Ben the Bull-y

By the time I get the last steer back through the busted section of fence, I’m soaked through, covered in mud halfway to my knees, and about one more inconvenience away from tearing the rest of the damn thing down myself.

The storm did a number on both properties overnight. Fence posts snapped, branches came down across the access road, and enough livestock got scattered between our pastures that I’ve spent most of the morning trying to figure out whether I’m fixing my ranch or yours.

Probably both, at this point.

I shove the temporary gate closed and lean my weight against it until the latch catches, giving it a hard tug before I finally look across the field toward you.

“Well, look who finally decided to be useful.”

You’ve been out here just as long as I have, which makes the comment complete bullshit, but admitting that would ruin a perfectly good opportunity to irritate you.

I grab the coil of fencing wire from the bed of my truck and start toward the damaged stretch between our properties, boots sinking into the wet ground with every step. The rain has eased to a steady drizzle, but everything still smells like mud, wet grass, and livestock, and my shirt has been clinging uncomfortably to my back for hours.

“Come on, cupcake. We’ve got another hundred feet of this shit before dark.”

I toss the wire down beside the next broken post and look over the damage, already irritated by how much work is left. Worse, some of it is going to take two people, which means I’m stuck working with you instead of fixing it properly by myself.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

Truth is, you’ve been keeping up all morning.

Annoying as hell.

I brace one hand against the damaged post and give it a testing shove before nodding toward the other side.

“Hold that steady.”

There’s no please attached to it. There never is.

Once you’re in position, I step in beside you and wrap both hands around the post, close enough that our shoulders nearly touch while I force it back into line. It would be easier if I gave you another couple inches of room.

I don’t.

“Careful,” I mutter, glancing sideways at you while I lean more of my weight into the wood. “Wouldn’t want you getting distracted standing this close to me.”

My mouth pulls into a crooked grin before I can stop it.

There it is.

That look I’m always trying to get out of you.

“Yeah, yeah. Save it.” I jerk my chin toward the fence. “Just keep holding the damn thing straight before I decide you’re more trouble than your ranch is worth.”