Read Online Boots and Twisters by Myla Jackson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Myla Jackson
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he could use a cup of coffee, he didn’t want to be bothered with more talk, so he pushed through the back screen door and strode across the yard.
The day before, he and Isaac had hauled hay and stacked it inside the barn. They’d been hot and tired when they’d stacked it and it wasn’t exactly as good as it could be in Trent’s opinion. Which was just fine with him. Hell, rearranging the bales ought to work the kinks out of his mood.
Trent went to work stacking the hay on another wall, one bale at a time. Halfway through the stack, his muscles burned and he’d worked up a good sweat. He was feeling better and had almost forgotten the woman at the saloon.
With several tall columns of bales leaning against one wall, Trent was about to start a stack in front of them when a noise made him turn around.
A slim figure in jeans and a chambray shirt entered Thunder’s horse stall.
Thunder hadn’t been ridden since Dusty the ranch foreman had been tossed and ended up in the hospital.
Trent started to say something to the new ranch hand about the horse and his temperament. Before he could, the hand emerged, leading a placid Thunder out by his lead rope. If the horse had an attitude, it wasn’t on display that morning.
The cowboy had his head dipped, his cowboy hat pulled low. Between the dim lighting in the barn and the shadows from the rim of his hat, Trent couldn’t see the cowboy’s face. Covered in sweat and hay, Trent didn’t feel much like introducing himself yet. But he watched as the young man led the horse out of the barn. A few minutes later, he returned and entered the stall with the wheelbarrow, and soon had a pile of soiled straw loaded into it.
Trent resumed his work on the hay, keeping a watch on the new guy from the corner of his eye.
One stall after the other the young cowboy worked. When he completed the last stall and was pushing the last wheelbarrow load of soiled straw toward the door, Trent decided it was time to inspect the job and introduce himself.
“Wait up, there.” Trent tossed the bale he’d been carrying, dusted the straw off his gloves and crossed to the ranch hand. He glanced past the man’s shoulder into the cleaned stall and noted it was cleaner than he or Isaac usually got it. “Name’s Trent Jameson.” He held out his hand. “Nice work you’ve been doin’ there.”
For a moment the cowboy froze. Then gripped Trent’s hand with his own gloved one. “Thanks.” The cowboy refused to look up, keeping his chin tucked in, his head lowered.
Trent couldn’t look the man in the eye. He didn’t trust a man who wouldn’t look him directly in the eye. “You got a name?”
“Lucky.”
“Lucky.” Trent digested that. “Nickname?”
The ranch hand shook his head and tipped his hat lower over his head. “I better go dump this.” As he hurried around Trent, the wheel ran over Trent’s toe.
“Ow!” Trent yanked his foot back and teetered on one leg.
“Oh my gosh!” The cowboy’s hands flew in the air and the wheelbarrow dumped over, the contents rushing out, knocking Trent backward. He slammed into the freshly stacked hay bales and they swayed.
Trent glanced up, his breath hitching.
Crap.
“Oh no.” The young cowboy launched himself at the hay, tripped over the pile of dung and straw and, instead of catching the bales before they toppled, sprawled out on top of Trent.
The bales tipped and fell, one after the other, landing on or near them.
Several grunts sounded from the cowboy who took the bulk of the pummeling.
His hat flew off and long sandy-blonde hair tangled with the loose hay flying around the interior of the barn.
Trent blinked the hay and dust out of his eyes and stared up into pretty gray eyes, the color of storm clouds. “You!”
The woman he’d been dreaming about kissing planted her hands against his chest and tried to push herself off him.
“Yes, me.”
He opened his mouth to admit he thought he’d never see her again. Thinking
The day before, he and Isaac had hauled hay and stacked it inside the barn. They’d been hot and tired when they’d stacked it and it wasn’t exactly as good as it could be in Trent’s opinion. Which was just fine with him. Hell, rearranging the bales ought to work the kinks out of his mood.
Trent went to work stacking the hay on another wall, one bale at a time. Halfway through the stack, his muscles burned and he’d worked up a good sweat. He was feeling better and had almost forgotten the woman at the saloon.
With several tall columns of bales leaning against one wall, Trent was about to start a stack in front of them when a noise made him turn around.
A slim figure in jeans and a chambray shirt entered Thunder’s horse stall.
Thunder hadn’t been ridden since Dusty the ranch foreman had been tossed and ended up in the hospital.
Trent started to say something to the new ranch hand about the horse and his temperament. Before he could, the hand emerged, leading a placid Thunder out by his lead rope. If the horse had an attitude, it wasn’t on display that morning.
The cowboy had his head dipped, his cowboy hat pulled low. Between the dim lighting in the barn and the shadows from the rim of his hat, Trent couldn’t see the cowboy’s face. Covered in sweat and hay, Trent didn’t feel much like introducing himself yet. But he watched as the young man led the horse out of the barn. A few minutes later, he returned and entered the stall with the wheelbarrow, and soon had a pile of soiled straw loaded into it.
Trent resumed his work on the hay, keeping a watch on the new guy from the corner of his eye.
One stall after the other the young cowboy worked. When he completed the last stall and was pushing the last wheelbarrow load of soiled straw toward the door, Trent decided it was time to inspect the job and introduce himself.
“Wait up, there.” Trent tossed the bale he’d been carrying, dusted the straw off his gloves and crossed to the ranch hand. He glanced past the man’s shoulder into the cleaned stall and noted it was cleaner than he or Isaac usually got it. “Name’s Trent Jameson.” He held out his hand. “Nice work you’ve been doin’ there.”
For a moment the cowboy froze. Then gripped Trent’s hand with his own gloved one. “Thanks.” The cowboy refused to look up, keeping his chin tucked in, his head lowered.
Trent couldn’t look the man in the eye. He didn’t trust a man who wouldn’t look him directly in the eye. “You got a name?”
“Lucky.”
“Lucky.” Trent digested that. “Nickname?”
The ranch hand shook his head and tipped his hat lower over his head. “I better go dump this.” As he hurried around Trent, the wheel ran over Trent’s toe.
“Ow!” Trent yanked his foot back and teetered on one leg.
“Oh my gosh!” The cowboy’s hands flew in the air and the wheelbarrow dumped over, the contents rushing out, knocking Trent backward. He slammed into the freshly stacked hay bales and they swayed.
Trent glanced up, his breath hitching.
Crap.
“Oh no.” The young cowboy launched himself at the hay, tripped over the pile of dung and straw and, instead of catching the bales before they toppled, sprawled out on top of Trent.
The bales tipped and fell, one after the other, landing on or near them.
Several grunts sounded from the cowboy who took the bulk of the pummeling.
His hat flew off and long sandy-blonde hair tangled with the loose hay flying around the interior of the barn.
Trent blinked the hay and dust out of his eyes and stared up into pretty gray eyes, the color of storm clouds. “You!”
The woman he’d been dreaming about kissing planted her hands against his chest and tried to push herself off him.
“Yes, me.”
He opened his mouth to admit he thought he’d never see her again. Thinking
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