“No, ma’am. Mine. Just in case I need to use some equipment I have.”
“All right.”
She closed the door, walked down the steps, and around the front of the truck to the passenger side. She jerked in surprise when he opened the door for her. She smiled at him.
“Thank you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She watched him through the windshield as he strode around the front. He was tall with deep brown hair. A white straw cowboy hat sat on his head, and he wore a protective vest with Livestock Agent stitched on the front of it. Under the vest, he wore a T-shirt.
He opened the door, slid onto the seat, started the truck, and nodded at her.
“Show me,” he said.
“Go through there,” she said and pointed to a road leading through an open gate. “Just follow it until I tell you where to turn.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How long have you worked for MDOL, Agent Richards?”
“I’ve been an agent for twelve years.”
“I see. Did you go to college for that?”
“Yes, ma’am. Right after high school, I did four years in animal husbandry.”
So, he was thirty-four. She loved the sound of his voice, but that damn beard did not appeal at all. It wasn’t long but very thick. Too bushy for her liking. Besides, he could be married. She glanced at his hands on the steering wheel to see he wasn’t wearing a wedding band. Didn’t mean squat, though. Maybe he didn’t wear it because he got his hands dirty.
“What a crock,” she muttered.
“Ma’am?”
“Nothing. Talking to myself.”
He nodded but said nothing. She couldn’t stop looking at his hands and arms as he drove along. Black hair covered his arms, and she thought it was sexy as all get out. She wondered what he looked like without the beard. She knew some women loved them, but she only liked some scruff, nothing more.
“Oh, turn right here. It’s a little bumpy,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sure I’ve driven on worse.”
“Please call me Rory. Ma’am makes me feel old.”
“You’re far from it. My mother would have a fit if I didn’t address you properly.”
“Well, she’s not here, is she?”
He glanced over at her and back to the windshield.
“No, she’s not. How about Ms. Heston?”
“It’sMrs. Heston. I prefer Rory, but if you’d rather not call me by my given name, Mrs. Heston is fine. If you go straight now, you’ll see where they cut the fence.”
He drove the truck to the section of the fence that was down and stopped the vehicle.
“Stay here, please.”
“Your boots will get muddy,” she said, then rolled her eyes.