Once I’ve caught my breath and looked my fill, I lift my phone and start snapping away to give production a road map of the location. It’s as I’m taking a video and explaining the approximate size of the summit that my foot catches on a piece of dry, ropy root.

And with only a few stumbled steps, my center of gravity is shot. Suddenly, I’m falling backward down the slope of the hill. I don’t fall fast or hard, it’s more of an embarrassing, clumsy, childlike roll down a hill.

A hill that is quickly revealing why Emmett refers to it as “Prickle Point.”

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OceanofPDF.com

CHAPTER 11

Emmett

I SHUT THE DOOR behind me and tip my head down. I’m ready to go face the music that is Romance Ranch.

My boots hit the round paving stones as I try to muster an internal pep talk.

Sure, I’m in it for the money, but the women seemed nice enough last night. It might even be fun. Plus, the first payment showed up in my bank account this morning, and it was a lot of zeroes. That part was definitely fun.

Dick Wad called, and he wants me to take the girls around the farm over the course of the week. Have them pitch in with some chores as a way of weeding out the ones who don’t suit farm life. He sounded downright gleeful at the prospect of “watching these prissy city girls play in some shit.”

His words, not mine.

Personally, I’m dreading the entire thing. Partially because I know our presence will rightfully irritate my opa while simultaneously thrilling Riley to no end, and because this experience is rapidly becoming a lot less exciting than I thought it was going to be.

I also find myself kind of wishing I were hiking Prickle Point instead.

It’s as I clear the front gate that the crunch of gravel beneath shoes draws me out of my pity party. And instead of staring at my toes, I find myself staring at Julia Silva. Limping down the lane with blood streaming down her knees and a piece of cactus lodged in her dark hair.

For a beat, I stare, making sense of what I see in front of me, my heart accelerating with every second that passes. I jog forward to reach her.

“Julia?” I ask stupidly, because clearly this is Julia. But compared to when I saw her earlier, she’s looking a little worse for wear.

“Who?” Her brow furrows and her head tilts as she takes a few final stiff steps toward me.

Her confusion makes my chest constrict.

“Julia? Julia Silva?”

She shakes her head. “Sorry, I don’t know her.”

My hand slips out to cup her elbow. She’s covered in dirt. A thin layer dusts her cheeks, and even more coats her arms and legs. I turn to lead her toward my place, a sense of alarm making everything I’m supposed to be doing right now fade into irrelevance. “Let’s get you cleaned—”

“Do I look so rough that I can’t be Julia Theo’s Hot Little Sister anymore?”

I draw up short, noting the sparkle of amusement that has replaced the confusion in her eyes.

A little blood on this girl and my brain short-circuits, which makes me the world’s most gullible man alive, apparently.

“That wasn’t funny,” I say stiffly, but Julia laughs anyway.

She doesn’t pull back, and I don’t let her elbow go either. She might be laughing, but she’s still hurt.

“Weird, because it was funny for me. You said Julia? like a question. And who else would I be? Sometimes stupid questions get stupid answers, Emmett.”

“Hysterical. Were you attacked by a cougar?”

“I wish. That would be a lot less embarrassing than admitting I tripped over a root and took a tumble down the side of the mountain. Gotta say, Prickle Point is aptly named. That hill is fucking covered in cacti.”

I try to stifle my smirk, but I fail.

“Oh, does that amuse you?”

I lift my free hands up in surrender. “I would never be amused by your misfortune, but in this case, I find it somewhat satisfying.”

She shoots me an incredulous look. “You are such a dick.”

“Oh, don’t look so offended. You told me over and over again you didn’t want my help, and you wanted to go by yourself. But we both know I could have been there to save you from yourself.”

She looks down, palms brushing against her hips as though a simple swipe of the hand would be enough to clean off the mess covering her. “You’ve saved me quite enough for one lifetime,” she mutters. And when her eyes meet mine again, they’re all steel.

I don’t need to ask what she’s referring to. I know what she means.

“I didn’t save you that night, Julia. All I did was respect your wishes and step in when anyone else would have.”

A bitter laugh spills from her lips as she pulls away to prop her hands on her hips. “When anyone else would have? No, there are at least a few people in the world who would have been happy to sit back and watch it all unfold. Who knows what else—” Her voice goes slightly shrill before she cuts off her own sentence. She stares back at me with a grimace. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. I’ll go clean myself up.”

She starts to walk away, but I reach for her again, fingers sliding over her forearm just as she pulls clear of my reach, but it’s enough to bring her up short.

When she peeks back over her shoulder at me, I tilt my head toward my cottage, which she eyes suspiciously. “Clean up here before you head back to set.”

“I don’t—”

I cut her off with a wave before I breeze past her and walk back toward the front of the house. “If you show up looking like that and Dick Wad sees you, he’ll blow a fucking gasket.”

Several beats of silence stretch as she stands behind me.

“I’m sorry, did you just call him Dick Wad?”

I smile, but I don’t turn back. “His name and personality lend themselves rather well to that abbreviation, don’t you think?”

Her laughter rings out, and relief courses through me. The sound of it has me smiling even harder than I was before.

I’d left Julia behind to clean herself up, thinking I’d be able to get to set and not obsess over her well-being.

I was wrong.

Hair and makeup were ready to pounce on me the minute I stepped off the road and toward the production trailers. I recoiled almost immediately and made up a bullshit excuse about having forgotten something at my house that I needed to go get. Then I bolted with no other explanation.

Which is how I found myself here. Back at my house. Being entertained.

“Fuck.”

“Shit fuck.”

“Motherfucker.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“I fucking hate this shit.”

“Fuck my life.”

I watch Julia Silva, who I had pegged as sweet and proper and a carbon copy of her smiley-face emoji of a brother, employ almost every offensive combination of fuck under the sun as she uses tweezers to remove the prickles from her palms and forearms.

One at a time. Because she still refuses to let me help her.

She’s all huffy and pissy. And honestly? It’s kind of adorable. Adorable enough that a chuckle slips from my lips when she says, “Fucking fuck!”

Her head whips around from where she stands at the kitchen sink, and her dark eyes narrow in my direction. I’ve propped myself against the counter, a safe distance away from her. Giving her space like you might an injured wild animal.

“Something funny, Bush?” she asks with a tinge of venom in her voice. “I thought you’d left.”

I shrug and make a show of giving her a slow once-over, as if I’m assessing her.

I know I shouldn’t. I know I’m playing with fire. Flirting with Theo Silva’s little sister is like charging at a big red flag. But as it turns out, red’s my favorite color.