Honeymoon With the Rancher

To her credit, she did a brilliant job of rolling out the ñ in señor. He turned around, surprise flattening his face. She reveled in that expression for a fleeting second before continuing. “If you will please find me something to wear, it would be greatly appreciated.”

“Do I look like a clothing store, Miss Hollingsworth?”

He put the emphasis on the miss just as she had with señor and it had her eyebrows lifting in challenge.

“There were brochures in my room.” Oh, if she’d only thought to look at them at home before packing! Seeing them last night had made her cheeks flush with embarrassment, but there was nothing to be done about it now. “I know you have a boutique on site. Perhaps I might find something there?”

He scowled and she felt victory within her grasp.

“If you have any trousers at all, put them on. And meet me back here in five minutes.” With a put-upon sigh, he disappeared.

She had gotten the better of him, and while it was a small victory, it felt good. He had to know she was not a meek little sheep that needed caring for. She was discovering she had a daring, adventurous side she’d never known existed. Oh, perhaps painting a shed wasn’t very adventurous. But after being the girl who’d done as she was told, too afraid to do otherwise, all this felt absolutely liberating.

She skipped to the house and came back moments later wearing the caramel trousers and a white linen blouse. It was as casual as she had in her cases, but she’d remedy that somehow. Tomas came back holding a navy bundle in his hands and she drew her eyebrows together, puzzled. It didn’t look like something from a boutique.

“Put these over your clothes,” he said, handing her a pair of paint-splattered coveralls.

“You’re kidding.”

“You don’t want paint on those clothes, do you?”

“No, but…”

“Anything from the boutique is brand new—you don’t want paint on those things, either, do you?”

Why did he have to be right?

She put on the coveralls, hating the baggy fit but zipping them up anyway. The sleeves were too long and she rolled them up. And felt ridiculous standing there in her sandals.

She caught a glimpse of a smile flirting with the corners of his mouth. “Sure, go ahead, laugh. I know I look silly.”

“Put these on,” he said, handing her a pair of shoes.

“What are these?”

“Alpargatas.”

She put on the canvas and rope shoes that looked like slip-on sneakers. They were surprisingly comfortable.

“I believe I am ready.”

“I hope so. The morning is moving along.”

Like she needed another reminder that she was late.

She followed him to the shed, admiring the rear view despite herself. Today he was wearing faded brown cotton pants and a red T-shirt that showed off the golden hue of his skin, not to mention the breadth of his back and shoulders. He was unapologetically physical and she found herself responding as any woman would—with admiration. Seeing how capable he was made her want to succeed, too, even if it was just at the most menial task.

“Don’t you have horses to feed or something?”

He shook his head. “I did most of the chores while the bread was rising.”

“You didn’t need to make bread on my account.” She pictured his hands kneading the dough and wet her lips. He really was a jack-of-all-trades. It wasn’t fair that he was so capable and, well, gorgeous. A total package. It made her feel very plain and not very accomplished at all.

“I was up. In Maria’s absence, it is up to me to make sure you’re looked after.”

Great. He didn’t need to say the words obligation and burden for her to hear them loud and clear.

“Is there nothing you can’t do?”