I was a Friday night regular at Hartsville’s infamous dive bar, until a line-dancing accident sent me to the hospital six years ago. The concussion kept me from working on the ranch for weeks,
I’d love to see the look on his face when I tell him to get the fuck off my property. Who does he think he is, believing he’s entitled to my family’s ranch?
Did the author intend to make me hate her? Bc its working…
“You wanna know if I ride like the devil?” He shifts, angling his hips toward me. “Get in the saddle and find out. Grab the reins in your left hand, then put that hand on the pommel.”
You don’t know how fun I can be, sweetheart. You want me to teach you how to use those legs? Let me get between ’em, and I’ll show you exactly how it’s done.