Cowboy's Kiss (A Big Sky Short Story) by Sierra Hill & Flirt Club

Author:Sierra Hill & Flirt Club [Hill, Sierra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-08-14T16:00:00+00:00

Oh my God. I haven’t been this sore since I tried competitive ice skating in the fifth grade and was bruised up and down my legs from all the falls from practice.

We’ve stopped for a dinner break, the blazing sun working full force to remind us who’s boss out here in the mountain range and God’s country.

Most of the cowboy and ranch hand crew have headed back to the bunkhouse, their day of fencing repairs complete, as Cutter and I dismount near a stream. With both hands on the horn, I swing my leg over Thistle’s croup, her soft whinnies filling my ears as I stand to her side, trailing my hand down her forehead and muzzle.

“Good girl, Thistle. Thanks for being so good to me today.”

I lift my eyes sensing Cutter’s stare, turning to find him regarding me curiously.

“What?” I snap, tying her reins to the post he’d pointed out so the tired horses could drink from the stream.

“Nothing. I just didn’t expect you to be such a natural.”

I can’t help but smile at the compliment. What I’ve learned from my observations of Cutter throughout the day is that he is tough and firm with his men, but has a good sense of humor, constantly ribbing them good naturedly, but never stepping over the established boss/crew boundaries. However, he isn’t quick to show appreciation, so his remark sparks a giddy lightness inside my heart.

In fact, I’ve gotten so used to his bossiness, I’ve come to like it.

“Is that a compliment, I hear, Cowboy?” I tease, sitting down on the blanket he’s spread out on the ground and extracting my notebook and pen from the satchel next to me. “I guess it’s true what they say. It’s just like riding a bike. Or, a horse in this case.”

He makes a grunting sound, which I assume is laughter, and I reach for the sandwich he hands me. Our fingertips graze over one another’s, the gentle touch over powered by the shock of electrical current that explodes across my skin, up my arm and then plunges between my legs.

There’s a moment when everything seems to just stop – even the horses sense our profound connection and quiet down. I finally shake my head clear and begin peppering him with questions while we eat.

What’s the most difficult part about ranching?

How would you describe the work?

What makes you anxious in your day-to-day role?

What do you want others to know about the struggles you face?

Where do you see yourself in five years?

Cutter answers each and every one of them with scripted ease until we come to the last question. He’s silent at first, lifting his eyes to the sky, where storm clouds have taken up residence against the backdrop of the mountain range.

When he finally answers me, I’m not expecting his honest response to include me.

“I can see myself…” he says, leaning to his side, his hand on the ground next to my hip, his warm breath whispering over my cheek. “With a woman like you.

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