Текст книги "Fever dream"
Автор книги: Elsie Silver
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 24 страниц)
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CHAPTER 14
Julia
OUR EYES LOCK for several beats. The only sound in the cottage is the soft tick of the freestanding grandfather clock in the living room, like a metronome hypnotizing us both.
His parents. The familiarity of that heartache splinters across my chest. But both of them? It’s incomprehensible. It’s too much for anyone to handle, let alone a little boy.
Now he’s an adult running from anything remotely sentimental. And in an instant, another piece of Emmett’s puzzle falls into place.
The punch of understanding causes me to blink, and it breaks the spell. His attention returns to tending to the backs of my legs. Gentle and intuitive. It isn’t lost on me that he picked up on my discomfort.
It’s charming. Rather than trying to erase it, he joined me in it. Vulnerable. Uncomfortable.
I don’t know what to say about everything he just shared with me. It feels precious somehow, like I need to cherish this side of him, handle it gently. I don’t want to spook him. I—
“Fuck!” I bark out as he plucks what feels like a full jousting lance from the back of my leg.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers from behind me, rubbing his index finger softly over my vertebrae. “Almost done. I got you.”
The pad of his digit is rough, calloused. But his touch is warm. Tender.
“It’s fine.” My voice comes out raspy, though I don’t mean for it to. They’re tiny prickles. They should not hurt this bad, but after so many the entire area is on fire.
He audibly swallows before asking, “I’m going to lift your shorts now. Is that okay?”
I nod, not wanting to do the weird raspy voice thing around him again.
“Jules.” I still. He’s never called me that before. “I’m going to need you to say it. I don’t want to—”
I cave and look back over my shoulder at Emmett. Complicated, infuriating, gentle Emmett. Our gazes clash, and I’m a tad irritated this situation is remotely intimate. And yet… here I am getting lost in this cocky motherfucker’s baby blues, all because he’s being wildly respectful and a whole lot more vulnerable than I knew he was capable of.
“Yes, it’s fine.”
Emmett nods before dropping his gaze to my waist. Taking zero liberties, deft fingers carefully roll the thin fabric of my jogging shorts, making as little contact with my skin as humanly possible. He pushes the fabric high, but it doesn’t feel lewd. I’m showing as much skin as I would in a bathing suit, and I’m wearing a thong, which means he doesn’t even get a glimpse of my underwear.
This time, I give up on the ugly counter and watch Emmett from over my shoulder. It does seem like we’ve moved past being embarrassed around each other.
He’s laser-focused, the tip of his tongue pressed between his shapely lips as he plucks out the offending pieces of cactus. His breath comes out firm and even against my bare back. Each spine stings as he removes it, but a blooming warmth takes each one’s place.
My relief grows with every moment spent under Emmett’s skillful hands.
“Other side,” he mumbles, his touch dusting over my rib cage as he lets one side of my shorts fall while edging up the other.
Within minutes he’s done. He steps back, eyes raking over my ass like he’s Picasso and I’m a painting. “There. Looks good. I think I got them all.”
I sigh and drop my head to the counter in relief. “Thank fuck and thank you.”
“Literally any time,” he quips, voice notably rough.
A tired giggle tumbles from my lips as I push myself upright and shake my head. He’s propped himself against the opposite counter, crossed his arms, and pressed his tongue into the side of his cheek. His brows—a few shades darker than his hair—are drawn low on his forehead, which only adds to the brash smolder.
He’s doing that whole James Dean pose thing.
But I know enough about him now to realize he uses his sexuality as a shield. And after everything he just shared, I won’t let him.
My ass is burning with the fire of a thousand suns, but I ignore it and stick my hand out like we’ve just signed a contract. “Well, now that we’ve gotten all that out of the way… it’s nice to meet you, Emmett Brandt.”
Cool, calm, cocky—Emmett is usually all those things. But as he stares down at my reddened and slightly puffy hand, he appears uncertain.
I step closer to him, bobbing my hand as I do. “Shake it.”
His brows knit together. “But we’ve already met.”
“Have we? I kind of think we knew of each other and got tossed together a few times, and now we’re functioning under a lot of different pretenses. You told me about your childhood, and I showed you my ass. We’re basically best friends now. Consider this symbolic.”
He tilts his head, his expression telling me that he thinks I’m being ridiculous.
“Come on. Don’t look so scared. I don’t bite.”
He stares at my hand before reaching out and sliding his large palm over mine. His grip is firm, his warm skin slightly calloused.
“Biting isn’t something that would scare me off, Baby Silva. But thank you for the reassurance.”
When I finally look up from the sight of my hand enveloped by his, he’s smirking at me. Far too amused by his own joke.
His tongue pops into the side of his mouth again, and he looks away while shifting and tugging at his belt.
Which draws my gaze down.
Down to where the front of his jeans has grown uncomfortably tight.
Again, the ticking clock is the only noise I hear as I stand and stare for several beats. He makes no effort to move or cover himself. He just continues to hold my hand.
“I told you not to get a boner,” I say, looking him square in the eye.
He shrugs, playing it cool. “Following the rules has never been my strong suit. Plus, this is the hottest handshake of my life.”
I purse my lips and nod, refusing to laugh at him because that response was so… him.
His gaze flits between my eyes as he continues to hold my hand. There isn’t a stitch of embarrassment to be found on this man. The touch goes on for far longer than necessary. A realization that has me yanking my hand back as though I’ve touched a hot burner on the stove.
But we stay standing close. Close enough that I can smell the familiar ginger-scented soap he showered with this morning. Warm and spicy, deeply masculine, and a million times better than the light scent of dust I was sporting as I walked in here.
“You’re a menace,” I murmur.
He shoots me a devilish grin and an aloof shrug. “Maybe.”
I step back. Needing space. Needing air.
I smooth my hands over the front of my shorts, summoning every ounce of professionalism I possess to redirect this conversation into safer waters. “This is the shit you need to pull on camera.”
“I should get a boner on camera?”
He sounds amused, but I don’t give in. “No. I mean the… the…” My hand flips around as I desperately search for the words I want to say. “The shameless flirt routine. It could serve you well.”
He’s still sporting a massive bulge in his jeans with zero shame. Something he catches me looking at.
He quirks a knowing brow.
Fucking hell. I need to dig myself out of this hole.
“I just mean you’re good at it. The flirting. Objectively speaking. And it sounds like you need the money. So just… be yourself.”
“Myself?” His voice is gravelly but perfectly even. He gives nothing away.
“Yes. The smirky, smoldering, hot bad-boy thing you do. Do that.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Did you just call me hot?”
For a beat, I can empathize with the women on the show looking so flustered while meeting him last night. His smell, his height. There’s something heady about standing so close to him. Especially right now, just the two of us, alone in his kitchen.
“Yeah. Like…” I roll a hand to the side as I search for a way to cover for calling my beloved brother’s most hated rival hot to his face. “Generically hot. Conventionally attractive.”
Liar, my inner voice mocks me, but I bat away the taunt, not giving myself any room to elaborate.
Emmett barks out an amused laugh, and it catches me off guard.
It’s because he knows you’re full of shit.
I walk away from him and force myself to move at a casual pace rather than sprinting for the door like my instincts are screaming at me to do. “Right, well, thanks for… all this?” I glance back and wave my hand over my ass, not missing the way his eyes devour me as he follows the motion. “I owe you one.”
I turn to face him at the door, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he tilts his head suggestively. He’s teasing, but the unspoken offer is still there. I don’t have to leave if I don’t want to, if I stepped back inside he’d… god, he’d probably be an incredible way to end my drought.
I run my tongue along the back of my teeth. Silently berating myself for thinking with my pussy for even a second. Then I step out into the scorching sun.
I refuse to be another girl who falls for his antics.
Instead, I bite back.
“See you on set. But you should wait until that little issue has subsided.” I tip my chin toward his crotch and hit him with a chiding look.
The door has almost shut behind me when he calls back, “For the record, I’d get a boner for any woman bent over in front of me. That’s just instinct.”
But I only throw my head back and laugh at that.
Because we both know he’s full of shit.
He doesn’t call me Theo’s Hot Little Sister for nothing.
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CHAPTER 15
Emmett
I’D GET A boner for any woman bent over in front of me.
It’s been over twenty-four hours since I had Julia Silva bent over in my kitchen and I’m still repeating those words to myself as I drive my quad to the back quarter to check on the yearlings—my favorite herd.
Old Bailey, their guardian horse, whinnies when she sees me pull up and trots in my direction, leading the entire herd toward the gate.
Eager for the distraction of something wholesome, I give my old chestnut mare a hearty scratch behind the ears while pressing my forehead against her wide, white blaze.
“How’s my girl?” I murmur, watching the thick lashes over her eyes flutter down as she sighs. She’s got gray on her face now, but she still reminds me of happy times. Long days out on the trail, swimming in the lake, and my parents. They bought her for me on my seventh birthday.
I don’t want to do the math on how old that makes her. I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to be sad about her being geriatric right now.
I pull some carrots from my back pocket and check her over, whispering sweet nothings as I go. She’s in great shape—sound and happy—and that’s good enough for me right now.
Moving on to the rest of the chores, I fill the water trough for this pasture and inspect their round bales. I do a quick scan of them all for any injuries, and before long my brain circles back to Julia.
I stew over her.
It’s a funk I can’t shake as I continue to make my way to each pasture on the property.
My call time to be in hair and makeup is 1 p.m. today, and at least that is something that hasn’t lost its humor for me. Getting professionally done up to look like a farmer is fucking hysterical.
The road curves, and the old building comes into view. I stop for a beat to admire the setup. It’s impossible not to appreciate how much better it looks with a little TLC.
“Looks good, right?” Parker’s voice startles me as she approaches from behind. “I was thinking that when the show is over, we could use the bunkhouse to generate extra income. Retreats or something like that. Office people love to dish out a load of cash to play homestead for a few days in the name of team building.”
I nod at that. “Solid idea. Julia did a good job.”
No, a great job. And telling her she could have been any woman was a real dick thing to say. But it’s also the kind of thing I fall back on when I’m just a little too vulnerable or when things get just a little too real.
“What are you doing lurking around, Parks?” I ask my sister, again feeling the uneasiness that comes with blending my family with this farce.
“Stretching my legs and giving my eyes a break from the spreadsheets. Figured I’d wander down this way and check on my brother.”
I shoot her a suspicious glare.
“What? The first rental payment came through to the business account, and it’s already made a big difference. I’ve been scouring Western Canada for hay cheaper than what’s produced in the valley but was coming up empty. I was going to have to turn to pea hay for the yearlings and two-year-olds to make it through winter—much to Riley’s dismay—but a fed horse is better than a starved one. This is a game changer, Em.”
My nose wrinkles. An exclusively pea hay diet is not nutritionally ideal for young, growing horses. But desperate times, and all that.
“That’s great,” I say, and while I mean it, it doesn’t sound like I do.
“Why do you sound like you’re marching to the gallows? How are you really?”
“Parks, stop worrying. I’m a big boy.”
“Am I not allowed to wonder how you’re holding up with…” She gazes around, rolling her hand in a way that tells me she’s searching for the right words for what she wants to say. “All of these feelings?”
Feelings. Yeah. Just not the feelings I was expecting. And something tells me Parker knows me well enough to recognize that.
“You know how it is,” I reply, dodging the question while checking to see if there are any cameras lurking to capture a moment I’d rather they not.
“I do.” She nods, shoving her hands into her pockets and rocking on her feet as though expecting me to elaborate.
And she does know. We’ve both experienced firsthand the heartache that comes with loving and losing someone. As the two oldest, we watched our grandparents grieve our parents. We watched our siblings grieve them too.
That shared loss brought us all closer together. Petty spats or long-lasting hard feelings were few and far between growing up—because we all knew with certainty that any time you see someone it could be the last.
I often think our shared tragedy has bonded us in a way we might never have been before. I love my family fiercely. So much that it hurts sometimes. I don’t recall how old I was when I made this decision, but at some point I decided that I already love enough people for this lifetime.
“You know I’m not cut out for a relationship, Parks. You know how it feels to lose someone. No thanks. Hard pass.”
“I know how it feels. But I still want that one day. Maybe more even. I’m willing to take the chance.”
I wince, trying not to worry about my sister’s poor heart. “Happy for you. But I don’t need to set myself up for more of that. It’s how I came to appreciate the beauty of casual relationships.”
She arches a brow at me. “This show is not very… casual.”
“No.” I sigh. “But it’s predictable. And I know my limitations. Which means I know I can make it through this dating show without falling for anyone. Won’t let myself.”
Her second brow lifts, matching the first. I can’t tell if she’s impressed or thinks I’m full of shit. “What if you come close?”
“If I come close, I’ll take care of it by saying or doing something that makes me out to be an unlovable prick. My strategy is basically foolproof.”
“Wow. Lucky ladies,” my sister says dryly.
“Welcome to Romance Ranch.” I wave a hand over the set and chuckle, providing a little levity to an uncomfortable conversation.
Parker leaves and heads back toward the barn office, shaking her head at my antics as she goes. I watch her, feeling a bit lighter for having run into my sister.
But all my humor evaporates when my eyes land on Julia. She’s standing next to Richard, talking animatedly.
All traces of blood are wiped away and there are no cactus pieces stuck in her hair. In fact, it’s slicked back in her signature bun. All traces of her escapade are erased—save for her scuffed knees. But even those are now covered with Band-Aids.
In a pair of icy blue linen shorts with a matching vest, she’s the picture of summertime professionalism. Appearing totally pulled together and far more at ease than I’ve been able to pull off since that exchange in my house.
She’s confusing. Confusing enough that I should push her away. But the problem with Julia is that she seems almost impossible to offend. I’d tried my unlovable prick routine on her yesterday, and she’d thrown her head back and laughed as though I’d said something hilarious.
But the joke is on me because we’re going to be stuck on set together for the next month.
Boner-gate be damned.
I watch the ten women in front of me muck stalls. Or at least try to.
And I try not to look horrified. The cameras are rolling, after all. But it never occurred to me that a pitchfork and wheelbarrow could pose such a problem for an adult.
The ten women chatter and laugh, shooting me furtive glances as though they could make scooping shit sexy. All borderline dolled up, they look bright and colorful in the drab, low-ceilinged barn.
Earlier, I gave them a tour of the stables and arena, and I didn’t miss the way some of them regarded the facility with barely disguised looks of disgust. Which only makes me defensive of this place.
I’m well aware Stal Brandt’s barn is old and outdated. Its tin siding has faded, and the finish has worn off the concrete alleyway, making it difficult to sweep clean. Old tree trunks, still covered in bark, construct the indoor arena. They stand on end, bound together to create a wall sturdy enough to keep the snow out in the winter. It might have been an innovative way to build an arena at one time, but now, with all the equestrian technology out there, it’s just wacky and weird.
But it’s ours. Opa built it by hand. It’s one of a kind. It’s not fancy, but it works—kind of like our family.
Plus, Riley keeps the equestrian facilities safe and in impeccable shape. She works with what she’s got and never complains. When a horse sells, she chooses where to invest the money. A portion always gets budgeted to go back into the facility or into developing the next young horse, not just for travel and competition.
The log walls may let the wind through and make riding in the winter downright frigid, but the footing is world-class, sparing the horses any unnecessary wear and tear on their joints.
Sure, she’s the wild child of the family, but Riley is deeply driven and selfless too. So, watching the odd judgmental side-eye has me noting who needs to go when it comes to the weekly elimination ceremonies.
“Emmett,” Teri, the producer who follows me around almost constantly, gets my attention from where she’s set up at the end of the barn alleyway, stalls lining the concrete strip. “Get in there. Show the girls some of your expertise.”
She’s being encouraging, but I still find myself covering my grimace.
Then I think of Julia. She seems to think that if I’m myself, I can pull this off. The way she’d said it hadn’t been completely complimentary. “The hot bad-boy thing you do” makes my personality sound like some sort of charade.
Maybe it is.
And maybe she’s the first to see past it.
I shake off the invasive thought before shooting the producer a thumbs-up and a grin. As cameras trail behind me and filter into position, I approach one of the women. I think her name is Ashley and based on the way she’s maneuvering the plastic pitchfork in the wood shavings, I would say she’s never mucked a stall in her life. Possibly never even shoveled a sidewalk now that I’m taking a closer look at how she holds the long wooden handle.
I step into the stall and prop a shoulder against the frame of the sliding door. “Want a few pointers?”
She straightens and hits me with a bright smile as she pushes a few strands of mousy blond hair behind her ear. “That would be amazing.”
I smile back as I step into the box stall, its rubber mats covered in dry wood shavings. My boots thump on the ground as I approach her. “May I?” I ask, gripping the handle above her hand as I step in behind her.
“Please,” she murmurs, tilting her head to the side and catching my gaze over her shoulder. It reminds me of Julia looking back at me in my quiet kitchen. I could hardly meet her dark eyes as I’d rolled that fabric up over the smooth expanse of her golden skin. My chest felt like it was vibrating as my heart crashed against my ribs.
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 annoying, but I know Richard would not approve of it. Especially considering he has such a massive boner for Evelyn.
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 unnerved by a twenty-five-year-old who is related to my biggest and most obnoxious rival.
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.
