Buck Me Cowboy

“Of course,” I assure her.

“Well, there’s a bunch of things I need done down here and upstairs too. I’d be real grateful if you could fix a thing or two. I don’t have much, but I could pay you after harvest?” she asks hopefully, shooting me a pleading look.

A pang shoots through my heart. Damn, the brunette must really be up shit creek, and my softer side gives in.

“Maisie, you don’t need to pay me anything. Not after this morning,” I growl before standing before carrying my empty plate to the kitchen sink.

She blushes then, looking at her hands before looking back up at me.

“About this morning,” the girl begins tentatively, taking a deep breath. “I’m so sorry ….”

But I stop her right there.

“Naw, nothing to be sorry about, honey. Nothing at all. Let’s just leave it at that, okay? I appreciate you, and you appreciate me. It’s all good.”

Maisie’s face is bright red now, but she nods gratefully.

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “I’m not usually like that, I swear.”

Too bad, comes the voice unbidden to my mind. Because I wish you were like that all the time.

But instead, I merely look around the kitchen nonchalantly.

“You got a toolbox somewhere?” is my low growl. “Let’s get started right away.”

And the brunette smiles, jumping up in a flash and disappearing before coming back with a big red toolbox in hand. Oh yeah, this is it. Opening it up, there’s the full complement of nails, hammers, screwdrivers, and assorted hardware. Perfect.

As I move about fixing the sink and realigning the kitchen cabinets, we make idle chit chat, getting to know one another. Maisie tells me all about her life on the farm. Her father recently passed away and I was right, she’s alone on the homestead. Shit, an eighteen year-old girl trying to manage this place by herself? It’s fucking insane, I wouldn’t even be able to do it with a full complement of help.

But suddenly, her chatter stops.

“Tyler,” she says again, blushing. “Oh my god, I forgot to get you pants.”

I look down. Shit, the horse blanket is still wrapped around my waist. It’s a miracle it hasn’t fallen off yet.

I nod.

“No worries, just call me King Tutu,” comes my wry rumble.

And with a giggle, Maisie dashes upstairs, before coming back down with a pair of jeans.

“They were my dad’s,” she says, holding the denim out, “so they’re about five sizes too big, but hopefully it’s okay. Pa’s not here anymore, but you’re welcome to them,” she says, eyes filling with tears.

“Naw, no worries,” I reply. “And I’m sorry for your loss.”

The girl nods slowly, eyes faraway, carried away with her thoughts. But I don’t want her to feel sad, so a subject change is in order.

“Wanna turn around as I strip?” I ask wryly. “Or should I do it right here?”

She snaps back into the moment.

“Oh of course!” she gasps. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

And with that, the girl flits away, leaving me in the room alone. Grunting, I drop the horse blanket and slip on the jeans. Honestly, if she wanted to stay and see my privates again, it’d be no big deal. There’s nothing she ain’t seen before.

But that’s too much too soon, and we have work to do, so I amble back out to the barn.

“Gonna fix some stuff out here!” I shout towards the house.

Her face appears up at the kitchen window, sweet and wholesome.

“Sounds good,” Maisie calls, and my heart warms unexpectedly. Shit, it feels amazing, a man on the range with his woman at home, tending the hearth. Very comfortable, and I get started, tooling away at the million things that need to be fixed around the barn.

And damn, but there’s so much, I can hardly believe it. From the walls that are caving in, to the rotted wood of the stalls. This place basically needs to be torn down and gutted, but I do the best I can. There’s the horse trough that needs to be repaired, the sagging stall doors that need to be re-set, and of course, the barn walls themselves. God knows what I can do for that, maybe put up a supporting beam or two so that they don’t cave in altogether.

But it feels good to work with my hands again, and throwing myself into it, the tasks become all-consuming. Before long, it’s dinnertime, and my stomach growls noisily. That’s right, I forgot about lunch, engrossed by fixing all this shit.

“Fuck,” I look towards the house, wiping my brow. “Fuck.”

Trying to clean myself up somewhat, I stride towards the homestead, this time the smell of juicy beef wafting through the windows. My stomach growls hungrily. If Maisie can cook like this, she’s got my heart already.

“Hi,” she greets when I enter the kitchen, stirring something at the stove. “Ready for some homemade meat loaf?”