with the way the worn denim of his jeans molded his leans hips and appealing backside.
Though after forty minutes working under the broiling afternoon sun, her thoughts pretty much narrowed to finishing the job. She was tired and thirsty and only sheer stubbornness drove her to keep picking up boards and swinging them onto the trailer. The steady rhythm she’d engaged was hypnotic, and when Clint called out for her to take a break, he startled her. She spun toward his voice, the movement dizzyingly fast, and she felt her body sway.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Yep, fine.” She grabbed the trailer railing for support.
He pulled off his gloves and got them each a bottle of water from the truck’s cab. “Here.”
“Thanks.” She fumbled with the cap and then greedily downed two large gulps so fast that it made her chest hurt.
“Take it easy,” he said, touching her arm. “You shouldn’t let yourself get that thirsty.”
She nodded. “I know better.” The warmth of his skin on hers did nothing to help clear her head, so she moved her arm away.
Confusion flickered in his gaze and he seemed about to say something when they heard the pounding of hooves coming in their direction.
“Clint!”
Dory squinted into the sunlight and saw a woman riding toward them, her pale blond hair streaming behind her in the breeze. Her face flushed, the blonde reined in the beautiful brown-and-white horse, stopping the animal only several feet from where they stood. She leaped down and rushed to throw her arms around Clint.
His arms instantly came up to lift her in the air. “Why, Sara Lynn, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he said, grinning as he swept her in a circle before setting her back on the ground. “Every time I think you can’t possibly get any prettier, you go and prove me dead wrong.”
Laughing, she swatted his arm. “You always say that.”
“Only because it’s the God’s honest truth.”
The young woman groaned good-naturedly and smiled at Dory, curiosity sparkling in her blue eyes. “Hi, I’m Sara.”
“Dory Richards,” she said, extending her hand.
Sara accepted her offering, briefly wincing when Dory squeezed too hard.
Mentally kicking herself, Dory promptly released her. She tried not to look at Clint but caught the amused curve of his mouth out of the corner of her eye.
“When did you come home?” he asked Sara.
“Just yesterday. I couldn’t miss the Fourth of July shindig, now could I?” She looped an arm through his, her cheeks tinted a becoming pink and gazed up at him with undisguised adoration.
Feeling like a fifth wheel, Dory turned back to loading the trailer. The younger woman couldn’t be more than nineteen or twenty, but she clearly had a mile-wide crush on Clint. Probably just his type, too, a real girlie girl. Even after having been out riding, her makeup was perfect, her hair tousled to perfection by the breeze, and for heaven’s sake, her jeans still had a crease in them.
“Hey, Dory. Relax a minute.” Clint took the boards from her hands. “You’re going to get overheated.”
“I’ll make lemonade,” Sara offered. “Come on up to the house.”
He touched a finger to the brim of his Stetson and nudged it upward, and then pulled a bandanna from his back pocket and mopped his forehead. “Thanks anyway, but we don’t have time.”
“Grover and Lenny are in the north pasture. I could go get them to help.”
“Nah, we’ll be done in a half hour or so.” Clint’s gaze narrowed on Dory. “You sore yet?”
She snorted. “I’m not the one who needed a break.”
Grinning, he stuffed his bandanna back in his pocket. “Seriously, I don’t want you to push too hard and end up out of commission all weekend.”
“Oh, please.” Dory adjusted her gloves.
“Hey, I have a vested interest in returning you alive. Kate will hurt me if I don’t.”
“Ah, I see. Nothing altruistic about your motives.”
Sara’s dramatic sigh netted her the attention she wanted. “I wish I could help but I don’t think I’d be much use.” She daintily put out her hands and wiggled her fingers. “Not with these nails.” They were long, fake and pale pink, the tips sparkling with red, white and blue glitter.
Clint’s patronizing smile appeared unnoticed by Sara. She merely beamed when he picked up one of her hands and brought the back to his lips for a quick kiss.
“These hands are a work of art. Wouldn’t want to mess them up,” he said, winking at her, before pulling on his gloves.
Sara giggled. “You better save me the first dance tomorrow night,” she said, while backing toward her horse. “I mean it, Clint Manning. I call dibs and I have a witness.”
“Wouldn’t dream of dancing with anyone else first, Sara Lynn.” He’d already started back to work.
“What dance?” Dory asked, stooping beside him to pick up a load of lumber. She hated dances. Didn’t even know how to dance. In high school, proms had been her worst nightmare.
“What dance, she asks.” Shaking his head in mock disapproval, he slid a stack of boards onto the pile, and then gave her a cocky wink. “Looks like you’re in for an initiation this weekend.”
3
THANKS TO DORY’S HARD WORK, they finished quicker than Clint had anticipated, and then headed back to the Sugarloaf. Still, making the unexpected pickup had put him behind schedule, what with the booths to build and the tables and chairs to set up for the barbecue tomorrow night. And since people tended to show up early in the morning, it looked as if he and the boys would be working until well after sundown. He really hated to put the crew out like that because it didn’t seem right to work them so hard that they’d be too tuckered out to enjoy the festivities, but if they wanted to be ready in time, he didn’t have much choice.
As if she’d read his mind, Dory asked, “What’s next?”
“For you, I suggest a warm bath. Soak those muscles you used today.” He looked over at her dirt-streaked face, cheeks flushed from exertion, and caught her eye-roll. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she would be sore later. “You were a big help.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Build the game booths.”
“Today?”
“I guarantee you we’ll have three dozen kids show up bright and early tomorrow morning, all of them raring to go.”
“I knew the party started tomorrow but I assumed the afternoon barbecue kicked it off. How many people are you expecting?”
“Generally between one-seventy and two hundred.”
“Good grief.”
He chuckled. “It’s not so bad. They don’t show up all at once. Except maybe for the rodeo and fireworks on Sunday, which is the last night.”
“Is Kate in charge of providing all the food?”
“Yep, but don’t worry, you saw how well she delegates.” They both smiled at that, and then he added, “You okay with making another stop?”
“Sure. I don’t know that we’ll have room to pick up anything else, though.” She twisted around to glance out the rear window at the overloaded trailer.
The way her T-shirt stretched over her breasts caught Clint’s attention, and he drove right through a deep pothole. The truck bucked and