Fever dream

I don’t feel that way when I meet Ashley’s blue eyes. The color is all wrong, and part of me wants to shrivel up and die knowing that so many people will be watching us interact.

No, this is nothing like with Julia.

But the cameras are rolling and I need that paycheck, so I toss out a flirtatious grin and bear it as I reach around her narrow shoulders. “Like this. Here. And here,” I murmur, close to her neck, noting her perfume. It’s so strong that it overpowers any hope of that fresh laundry soap smell that has been haunting me since yesterday with Julia.

I place her hands in the correct position on the handle, keeping a respectful distance between my front and her back.

“Ohhh. That feels a lot better.” She giggles and shimmies her shoulders to test the grip, which is enough to draw the eyes of all the other women working in the neighboring stalls.

And where interactions like this are usually my bread and butter, this is uncomfortably phony.

“Just like this.” I forge past my uneasiness, deciding that following through on this scene is worth it. “You scoop.” The tines slide under the manure along with a bunch of shavings. “Lift the rake, then a little shake.”

I move my arms to demonstrate as we shake the rake in tandem. Her back presses against my chest as all the shavings fall through the tines of the fork, and I try to ignore the contact. “And then a little flip,” I instruct. We lift the fork, and I snap my wrists as we flip the scoop.

And just like that, the pieces of manure find their way into the wheelbarrow. “See?”

Ashley squeals as though I’ve cured cancer rather than moved shit from one pile to another.

“Easy. You’re a natural.”

I step back and out of the stall, dusting my hands off, thinking my work here is done. But when I do, several of the other women pipe up, asking for the same help. I scrub a hand over my stubble. Because this is fucking insane.

But it’s better than standing around in a suit, drinking champagne, and making small talk. So I turn to the nearest woman, Jada.

“Want me to show you?”

She quirks one perfectly shaped black brow and glances over at Ashley, amusement dancing in her eyes before she looks back my way. “Listen, I genuinely respect that this is what you do here. I’m enjoying learning about your family legacy. But I’m also not about to pretend I’ll be spending my days shoveling shit if you choose me. No point in starting this thing off with a lie. Better we just clear that up right here and now.”

The corner of my mouth tips up as I regard the woman. Head held proud, she watches me back. Almost daring me to challenge her.

But I don’t.

“I respect that, Jada. Appreciate you being so honest with me.”

She nods, looking pleased. And I nod back, impressed with her directness.

Trying to ignore the way the camera moved closer during that last interaction, I turn searching for the next woman who—unfortunately for me—happens to be Handsy Evelyn.

With a grimace that I hope isn’t too obvious, I hold out a hand in offering. “Evelyn?”

“Of course,” she replies with a saucy wink, as if me offering to help her scoop shit is akin to getting down on one knee.

The energy on set shifts, and the other women look—no, glare—more closely. I can’t help but notice the odd shake of the head as though I’ve let them down by selecting her.

Whatever animosity is building in the bunkhouse is abundantly clear, but I skirt the tension by pretending not to notice. I assume the position with her and go through the same steps. Scoop, shake, flip.

But Evelyn doesn’t give a fuck about scooping shit. She’s too focused on arching her back and rubbing her ass against my dick. It’s something I’d usually be into, but in this setting, it just feels gross.

Especially when I hear Dick Wad whispering, “Camera Two, zoom in on her ass. Yeah, right there. Fuck, that looks good.”

God, he’s so embarrassing.

When I finally step away and look over at him, his expression is totally smarmy—he might as well be rubbing his hands together like a fly on shit.

“Me next!” a woman who introduced herself—unforgettably—as Cookie exclaims.

Akira actually glances around herself like she’s living in some sort of alternate reality. “Ladies, seriously? If pretending you don’t know how a pitchfork works is impressive to a man he’s not worth impressing.”

And I can’t help myself, I laugh. Because she’s right.

Based on the way Teri purses her lips, I suspect she’s seen my reaction. And she doesn’t approve.

So I double down, forcing myself to smile in her direction before turning back to the women. I go through the rounds and give them all the charm I can muster. I help five of the ten women learn how to use a pitchfork as though it’s a special skill.

The experience makes me want to eliminate all five on the spot just for being a

When I finally break free of the final stall, I can’t help but think about Julia. There’s no way in hell she’d need me to show her how to hold a pitchfork. She’d sooner pick it up and beat me with it.

Without meaning to, my eyes find her through the crowd of crew members standing at the end of the barn alleyway. She’s still got that smirk from yesterday plastered on her lips.

We stare at each other for a couple of beats.

I watch as her eyes drop, meandering over my body and landing just below my belt where they stay. I actually look down to see if I’ve spilled something on my jeans. But there’s nothing at all, so I shake it off, refusing to be u

I’m here to get a job done. I’m here for my family. And what Julia Silva thinks of me is of little consequence. I force her out of my mind and try to focus on the women who I’m actually here for.

We feed horses. We drive the tractor and grade the driveway. Hell, we even water both the outdoor and indoor arena for Riley.

It’s as the women are wrapping the hose up in the indoor arena that Handsy Evelyn makes a show of wiping her mucky hands off on my T-shirt with a playful giggle.

Dick Wad shares his approval from the sidelines, but it only makes the other women dislike her more.

Still, by the time we wrap up, news of all the chores that were completed has made it to the family group chat. Since having to lay off staff to keep expenses down, it’s impossible not to notice that a lot of ground has been covered around the farm today.

Riley

Are you sure you can’t keep all ten? It would be awfully helpful.

Opa

Fuck no.

Evan

That’s about how many women it would take to hold his attention. A stable’s worth!

Parker

That’s only because he hasn’t met that one special person who can hold his attention all on her own.

Oma

LOL.

I smirk down at the screen. Specifically at Oma’s LOL, which she has recently learned means “laugh out loud,” not “lots of love.”

Emmett

Sorry, Riley, I eliminated all of them. Show’s over. So you are shit out of luck. And everyone else can stop talking about me like I’m not here, too.

Oma

We know you are here and we are sending

lots of love! LOL.

That forces a chuckle out of me as I shove my phone back into my pocket. And then my eyes seek out Julia among the crew.

Julia, who makes a point of staring back at me before looking at my crotch again with a knowing smirk tipping her lips.

I decide I’ve had enough of her mocking glances, so I give the crew a friendly wave before dropping my mask of a fake smile and marching over to Julia. I don’t meet her eyes as I move past, but my hand shoots out, gripping her wrist and dragging her along with me. Straight out of the indoor arena and into the adjoining barn.

I haul her around the corner and down the L-shaped hall into the tack room. As soon as I click the door shut behind us, I step back, away from her.

“Why the hell have you been staring at my dick all day?” I spit out.

She chuckles, standing tall and propping her hands on her hips. Something I’ve noticed she does a lot. A protective stance, possibly making her look more casual than she feels. Or she just needs something to do with her hands. That’s often why I cross my arms.

“For science, Brandt.”

I startle for a beat. I wasn’t expecting her to swap so seamlessly into using my preferred name. It’s more familiar than I like, and yet, I have no one to blame for that except myself and a moment of honest weakness.

My brows furrow. “Science?”

“Yeah. Don’t you remember? You told me that you’d get a boner for any woman bent over in front of you.”

I groan and tip my face up to the ceiling, regretting saying that all over again. Because I should have known Julia wouldn’t let it go. That she’d take it and run like a dog with a bone.

“But in a fascinating turn of events, I stood and watched you bend five different women over, and the front of those jeans didn’t bulge any more than usual.” She winks at me, and my jaw goes slack.

Which does nothing but draw an amused giggle from her. “So basically, the results of the experiment tell me that you, Emmett Brandt, are a big fat boner liar.” Her tone gleeful as she steps toward me and pats my shoulder. “It’s okay. This secret is safe with me too.”

I sit stiffly, preparing myself to crank up the charisma for the cameras.

After the first week of filming, I’m due for one-on-one time with a few of the women, according to production. The plan is for them to be led out to the love seat around the side of the bunkhouse, where Julia has staged an idyllic set for interviews. One by one, they’ll take a seat beside me, and we’ll have a supergenuine conversation in front of the camera.

Earlier today, they had me select a couple of daters for this segment. Richard picked a couple, too, because why wouldn’t he?

Teri leads the first woman out. My gaze lands on Cookie, and I’m kind of relieved, because she’s proven to be one of the most laid-back women in the group.

She’s freshened up since doing farm chores and is sporting wedge sandals and a pink-patterned halter dress that falls midthigh. A day in the sun has added a flush to her full cheeks, and there’s a happy bounce in her step as she approaches.

“All right, we’ve got Cookie here first.” Teri gives me a thumbs-up and backs away, drawing her fingers upward over her lips in a silent suggestion that I smile.

I force my lips up and say, “So tell me, because I’ve been dying to know… is your name actually Cookie?”