meet his gaze. His heat warmed me. Everywhere.

  My face. My breasts. Lower. Between my legs.

  This was not good.

  I angled back, pressing against the shelves in the refrigerator. The cool air blowing on my nape made my skin pucker into goose bumps. That wasn’t any better. Now I was hot and cold. “And you never will,” I declared with more conviction than I felt.

  Truth be told, my heart was racing.
Heat was pulsing. I was alive, on fire, and God help me I was liking this feeling. The thrill. The tension.

  He shifted closer still. “We’ll see about that.”

  I jerked up my chin. “No, we won’t.” Brave words there. Words I didn’t believe, really.