Summer Sweat (Spruce Texas)

Gary is just like his brother Paul, Tanner’s dad: far too much compassion in his heart. “I’m tellin’ you, sir, some people—people who are like Hoyt Nowak—they just take and take and never give back. He will take advantage of every last scrap of kindness you’re showing him right now, I’m tellin’ you. This is a mistake to hire him. You’ll regret it.”

To that, Gary just smiles. “I ain’t ever regretted a thing in my life so far, and I don’t plan on startin’ now.”

“He’s gonna do you dirty, staining the Strong name.”

“So look after him, Harrison, n’ make sure he don’t.”

“I’m not a babysitter.”

From the doorway behind me comes another voice. “What’s this ‘bout a babysitter?”

I turn. Hoyt stands at the door holding his cowboy hat at his chest. His hair is casually swept to the side, yet still looks perfectly in place, like some kind of annoying sandy-blond Ken doll. All of his quarterback muscles in his lean, long build show through his fitted plaid shirt and tight, stylish gray jeans—which frankly look too damned clean to be stepping a toe on this farm.

Gary turns away from the window and smiles at him. “Good afternoon, Hoyt. Did you find your bunk?”

Hoyt fidgets. “Yeah, about that. All of ‘em are taken.”

“Oh, did I not mention that? A sleeping space was set up for you right off the kitchen, in the back mudroom. Should have a cot and a trunk for your things.” Gary faces me with a soft smile. “Will you be so kind as to show Hoyt to his living space, Harrison?”

I stare down the boy, my fingertips prickling with annoyance.

Hoyt only stares vacantly back. Even his blank face somehow carries a smug air of undeserved confidence.

I’m about to wipe that look right off of him. “This way,” I tell the boy in half a growl, then brush past him as I head out into the hot and punishing afternoon sun.

Chapter 2

Hoyt

I don’t know what it is about this Harrison guy, but he’s sure got a chip on his shoulder about something.

And that is one very big-ass shoulder to have a chip on.

When you look at Harrison’s face, all you expect is a bucketful of sweetness and corny jokes. He’s got a handsome smile, full lips, and thick blunt eyebrows. A power in his big doe eyes that always seems sincere, like he can never tell a lie. Smooth, russet brown skin with warm, rosy-bronze undertones. Short, tight curls of dark hair on top, buzzed and faded down the sides perfectly. All of that is married to a tall muscular build even I envy, earned from all of his hard hours spent on this farm, no doubt.

But I can’t appreciate any of it, because all that this block of muscle is giving me is attitude. Did I interrupt his spa hour?

“Hope you got the right clothes for the job,” he mutters as we make our way back to the bunkhouse, “because those fancy jeans and little sneakers aren’t gonna cut it.”

He’s already rubbing me the wrong way. “Of course I got the right shoes. I ain’t a moron.” Wait. Do I have the right shoes? “I’m ready to work, and I’m ready to work hard.”

“You start at the ass crack of dawn tomorrow, first thing. And I expect you to know things already, so today, you’re learning the lay of the land. There’s lots of land, too, so better keep up,” he says over his shoulder, “because I don’t got time to repeat myself.”

What’s with this guy? “You don’t gotta repeat anything. I’m hearin’ you loud and clear.”

He snorts to himself.

I know who he is through my old football coach, but never got to know him all that well. My first impression is he’s a lot more of a hard ass than I expected—and that’s not a pun to do with his actual ass, which looks about as firm as a damned mound of granite as he walks ahead of me, leading the way. His every footfall is heavy and certain. He looks a second away from emitting steam from his nostrils, like a bull readying himself to charge. And I haven’t seen his blunt, pulled-together eyebrows relax once since the moment we met in Gary’s office.

Where’s the sweet, loveable teddy bear I always heard about through Coach Strong?

The bunkhouse door swings open. Inside, I face a living room area to the left, complete with a couch, poker table, some potted plants by the window, and a mounted TV over an old jukebox. Up ahead past the dining table, a staircase leads up to a narrow loft with a row of bunk beds. Underneath the loft is a door to the communal bathroom, plus a door to a walk-in storage closet. To the right is the kitchen, past which leads off to the mudroom.