The Stars in the Sky (Giving You ... #2) (2 page)

While the ranch was a diversified farming operation, with apparently everything from strawberries to blueberries to avocados to citrus to grapes for wine, what interested me was its affiliated nonprofit association where I had my internship. Headlands Ranch ran a therapeutic horsemanship and agricultural program, called the Headlands Program, my new employer.

It had two types of programs. The first was for urban Cali kids, the type who’d never seen a cow. They came to experience ranch life, learn to take care of animals, and do teamwork skills. The other program was for special needs kids, who’d ride therapy horses and spend time in the fresh air. I’d been hired as a glorified camp counselor, to plan and run the activities. It counted for credit for my graduate degree program.

This was going to be so much fun!

But not when I had a full bladder. As the clock on the GPS ticked down to five more minutes until arrival, I passed through a gate with an arch overhead that read HEADLANDS RANCH, ESTABLISHED 1910 in rustic font, very old-fashioned and Western-looking. I continued down an undulating dirt road and pulled up at a collection of farm buildings at the end of the line. I saw a huge, old, white farmhouse, what looked like a bunkhouse, some newer looking ranch houses, and barns, corrals, and other accessory buildings.

I parked my car and got out immediately, hoping against hope that there was a place to go pee, like, now.

A tall, thin woman came out of the bunkhouse to greet me. I’d guess she was around forty with sea green eyes and blonde hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail. "You must be Marie Diaz-Austin. Welcome. I'm Janine Thompson, the head wrangler for the Headlands Program."

I stuck out my hand. "It's nice to meet you." Then I blurted, wide-eyed and pleading, "Can I use the bathroom? It's been a long drive and I'm dying."

She smiled and pointed to the closest building, the farmhouse. "Sure, go in there. Second door on the left down the hall."

I felt embarrassed enough already, so I tried not to run. But I failed miserably, and instead walked really, really fast to the building, like they speed-walk in the Olympics. I ran up the outside stairs, flung open the front door, scooted down the hall at a clip, and opened the second door on the left—

—and literally ran, full body, full bore, into a naked, wet man, who staggered with the impact of my weight against him. My breasts hit his back, my legs straddled the sides of his, and I grabbed onto his soaking nude waist to keep from falling. The front of my shirt, my shorts, and my legs got wet from the water on him.

"The fuck?" he grunted.

"Ohmigod, I'm so sorry," I started, as I jumped back immediately, hands up like I was being arrested, and then I got a look at him. He turned around to look at me, hands on hips, completely unabashed at wearing his birthday suit.

Well, this was interesting.

He was totally naked, as in just stepped out of the shower naked. He had not even had a chance to grab his towel, he was so naked. Did I mention that he was naked? And he was standing there, glaring at me, dripping on a bathmat, with the water that had not rubbed off on me running in rivulets down his legs.

I couldn't tell you what I noticed first about him, except that he was belongs-in-a-naughty-magazine's-centerfold attractive, but I’ll give it a shot. I stared at him from his head to his toes.

He was really tall, like at least six inches taller than me, and I'm a not-short five foot ten.

His hair? Longish, wavy, wet (obviously), and a lush, dark brown.

Deep, dark, chocolate brown eyes glared at me, rimmed in enviable thick lashes that curled.

His classically handsome face had strong eyebrows, a straight nose, and high cheekbones, with hollows underneath, and yummy stubble along his square jaw.

His body? Tan everywhere. In other words, although this was a farm, he didn’t have a farmer tan. And, since he was naked, as I might have mentioned, I could tell. He had a brawny chest, defined arms, a washboard waist, and strong legs.

And, his junk. Yep. There. Unlike a turtle, it was not hiding in a shell. He stood at half-staff and boy, full-staff would be a treat. His junk was the kind of junk that you used feet rather than inches to measure. As in more than half a foot, unerect. Well beyond.

A fucking gorgeous man.

Totally pissed at me.

I so knew how to make an entrance. I tried to salvage the situation, by mumbling "Janine told me I could use this bathroom," but he interrupted.

"Ever think of knocking?" he snarled, as he reached for a white towel and wrapped it around his waist, now looking like an ad for razor blades.

"I'm sorry," I said, aiming for sincerity. "It's been a long drive and I really have to pee." This last part came out of my mouth desperately.

"Go down the hall, there's another bathroom. I'm using this one." And he pushed me out, by physically pushing my shoulders, and shut the door.

Way to start the interactions with my fellow staff.

I took off running down the hall where I found the bathroom and relief. All was well, finally.

As I headed back down the hallway, his bathroom door opened and he came out, dressed in dark blue Wrangler jeans, with a belt and a huge belt buckle, a tight, faded blue t-shirt, and cowboy boots, hair still messy, curly, and wet.

He looked me up and down. Then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a can of Copenhagen and stuffed a wad of chew in his cheek, staring at me.

Disgusting.

He turned and started walking away, muttering to himself, “Another fucking liberal.”

“Hey!” I yelled. “What’s wrong with that?”

My politics were extremely liberal, but so what? How could he tell? I wore normal clothes—my denim short-shorts, Tom's shoes, and a white cami that was probably see-through due to my literal run-in with Mr. Shower. I'd have to change.

Well, I suppose my nonconservative status was obvious, given my tattoos and my eyebrow piercing. I normally dyed my hair in colors that were not found in nature. But right now, it was bleached blonde and would probably stay that way for the summer. Naturally, my medium brown hair matched my medium brown eyes. I was skinny, with long legs (it was genetics, my parents were that way) but I had some boobage going on (again, genetics).

But how dare he judge me so quickly? And what do my politics have to do with my job?

He stopped, turned around and looked at me again, eyes traveling from head to toe and back again. Then he spoke.

"Darlin', life's too short to list all the things that are wrong with being a liberal," he drawled and sauntered out the front door and down the steps of the ranch house.

Oh, now I was pissed at him for being such a gross, judgmental asshole. But I didn't want to get into a fight in the first five minutes of my new job so I kept my mouth shut. For now. But this run-in did nothing good for my first day jitters.

Still, I couldn't help but watch him go. He had a damn sexy walk, almost like he owned the land he was walking on. Now, I'm not one who goes for cowboy hats and big belt buckles—my favorite type of music is
anything but country—
still, I couldn't help but notice that he filled those Wranglers out well. While I was still appreciating the craftsmanship of his jeans, he turned around. "This is Reagan Country, and don't forget it."

He turned back around just as quickly and kept going until he was out of sight.

Reagan Country? Was he kidding? Was he even born during the Reagan years?

Ugh.

Motherfucker!

Even

"HOME SWEET HOME," I thought, as I dragged my oversized suitcase up to the bunkhouse, behind Janine who led the way, carrying a large duffel bag of mine. I never packed lightly. I liked to feel like I had a home.

Reminiscent of the farmworker housing I lived in as a small child, the large, clapboard-covered building looked like it'd been there for a hundred years. It probably had. Inside, I found bunk bed-outfitted rooms, for girls on the bottom floor and boys on the second. The floorboards creaked and the rooms were small, but it had an aura about it of being well-kept, with swept floors, clean walls and sweet-scented, cool air. Framed black and white photos lined the hallways, with what looked like vintage pictures of the ranch. The building had been retrofitted with handicapped access, including a ramp up to the entrance, and even had an elevator to the second floor. I was impressed.

I was to bunk with the female staff, Janine and another woman, on the first floor towards the end of the building in a medium-sized room with four bunk beds; male staff slept on the second floor. We each got a full bunk to ourselves along with a small chest of drawers.

The bunkhouse had a utility room down the hall with a washer and dryer, a small kitchen with a staff refrigerator, which as a vegan, I’d definitely need, and a lounge, with ratty couches and a decrepit, old television with a DVD player. There was also a small office for me to use to plan programs and research on the internet.

While I was charmed by the vintage surroundings, one thing hit me: there was no privacy. I'd gotten used to living on my own in my apartment. This felt like living in a college dorm again. That said, even though it had been a decade since I lived in a dorm, I'm an extrovert who thrived off being around people. This sounded like fun and I was ready.

After giving me the tour, Janine took off for the stables, leaving me to change and unpack.

I set my suitcase on the floor by my bunk, went out to the car to get my pillow, sleeping bag, and other things, then came in to change into jeans. Janine was going to take me out on a horse, and I needed to be wearing long pants and good shoes. I also needed to take off my damp white cami.

I quickly took off my shirt, which had a shelf-bra, and stripped down to my thong, searching in my duffel bag for a bra.

And then I heard a recognizable, deep, male voice and loud footsteps coming quickly down the hall. Shit. Mr. Conservative Shower Man. I had, literally, nowhere to hide, and I hadn't thought to lock the door, since this was the floor for girls. It stood ajar. I moved toward the door to close it, but was too late. "Janine?" he called, and then knocked on the door frame and walked in, without waiting for a response.

Hi.

Now it was my turn to be caught naked. Well, practically. Amelia often accused me of being an exhibitionist. She's right, I am. But now it felt like Mr. Grouchy Shower Man and I were even.

There I stood, wearing a white lace thong and my tattoos, boobs on full display. Even though I was thin with long legs, I almost filled a C-cup. A cool breeze found its way through the building and made my nipples pucker. But I'm sure he didn't notice.

I also had my tattoos out for his perusal. On my left arm, down the inside, script lettering read
Omnia causa fiunt
, meaning "Everything happens for a reason" in Latin. On my left side waist, a Noah's ark was anchored, with animals, two by two, spilling out onto the front of my waist and the back. My plan? To save them all, if I could. On each hip bone I'd inked a star. I hoped that someday my lover would have matching stars and we could unite them. A dove permanently flew on my collar bone, with an olive branch, for peace. And on my right ass cheek, where he couldn't see it right now, up high near my waist rested a green and blue mother Earth, to protect.

Mr. Handsome Shower Man stood there, staring at me. Then his eyes raked down my body, then up, then down again.

Then he shook himself and turned red, shoving his hands in his jeans. He had to be close to my age, or maybe older, so seeing him act sheepish was kind of cute, and a marked contrast to his earlier asshole behavior.

"Guess it's my turn to be sorry," he said gruffly, and turned to go.

"Wait," I said, still practically naked, not caring, wiggling just to mess with him. And because goddamn he was hot.

"Yeah?" he responded, not turning around.

"What's your name?"

He finally turned to face me and looked me in the eyes. "Will Thrash."

The boss.

It figured. He walked around like he owned the place because he
did
own the place. Still, everything happened for a reason.

"I'm Marie," I said, reaching out my hand to shake his.

He looked at me like I was crazy, which I probably was. While I should be embarrassed, I wasn't. I thought it was the funniest damn thing. He couldn't figure out whether to shake the hand of the topless, practically naked, female employee or not. It wasn't like we were in a strip club, where this was expected of the employees. He finally decided to shake my hand and did so firmly, averting his eyes and looking to the side, "I'll just go look for Janine," he said and then left.

But not before I saw a bulge the size of California in his Wranglers.

After I heard his footsteps fade down the hall, I collapsed on my bottom bunk in peals of laughter. And then I got dressed and went to go join Janine with the horses.