An Excerpt from
By Darlene Panzera
If it wasn’t for an injury to his leg, Luke Collins would be riding rodeo broncos all day, every day. Until he heals, he’s determined to help his family’s guest ranch bring in money any way he can. But when a cranky neighbor gets in the way of his goal, Luke turns to the only person he knows can help: the gorgeous, rodeo-barrel-racing spitfire next door.
Sammy Jo froze as he met her gaze, and it seemed as if he could see right through her. But could he see the love she had for him swelling her heart? Sometimes when they stood this near she thought her chest would explode with the emotion she fought so hard to restrain. But if she gushed like a schoolgirl and told him how she really felt, he’d never believe her. Not that he did now. And she’d only shown him a quarter of the affection she’d been hiding.
“Okay,” Luke relented, “you can help. But keep your eyes on the job.”
“Where else would my eyes be?” she teased.
Luke shot her a look of amusement, but didn’t reply and she didn’t dare push the subject any farther. Determined to show him she could be of value, she shot out her arm to retrieve the bucket of paint he’d placed on an upper rung of the ladder.
Except Luke reached for it at the same time and the double movement made the bucket wobble, tip, and then . . . dump the five gallons of thick, clover green liquid right over both their heads.
Sammy Jo let out a screech, jumped back as the bucket hit the ground to avoid another splash, and brought her hands up to her face to keep the paint from streaming into her eyes. The chalky latex enamel substance smelled as bad as it tasted and she had to spit several times to get the wretched stuff off her lips and out of her mouth.
She glanced down at her white t-shirt and denim cut-offs coated in green, as were her arms, legs, and what used to be her blue, canvas shoes.
Then her hands flew to the top of her head where gobs of the green goo weighted down her long dark curls and left them hanging limp over her shoulders. She tried to separate the icky green strands with her fingers and let out another cry. Returning her hair to its natural color would be no easy task. No easy task at all! Maybe next time she’d think twice before offering to help for the sake of spending time with him.
She glanced at Luke, also covered in green, except she’d been right—his clothes hid the paint better. Holding her breath, she waited for his reaction. Would he be mad? Blame her for wasting the gallon of paint?
No . . . he grinned. As if this was funny. As if . . .
“Did you do that on purpose?” she demanded.
“Of course not,” he said, inspecting the new color of his cane. “If I had, I would have stepped back so the paint didn’t get me.”
“Then why are you laughing?”
“I’m not.” He broke into another grin. “Although you do look a lot like the wicked witch from The Wizard of Oz.”
Sammy Jo sucked in her breath. “And you look like a cow has spewed all over you with a whole day’s worth of green cud!”
This time Luke did laugh. He laughed for several long seconds, harder than she’d ever heard him laugh since he’d been back home.
“You know that Emerald Isle shade becomes you,” he teased. “Matches your eyes.”
“Not funny,” she shot back. “How am I going to get all this paint out of my hair?”
“You can’t. You’ll have to cut it all off.”
The thought of styling a bald head didn’t hold much appeal. She’d rather sport her clover green curls until the color grew out, although that image too, was almost enough to bring her to tears.
Then his amused expression made her realize he wasn’t serious and she pointed her finger at him. “Now who’s playing games?”
Luke shrugged. “It’ll wash out with a good shampoo. You’ll just have to scrub real good. For now, we can rinse off with the hose in the wash room.”
She patted the front pocket on her denim shorts. “I hope the paint didn’t go through to my cell phone. What if I lost all my contact numbers? Or my photos?”
“Would be a shame,” he said with mock concern.
Luke did not appreciate the finer aspects of having multiple apps available at one’s fingertips 24–7. A fault she could easily forgive him for if he’d only pick up the phone to call her for a date.
A real date. Not just hanging out at the barn, or attending a rodeo together with the rest of their friends, or even roasting marshmallows by the fire with his sisters. But one-on-one time with just the two of them.
Luke led her toward the open double doors of the stable to the large cement wash room where they usually gave the horses a bath. When she envisioned a date, this setting had never come to mind either.
“Stand over the drain and I’ll hose you down,” he said, turning on the water.
She took her phone out of her pocket and set it on a shelf holding the horse shampoo, a sponge and squeegee. Then stood ready to embrace the oncoming shower.
“Tip your head back and close your eyes,” Luke instructed.
“So you can kiss me?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “So I can do this.”