Page 32 of Bad Decisions & Back Roads

He remained silent.

I glanced up, wondering if he’d stroked out while I finished the bandage.“I’m not on your land, so you can’t accuse a McClary of poisoning your soil.I’m fully clothed, dry, and wearing a bra this time, so my boobs aren’t going to launch a sneak attack on you.”

His lips twitched upward.Then he drawled, low and rough, “I don’t think they were attacking me.”

My hand stilled on the bandage.I glanced up.

His eyes dropped to my chest, which was fully covered by the coveralls, before lifting back to my eyes.

“I think,” he said, voice dark as midnight, “they were inviting me to attack them.”

Heat slammed through me so hard I nearly dropped the wrap.My mouth went dry.My brain, apparently concussed by lust, offered nothing useful except:Well, he’s not wrong.

I swallowed.

His eyes dropped to the bruises on my wrist.All lightness dropped from his body.

“How’s my cow?”Mr.Almond boomed into the barn.

“She’s good,” I called out, falsely cheerful.“Just finishing up.”

Mr.Almond cuffed Timothy on the shoulder.“So, what do you think?You want to buy her?”

“I’ll take the tractor, Keith, but I can’t pick it up until later in the week.”Timothy’s voice was professional and no longer that dark-as-midnight tone.

“Excellent.”Mr.Almond waved at me.“Have you met Dr.Stevens yet?”

“She works for my brother.So, yes, we’ve met.”

“That’s right.Josh Hurst part owns Vision Veterinary.Well, you should get Gia out to your place.She’s magic with the cows.”

“Thanks,” I muttered.

Timothy’s gaze met mine.“Perhaps I will sometime.”

Then he left.

ChapterTwelve

GIA

Two days later,the cart I chose at the grocery store had a gimpy wheel.It made a strangled noise and was missing some plastic to keep it in sync with the other wheels.On par for the day.Everything had been just a little off.The sedated horse with the eye ulcer hadn’t gotten drowsy enough for her exam.Then the work truck needed a jump from my last farm call.

I wanted a bath followed by at least a half hour of ice on my calf where the partially sedated horse caught me with a hoof.

Bone tired, I stared at the list Misty had texted me to pick up.It was an unhinged assortment of foods shethoughtshe might be able to stomach.Olives.Watermelon.String cheese.One specific brand of crackers.Apparently, the others were “too spicy.”And spray whipped cream.

I’d found everything except the whipped cream.

After searching every refrigerated section like I was on a grocery-themed scavenger hunt, I circled the freezer aisle debating whether Cool Whip was close enough when I stopped short at the corner.

Timothy.

Of all places for a man like Timothy Hurst to be, aisle ten was not it.He was nearly chest-deep in the freezer case, frowning at two boxes of waffles like he was diffusing a bomb.One box had waffles shaped like characters from an animated movie.The other had rainbow-colored sprinkles baked in.

His face held the grim intensity of a man choosing life or death.He looked up and visibly relaxed.

He held up both boxes.“Which do you think a toddler would like better?”