Texas Big Man

The only real downside to the ranch is that the closest city is two hours away. For Trevor, that was the appeal of the place. For me, it means there won’t be a decent cup of coffee for the next three months. I don’t pretend I make a good cup of coffee. I suck at it. All the baristas in a five mile radius from my apartment know me by name. But spending the summer out here is a small price to pay for no rent or utilities for three months. And who knows, maybe the gas station down the road will have a decent cup of coffee. Desperate times call for desperate caffeine fixes.

I check my phone—I’m getting close, but according to Trevor the entrance isn’t easily identifiable. At least not yet. He showed me his sketches for a large archway and sign marking the entrance to the ranch. I guess that’ll be one of my projects over the next few months.

I squint at the side of the road where my GPS indicates the entrance should be, and I speed right past it. It’s just a dirt road between a break in the dilapidated fence that had been running down the road next to me for miles. I make a quick U-turn turn and drive back, turning down the drive over the bumps, breathing a sigh of relief that I’m finally here. The drive was long, and I brought more luggage than I probably should have.

I pass a few run-down out-buildings, and a barn that looks like it has seen better days. That barn is going to need a lot more than a few coats of red paint. Entire portions of the tin roof are missing. And is that an old-fashioned well? Oh dear, my skin starts to crawl thinking about the water pressure in this place. I keep driving past a series of sheds with small pieces of machinery sticking out until I catch sight of a large house. It’s a two story house, and just as Trever told me, there’s a verandah that wraps around the front of the house and down one side. It’s certainly in better condition than the other structures, but frankly, I’m not sure that it would survive more than a gust of wind. Is that where we’ll be living?

No wonder that Trevor got this place for cheap. It is…well, it is a dump. I shake my head, once again wondering what got this into his head. My brother told me it was a lifelong dream, but I’d never heard him mention it at all. I never even knew he liked horses and all this open space. I just hope he really has a plan for this place and it’s not just one of his larks. I know he has lots of money to play with, but still, this place needs a lot of work.

I stop my car in front of the house and put it in park next to an old battered Jeep. I notice someone working on the verandah steps. It doesn’t look like Trevor, though. Who else could be here? Trevor and I said we’d meet here and then make plans to call in the contractors to start working on the place. Assess the ranch together so once the contractors arrive they can get right to work. This is just like Trevor, changing plans depending on how the wind blows.

This stranger doesn’t notice me yet, he’s so focused on his work. Using a crowbar to pry away old rotten boards, and hammering in new boards to make functional steps. Despite the nails he has pinched between his lips, I can see that he’s attractive. He’s got on jeans that show off a perfect ass as he bends over and the heat seems to have evaporated his shirt. Sweat shines on his back as he raises his arm to hammer in the nails—how can a back even have that many muscles? Is that possible? And then he turns, and I feel vaguely faint, because holy shit he is hot. And not in an abstract, generic, model way. In a way that is real and rugged. This man doesn’t go to the gym to work out. His body is fucking fit from hard, masculine work. Work under the beating sun, yet he doesn’t seem to be fatigued in the least. Even though the reality of the hard labor I’ll be doing is setting in, and I’m feeling a little unsure about whether I can be useful, suddenly grabbing a hammer and crouching down beside those steps is the only thing I want to do.

Still, though, the question remains. Who the hell is this man? And why am I just staring at him, with my pulse quickening and a sudden, urgent feeling growing between my legs. My body doesn’t normally react like this. Ever, really.