Just Her Luck (35 page)

He gave me a crooked smile and winked.

"Just... can you get it done today?” Reeve was dead set about getting rid of whoever that person was, “I don't like the guy. He's no good and I don't have any proof, really, but I have a bad feeling about him, alright? Say whatever you have to say, do whatever you gotta do, just make him gone."

"I can do that." Bo nodded once in acknowledgement.

"Thanks," Reeve said quietly, then left the room.

Bo immediately started writing something down, taking some quick notes, face a study of concentration as he did his job.

All the men each had their own niche around here, I'd realized almost immediately, noticing the first week that they all, more or less, had their own specific schedules and were all usually doing something different.

Reeve, Mr. Boss man, did all the head honcho stuff, like buying and selling, overseeing major tasks that needed doing, making sure everything was up to par. And whatever else crap it is he's supposed to do.

Is being an asshole a profession?

If so, forget ranching, he could make a killing!

Bowen handles the hires, the fires, any and all paperwork, you know that gist, the accounting.

I'm sure there's more, but I'm just not interested in the mundane that much to figure it out.

Not that I don't care, he has a very important job, I'm just more interested in
him
, not what he does.

Plus, have you ever tried to fill out paperwork before?

Gah.

Bleh!

Boring!

Props to him for doing it day in and day out.

I would have run crying and screaming from the room by now.

As far as Ephraim goes, he handles all the horses specifically, horse training, upkeep, etc.

Oh, and something about bulls, he'd told me once.

It's a huge ranch, quite a few people working here, so there's always something to do, something that needs done.

Sawyer and Thatcher, from what I can tell, are everywhere and anywhere at any given time, ready to get whatever's needing done, done, no matter how large or how small it may be.

When Bowen and Reeve aren't handling their usual crap, the brothers are all out there jumping in, never shy to lift a hand.

It's a very sexy quality in a man, men, if I do say so myself.

And I do.

"That was strange," Bo reflected a few minutes later, looking up from his pad of paper, notes scribbled down all over it, hand idly rubbing my waist.

"What do you mean? He's normally a sourpuss," I teased.

"No. I mean the whole 'firing' thing. He doesn't generally get involved in that aspect of things. That's typically between me and Roger, the foreman, and Bucky, the guy who trains and keeps an eye on all the newbies."

"Oh," I said, thinking about that for a minute, "maybe he made the mistake of crossing up grumpy old lemon sucking Reeve. Argued with him or something, incurring his wrath."

He snorted and pulled his chair out, letting me get up.

"He's not
that
old," Bo said defensively, making me smile widely.

"Why? How old are you, Bo, my sexy man?"

"Thirty four," he grumbled.

"Bowen Thaddeus Harrison," I gasped out, sounding truly scandalized, "Why! You're a cradle robber!"

He glowered at me and pushed out from his desk, slowly standing up to his full height, chest muscles rippling as he moved, all those muscle on top of muscles, stacked
oh, so nicely,
his movements swift and fluid as he carefully set his reading glasses down and slowly, predatorily, stalked towards me.

Anticipating his reaction, I skittered towards the bathroom, trying to keep my face straight, giggling when I realized I'd been backing up at his advance, shoulders hitting the wall right next to the bathroom door.

He caged me in and growled in a sexy voice, "I've always considered myself more of a big bad wolf."

He grinned, giving me a flash of his perfect white teeth.

"And you like to gobble up little girls?" I asked innocently enough, spreading my legs a little so he could slide up on in, his teeth biting and nipping at my lips gently as he leaned down to tease me.

His thick thigh rubbed at my pleasure button, mashing up against the lips of my sex, making me gasp at the contact.

"Only
my
girly," he said slowly, unbuttoning my shirt, leaning forward to kiss my lips again, trailing a path from my ear to my chin, past my jaw, down the side of my neck, "Only mine."

It was quite a while before we un-suction cupped ourselves from each other and ventured down to make breakfast.

I have no idea how and I envy the ability, but poor Ephraim slept through the whole thing, not even waking when Bo flicked him on the head as we made our way out the door.

"You leave him alone!" I huffed, slapping Bo's now jean clad butt, the sound of my hand cracking down hard on his ass echoing throughout the hall.

He chuckled and tucked me under his arm.

"Won't matter either way," he snorted, shrugging, "You can't fix stupid. Don't see how flickin' it will make it worse."

"Bowen!!" I growled.

"Ow, shit! Sorry! Sorry! Quit... doing... ow!
Vieve!!"

I harrumphed and marched ahead of him, but he snagged me up and pulled me back.

"God damn, now I know why Reeve's such a baby about it when you get all violent on him. That shit hurts!"

"Serves you right!"

"Mmmm."

A quiet descended on us as we reached the kitchen.

I let it linger.

"You know," he grinned, winking at me, "you're so sexy when you're all prissy like that," his voice suddenly dropped an octave, getting all husky, "makes me want to slap your ass."

"You could only wish you were so lucky," I sniffed haughtily, pulling out a large mixing bowl.

He chuckled and gave me a promising look, then sauntered into the downstairs office, coming out moments later, working quietly at the table while I put together breakfast, soaking up the cool air coming in so early in the morning from the open window, enjoying our companionable silence.

****

As the smell of breakfast wafted throughout the house, everyone started to slowly trickle down.

"Mmmm." Thatcher moaned happily, rushing down the stairs, "I smell waffles!"

"How did you know it was waffles?" I asked curiously, setting out the plates.

"Uh, 'cause it smells like waffles," he said not so helpfully, giving me a duh look.

"Could have been pancakes," I said flippantly.

I couldn't smell the difference between the two.

They smell the same to me.

I took an experimental sniff.

Yeah, nope, nothin’ different.

They smell like cooked batter.

Heck, other than swapping out a couple of ingredients and shifting the amount of liquid and flour, the recipe I like to use is pretty much the same darned thing.

I shrugged, and he gave me a hopeless expression.

"Don't look at me like that,
cupcake
. I might start to think you like me again."

"I like you, I've always liked you," Thatcher grumped, frowning like he didn't know what I was talking about.

I gave him a look that spoke volumes, and Bowen chuckled, watching the exchange.

"You stay out of this,
sex phone operator flunky
," Thatcher warned, following me into the kitchen, snorting when Bo growled at him.

"You must not value your life." I grinned, walking over to the sink to wash the fruit I had sitting out in a bowl

"Meh." He shrugged, giving an 'eh' kind of look.

I shook my head at him and starting washing the fruit.

Clearing his throat rather loudly, he held out his hand expectantly when he noticed I’d finished washing all the strawberries, raspberries and blackberries, waiting for me to fork something over.

I didn't, pretending not to notice the outstretched paw.

Greedy little bastard.

He can wait and eat with everyone else.

I set the berries off to the side, far away from Thatcher, and started cutting up strawberries, snipping off the tops with a butter knife.

"Ah-hem," he cleared his throat, shifting little closer, smiling at me sweetly when I looked up at him with a clueless expression.

"Yes, Thatcher?" I kept my face impassive, eyeing him with a raised brow.

He looked down at his hand, then back up at me, hand held out expectantly.

"Oh," I chuckled lightly, smiling up at him, "That's so sweet, you want to help!"

His eyes narrowed, fingers wiggling.

I winked, and he wiggled them again, followed by a grunt.

"I dunno..." I bit my lip, studiously watching my hands as they hacked off strawberry tops.

He sighed heavily, and I paused, knife held to the strawberry and looked up at him with a worried expression.

"Maybe we should check with your
mommy
first. Hmm? Make sure you're allowed around sharp objects."

I grinned when he huffed and reached for a whole strawberry, pulling the bowl away before he could get to them.

“They’re for breakfast, bub, and I’m not done with them yet, so vamoose.”

"Ugh. You're so mean to me." He grumbled and eyed the bowl of berry goodness with serious intent, “I only want one.”

Uh-huh. And then another and another, just like last time, until there aren’t any left.

Fool me once, sure, but fool me twice? I don’t think so. I aint no dumb bunny.

"Gonna go cry to your mommy?" I teased, cackling on the inside at the affronted look that crossed his sexy-as-all-get-out, too handsome for words mug.

Feigning a quick left to snatch the bowl, he crowed in triumph, prematurely, as I followed suit, and he missed.

Unsuccessful at his attempt, he glowered at me, hands slapping onto his trim hips as he leaned forward and tried to look as menacing as possible.

I grinned.

"I just want one," he said reasonably, but I knew better.

He realized quickly that his sweet act with me wasn’t going to work.

"Go away. Shoo!" I pushed the bowl of raspberries and blackberries over to the side board, glad he only has a thing for strawberries
- which makes no sense to me since I love them all-
otherwise the other bowl, filled to the brim, would have looked like open game to the grabby-handed bottomless pit, and he probably would have made off with those already.

"Give me one and I will," he persisted.

"You'll eat one, leave, and then come back for another when you're finished. Remember? I think you forget, but we’ve don’t this before. I
know
you, Thatcher Harrison, and you can just wait like everybody else, now shoo!"

"I'm not some common street peasant, you greedy woman! Now give me a strawberry!" he demanded.

"No," I said simply, setting the knife down by the sink.

"Yes!"

He reached forward but I slapped his hands, dropping the strawberry he'd almost nabbed.

I normally would have given him one by now, but at this point
, it's the principle of the thing!

Plus, I refuse to lose.

"Give it here!" he grunted, trying to get at them again.

"I'll tell!" I warned, fighting a smile.

He grinned in answer and chased after me as I danced around the kitchen, ducking and dodging him.

"No one can hear you," he whispered darkly, using a creepy voice, acting like the kooky guy from that movie we all watched a few weeks ago as he tried to back me into a corner.

He even had the scary facial expression down pat.

I snorted and giggled, almost dropping the bowl.

He raised his hands up and lunged at me, laughing when I squeaked, buying into his act.

I cupped the bowl over my stomach, sealing the strawberries closed inside my shirt with my stomach.

“No. Nope. No,” I chortled.

Leaning forward, I was bent over in the middle of the kitchen, and he'd put himself over my back, hunching over me as he used his long arms to reach around.

"Don't be stingy!" he grumbled, trying to pry the bowl loose, “Gimme!”

"Wait like everyone else! I'm surprised we don't have to roll you out the door! Where the hell do you put it all?"

He paused, and I felt him grinning against my shoulder.

"In my pants?"

Oh, good grief.

He laughed hysterically at himself, wallowing all over my back as I snorted at him.