Summer Winds by Austin, Andrews & Austin Page A

approached head-on and pulled up alongside me so he could hang out his truck window and greet me eye to eye two feet from my left elbow.
    “Stopped over at your place and your gal said you were out. Didn’t expect to run into you, my lucky day.” Stretch showed his uneven front teeth and leered at me as if waiting for me to make the next move.
    “What can I do you for?” I joked.
    “You could do me for nothing.” He kind of snickered like he had something in mind he couldn’t discuss in broad daylight. “I was wondering if you wanted to go out for dinner Saturday night. Maybe drive into Maze City and go to a movie or something after.”
    “That’s very thoughtful of you, Stretch, but I’ve got company now and more coming.” I mentally referenced Cash but threw Buck into the imaginary guest list rather than say straight out that I didn’t want to go on a date with him.
    He looked a little put out. “Another time, then.” He yanked the truck’s gear into reverse, wheeled his vehicle around, and sprayed gravel into the air as he fishtailed onto the highway. Pipes, propane tanks, and other paraphernalia slid across the back of his truck bed and banged into each other in metallic displeasure.
    Sara wandered over to my truck window. “You know Mr. Adams?” When I nodded, she said, “He ran up a bill when we first came out here and I think he’s forgotten to pay it. I was hoping to catch him.”
    Stretch hadn’t forgotten, he’d just gotten by. “Sorry I ran him off. He works for Hiram Kendall at the lumber mill in town. Next time you’re in there, you might stop and ask.”
    She nodded and I headed back to the ranch. Something about Stretch Adams gave me the creeps, especially the way he wasn’t embarrassed to look me over like he was sizing up a piece of meat. I chastised myself for being so critical. Stretch Adams had made two trips out to the ranch in an ice storm last winter to help me with an injured cow when Perry was so sick with the flu he couldn’t move a muscle.
    Face it, down deep you always think men want to take you out to get a piece of your land or a piece of your ass, the little voice in my head said. “I do suspect people’s motives,” I answered firmly to the dashboard, as if something outside myself had framed the question.
    A few minutes later I pulled into the ranch, got out, and started to unload the feed, but then thought better. Cash should do it. Being treated like any other worker was part of her ranch-hand experience.
    I walked through the house and didn’t see her, so I went straight through the living room and out the back door, catching sight of her in the distance under the barn overhang where hay bales were stacked. As I approached, I saw she was bent over, snipping baling wire to break open square bales for the horses, and her jeans hung off her behind, showing an expanse of muscular lower back and a tight butt. I swear she’s built like a boy .
    “What are you up to?”
    She ducked her head and answered into the hay. “Just doing some work for Perry. That Stretch guy was out here asking where you were.”
    “Yes, I ran into him.”
    “I think he’s got the hots for you.” She held her palms together and winced slightly.
    “What makes you think that?”
    “Maybe it was the drool around the edge of his mouth. Or maybe that’s just him.” She grinned wickedly, apparently undeterred in her attempts to torment me, and I chuckled in spite of myself. Looking down, I noticed the way she was holding her hand.
    “What’d you do?”
    “Nothing. Told him where you were, that’s all.” She sounded defensive.
    “To your hand. Let me see it.” I held out mine and she turned hers over, revealing a bloody slice across the left palm. “How the hell did you do that?”
    “Wire snapped up and cut me like a razor.”
    I glanced down at the baling wire that had rusted during the winter. “Come on.” I entered the barn and she followed me to the tack room, where I