“The price is a hundred. Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll leave it.”
The beauty turned on her heels and marched toward the door of the barn.
Shit, I should have taken the seventy-five.
He could have made life easier for his dad. Jack could take Lilia, the Mexican woman who’d kept house for him for the last five years, with him. Since Finola Grayhawk had passed on three years ago, Lilia cooked and cleaned in exchange for room and board in Rafe and Tom’s old room. Lilia had reduced her hours as a receptionist to part time to help keep house for Jack. The two would have had a wonderful new life in Arizona.
Ah well, Rafe had no doubt saved himself a lifetime’s worth of headache. He put the currycomb down and grabbed the stiff bristle brush. This particular gelding, Adonis, loved the stiff bristle brush. Rafe started at the neck with short flicking motions. “That’s a good boy.”
A throat cleared behind him. He turned. Angelina.
“You still here? Thought you’d marched out in a huff.”
“A hundred it is then, hand.”
“There ain’t enough money in the world for me to put up with you calling me ‘hand.’”
“That’s what I call all the hands.”
“They have names, you know.”
“You expect me to remember all those names?”
“Why not? They remember yours, don’t they?”
“That’s different. I’m the boss’s daughter, and there’s only one of me.”
Thank God. If another Angelina existed, he’d lose all hope for the world. “You’re not the boss’s daughter here.”
“I’m the boss’s sister-in-law.”
“Whatever. You want my help? The price is a hundred an hour, and if you call me ‘hand’ one more time, all deals are off.”
“Fine. Rafe, then.”
“How about Mr. Grayhawk?”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I am, Miss Bay.” Let’s see how she handles this one.
“Of course you should call me Miss Bay. I’m the boss and you’re the help.”
Help? Seriously? Normally he’d think twice about getting into it with his boss’s sister-in-law, but Chad McCray respected him and his work, and this little snot brought out the worst in him. “I obviously have something you want. I won’t deal with disrespect from anyone, especially not a flouncy ranch girl.”
Hands to hips again. Did she have two indentations there? “Girl? I happen to be thirty-two years old.”
Thirty-two? He’d have guessed her younger than his own age of twenty-five. The years had been kind to Miss Bay. She had the skin and body of a nineteen-year-old. She was a beauty. On the outside, at least.
“Thirty-two years old and acting like a spoiled brat? Grow up, Angelina.”
“Miss Bay.”
“Angelina. And you’ll call me Rafe. I hate Mr. Grayhawk.”
She tapped her foot on the barn floor. “It was your idea.”