Hung

I’d never been so nervous and desperate for a job before.

The driveway was long and straight, with the woods on either side of me. I could see a stable to my right, a chicken coop and run to my left. The cabin was up ahead, with a couple cars parked in the driveway. The closer I got to the cabin, I noticed another pin, one that held llamas or alpacas. I could never tell the difference.

I tightened my hold on the steering wheel, silently praying to whoever would listen that this interview would end on a positive note and I’d get the job. I pulled to a stop in front of the cabin, saw a dark, monstrous pick-up truck parked off to the side, and cut the engine.

I looked at the time on my phone and realized I was almost fifteen minutes early. Maybe that would throw points in my corner. Punctuality and all.

After grabbing my purse and the resume I printed off from the local library, I climbed out of the car and made my way toward the front door. I saw a pair of work boots sitting off to the side, straw and mud covering them. I brought my hand up to the door and gave three hard knocks with my knuckles on the wood framing the screen. It banged against the frame from the action.

And then I took a step back and waited. My heart felt like it was in my throat, and I heard my pulse beating rapidly in my ears.

I was about to knock on the door again when I heard heavy footsteps coming closer. I tightened my hand on the strap of my purse and swallowed, again saying another silent prayer to whoever was listening that I wouldn’t botch this up.

The interior of the house, as far as I could see through the screen door, was shadowed, but the person I saw moving closer was big, with broad shoulders and lean muscles. Definitely male. And when he stopped right in front of the screen and I got a good look at him, my pulse started beating for other reasons that had nothing to do with nerves or this interview.

He pushed the door open, and I took another step back, getting a good, unobstructed view of the man who would be interviewing me, I assumed.

He looked younger, maybe in his early thirties, with very dark hair cut close to his scalp and a trimmed beard that looked more like he hadn’t shaved in a few days. His eyes were equally dark, with onyx slashes for eyebrows, and he had a straight nose and full lips. I’d never examined a man so closely in my entire life. He lifted his arm and braced it on the frame of the door, keeping the screen open with his foot on the bottom.

He wore a pair of worn-in jeans, not tight like a lot of ranchers wore, but still fit enough that I could make out his muscular thighs and narrow waist. The white shirt he wore was tucked in, a little bit dirty, no doubt from working all day, and also not hiding how toned he was. I could see the lean muscle underneath the material and licked my lips, feeling my face heat, because I worried I was looking like some thirsty bitch right now.

He lifted his other hand and rubbed his eye, and just now, after I’d been checking him out, I realized he looked like he’d been sleeping. I noticed other things then, little things like his hair being slightly disheveled and the relaxed expression on his face.

“I’m Macey.”

He dropped his hand and looked at me, his dark eyebrows furrowing as if he were trying to figure out who I was.

“I have an interview for the ad in the paper?” I didn’t even know if he was the one interviewing me. Maybe not, since he acted like he didn’t know who I was.

And then I saw his expression change, as if a lightbulb turned on and he finally registered. He closed his eyes for a second and shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said in a deep, gruff, and very masculine voice. “I laid down for a minute after I inhaled my sandwich, was expecting you, but I guess the sleep fog still had me.” He stepped aside and held the door open. “Please, come in.”

I gave him a small smile and stepped over the threshold.

“I swear I’m not this boneheaded.”

I looked over my shoulder just in time to see him face me then saw and heard the screen door close.

“We can go into the kitchen and sit at the table.”

I nodded, but he was already walking by me and leading the way.

I followed him inside his home. It was absolutely in need of some TLC and a good cleaning. That was for sure. Although the cabin was very rustic in its design, with open beams on the ceiling and hardwood flooring, the accents reminded me of another era. And the furniture looked like it had been around for decades.