Page 76 of Dallas Rivals

Cala takes the lead, her tone brisk as she announces, “Shall we start the round?” Without waiting for a reply, she heads toward the barn, clearly putting as much distance as possible between herself and me—the proverbial dark cloud hanging overhead.

Spenser, ever the eager one, nods and politely asks for permission before following her inside, acting like the model employee.

I trail behind them both, unable to keep myself from tagging along.

Honestly, I’m not even sure what I’m doing anymore. All I know is that Spenser’s intentions seem questionable, and someone needs to look out for my employee—especially from guys who think they can charm their way into anything that moves.

And for the record, my strange feelings for Cala have absolutely nothing to do with it.

Throughout the whole damn thing, Spenser’s all charm—smiling, cracking jokes with that stupid glint in his eyes, saying things with just enough innuendo to make Cala laugh until she’s breathless.

Meanwhile, I’m leaning against the fence, frown carved deep into my face, every muscle in my jaw tight as stone.

He starts with the goats, wrangling them like his life depends on it. The guy’s got a full-on Crocodile Hunter complex, putting on a damn show for Cala, pretending he’s in mortal danger because one of the goats tried to headbutt him.

I let out a loud, irritated sigh—just enough so she hears it.

And she does.

Her glare could cut through bone.

I meet it with a slow, smug smile.

After finishing with the goats, Spenser moves on to the cows, then the horses. The process is noticeably slower than when Raúl used to handle it, taking twice as long—an immediate mark against Spenser in my book. Cala assists throughout, her curiosity on full display as she fires off question after question, her eyes bright and eager for answers. Predictably, Spenser plays up his patience and charm, responding to each inquiry with a smooth, pleasant tone. Watching him, I can’t help but feel the urge to toss him straight into the trough, his demeanor grating on my nerves.

When he’s finally done, they exchange numbers “for emergencies.”

Sure. Emergencies.

Spenser drives off, and my shoulders drop, tension bleeding out little by little. Until Cala turns toward me, hands on her hips, chin high. And just like that, every muscle in my body locks back up again.

“What the hell was that?”

“What was what?” I cross my arms over my chest.

“That little show you put on. I get that you’re a difficult man, but that doesn’t mean you get to treat employees like crap.”

“I didn’t treat anyone like crap.”

Cala arches a brow and folds her arms too, mirroring me perfectly—right down to the attitude.

“Yes, you did. It was obvious and uncomfortable. Don’t you trust me? Don’t you think I can tell when someone’s doing their job right?”

That’s not the problem, Cala.

“Of course I do.”

“Then what is it?”

I’m cornered, and I can feel it.

“It’s just who I am.”

Sounds better than saying the truth, that the sight of another man making her laugh makes my blood boil. That I wanted to punch the idiot just for breathing near her.

Cala steps closer, close enough that her body brushes mine. Her scent—something wild and clean—slips into my lungs, into my head, into every part of me I’m trying to keep under control.

I swallow hard.