Page 33 of A Bittersweet Summer

Cass pauses, pink painting her cheeks as I grab a water bottle and down as much as humanly possible. The plastic crunches when I’ve drained it of all liquid and toss it into the trash.

“Right.” She clears her throat. “The blankets are just annoying. But for Lennon’s grand opening, I found time to make these cute plant holders. She may hate them since she hates most things. However, shedoeslike it when there’s a story behind something. Maybe I should make something up.” Her eyes widen with excitement. “You could help me make something up! It has to be good.”

I count the syringes on the counter once more before throwing them into a small bucket to carry down to the other barn. The bucket makes them less of a stabbing hazard. When I lean against the counter, I cross one muddied boot over the other. “You can say you found them in your new house,” I offer. “Tell her my grandmother made them before she died, and they were left there or something.”

“Your grandmother’s house!” Cass all but shrieks. “I was wondering how you guys got the thing.”

“My parents bought it from the old owners when my dad’s mom got older. She needed help, but refused to live in a nursing home. My parents cared for her until she died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Cass’s nose scrunches up. “I wouldn’t want to live in a nursing home, either. She was a wise woman.”

For some reason, I find myself offering up more details than necessary. Maybe she’s rubbing off on me. “Well, the house was rough when we got it, but my dad was pretty handy. He fixed it up nice—restored the cabinets in the main farmhouse, too.” I let out a small chuckle. “Though those are worse for the wear again. We’re pretty hard on things around here, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Both houses are very nice, and please tell your dad I appreciate his hard work.” Cass’s blue eyes glitter like the surface of the pond in summer—though the color is far more pleasant. “I don’t make a very good liar, though. Short story long, I cannot forget that bag on the other chair, and I’m only saying this to remind myself. It’s not your responsibility or anything.” She waves her hands around. “Obviously, it’s not your responsibility. I’m hired to helpyou. Not the other way around. I’d never ask you to be my own personal reminder.”

My tongue runs along my molars in an attempt to suppress a smile. “Of course not.”

After walking out of the office, Cassidy finishes up the last of the stalls in the lesson barn as I head down to Grady to givehim the syringes I collected. By the time I return, the manure spreader is stacked high, so I fire up the tractor to spread that shit out in the pasture.

Cass waits on the ground, pitchfork propped up next to her with one delicate hand resting at the top, looking like she wants to say something. Shielding her eyes, she looks up at me, squinting. There’s hay in the wild strands of her hair that have broken from their ponytail confinement.

“Question?” I shout over the roar of the tractor.

“When do I get to drive?” she asks.

“Drive what?”

The hand she used to shield her eyes gestures to the equipment rumbling beneath me. “The tractor. It would make your life a lot easier if I could use the manure spreader. We both know that. You said it yourself, we’re pretty hard on things out here. You need all the help you can get.”

“I do,” I confirm. It’s been a complication before. Without knowing how to drive the heavier equipment, it leaves me, Grady, and Walton to do most of that work, which doesn’t go well when one of us is mending fences, Lord knows where, and the other two are tied up in the other barn. Things would move a lot faster if she could handle it herself.

Unfortunately, I have a client on the way, mere minutes to get this taken care of, and no interest in figuring out how to get us both up here on one seat.

“Next time,” I say. “I have someone coming in to look at one of the colts in about an hour, and need all barns in tip-top shape.”

I expect her shoulders to slump, but, being Cass, she just smiles wider. “An hour to make both barns look beautiful.” She says the words with joy—as if she’s happy about cleaning up everyone’s messes. “You got it, Boss. And Wes?”

My name on her lips has me squeezing my molars together.

Unfortunately, I’ve discovered in the last month that I am very attracted to my newest employee. It’s wrong for a million different reasons, but I can’t deny that it’s there, and the more I sit here looking at her, the more shame fills me at the way I slid my hand down her hip, her thigh, and all the way to her calf when I gave her a leg up.

That really shouldn’t have happened.

“Yup?” I question, urging her to continue while doing my best to create distance—force it.

“I’ll hold you to it on learning to drive that tractor,” she says before turning on her heel and scurrying off with the pitchfork in hand.

I hang my head, taking two solid deep breaths to center myself and will the blood to rush nowhere in particular.

I try to remind myself of all the reasons I don’t get involved with anyone who works on this farm. I run through the list. There’s Scarlett and the aftermath of our relationship. My parents' nasty divorce. The insurmountable number of responsibilities I have.

Despite my best efforts, Cassidy seems to wipe the slate clean—making me forget why I ever made the rule to begin with.

By the time I finish unloading the manure spreader and make it back to the lesson barn after checking on one of the mares, Cassidy has clocked out.

Asher is set to clock in for evening chores, which will give me a much-needed break.

The high school kid asked specifically for three days a week after school, and that arrangement gave me, Walton, and Grady a bit of reprieve.