“Now, as I was saying,” Mr. Zebroski continued, “we’ve been struggling to find volunteers for the Tiny Tykes Mutton Busting event to kick off the rodeo, and that,gentlemen, will be your assignment. To assist Mr. MacMasters with the kids and ensuring that it goes off without a hitch.”
When I’d seen the signup sheet, I’d immediately veered left and headed for the water cooler. Sheep I could deal with. Excited little kids eager to ride on the back of one? That was a hard no, thank you very much.
“So, which will it be? Detention or mutton busting?”
“I’ll take neither, Alex,” was right on the tip of my tongue, which I had to bite to keep from saying out loud.
“Oh man, mutton busting? I’d have signed up to help with that,” Wylde declared. “That’s how I knew I wanted to ride bulls.”
Groaning, I slapped a hand to my face and bit back a curse. Of course he was all for it. Golden retriever energy and all.
“Thorin?”
“Mutton busting,” I muttered.
“Good. Glad that’s settled. Now get to class, and if you can’t get along, then stay away from each other. I don’t want to hear about another incident between you of any kind, which includes gross-out contests, ice-cream sandwich eating contests, or who can stand barefoot in a bucket of ice water the longest. No more, gentlemen, at least not on school grounds. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” Wylde replied, though that cocky little smirk was back.
And why wouldn’t it be when he beat me in every instance, including a few Mr. Zebroski hopefully didn’t know about.
“Understood, Sir,” I reluctantly replied.
“Good, now git.”
We scrambled out of there like our tails were on fire, and because the universe hated me, we headed down the hall to the very history class in which our Lincoln County War debate had taken place. Brooding, I couldn’t stop thinking about the last mutton busting event, which I’d watched from my seat in the stands beside the podium, safely away from the chaos of twenty-five little kids dressed in helmets and vests. Now I was going to be right in the thick of it with no clue how anyone was supposed to keep that many five to seven-year-olds organized.
Meanwhile Wylde snickered and chuckled his way down the hall like we hadn’t just been handed a nightmarish mess of epic proportions to contend with.
“It’s not funny,” I snapped.
“It’s a little funny. He could have made us write a paper on the pitfalls of being overly competitive or the dangers of pegging your classmates in the face with a bean bag.”
Growling, I rounded on him, crowding him back against the lockers and staring him dead in those mossy green eyes. “Why is everything a joke to you?”
“Why you gotta be so serious about everything?”
He flicked his tongue out, licking it over his upper lip and cocked his head while I leaned in closer. I had a million answers and a list of dreams and ambitions I could have rattled off. Instead of spitting out words, my mouth decided it would rather be pressed against his, and damn if he didn’t open up and meet me in the fiercest battle of tongues I’d ever engaged in. The locker behind him rattled when I slammed him against it, pinning him in place, my chest against his, his fingers tangled in my hair, our moans mingling as we made out right there in the hallway.
He was still smirking when I broke the kiss, stepped back and grumbled about him being a menace. Smirking every other time we locked gazes that afternoon, too. Every smirk showing off that dimple in his left cheek, damn him.
The rattle of the door opening drew me back to the present as a blonde girl with splotchy red cheeks scurried out of Derek’s office, rubbing her backside. I’d seen her refilling implement cabinets. She was one of the service subs, though I couldn’t recall her name.
“Thorin and Wylde, you can come on in.”
Wylde hummed a few bars of “Star Wars Imperial March” as we stood, and dammit all, I struggled to rein in a snicker.
Beautiful artwork adorned the office walls, including a depiction of the Ranch in its early years and two men whose looks spoke of their definite familial relation to Derek.
“Thanks for stopping in. I know you guys have things to do today, so I’ll keep it brief. We received an application from a service sub that was accompanied by a rather unique request. He wants to come to Rawhide as a mail-order housekeeper and live out that fantasy while he learns more about the Ranch and decides if he’d like to become a permanent addition. He’s twenty-five and his former employment was as a personal attendant, with all the duties that entailed. In fact, his former employer was the one to recommend the Ranch to him, as he was a frequent visitor before his day job made visiting a challenge for him.”
“And you’d like us to be his hosts?” I asked. “Our place isn’t messy enough to need a housekeeper.”
“Yet,” Wylde muttered.
Derek’s lips quirked like he was trying not to laugh as he shook his head at us.
“I’m sure you’ll be able to move some of your state of upheaval to one of the guest cabins by the time he arrives on Friday morning,” Derek said. “I’ve got his folder here, which includes his preferences and very detailed requests. Once you start going through it, you’ll understand why I’m asking you two to take care of him during his stay.”