"And have you been genuine? With me, that is?"
"More so with you than with most people I meet. Most of the time, when I meet new people, it's for networking purposes. Those people want to meet that TV guy, so I give him to them. Sometimes the network needs too badly for certain people to like me: investors and such. I'm a product, and I know it. To them, I'm worth only as much as my image."
"That must play tricks on your self-esteem."
"It used to. For the first few years, it was hard to believe that anyone liked me -- even though I suppose I knew they did. So, you could imagine how I felt to hear -"
"I am sorry 'bout that."
"You don't have to keep saying it. I know that you are."
We sat for several moments, allowing the established understanding to settle between us. Bryce began to clear the table, and I helped by moving to the dishwasher and starting to load it. He intervened, placing his hand over mine and pulling the serving platter out from my grasp. I could feel the heat of his palm against my fingers. It felt like a magnetic current flowing from his flesh to mine. He had made physical contact with me several times in the few days we had known each other. Each time we made contact, his touch would linger seconds longer than the time before. It was a pattern I was wise enough to appreciate in silence.
"This doesn't go in the dishwasher." He placed the white dish to his left and out of my reach. "Why don't you go take a shower while I clean up here," he suggested. "There are towels in the hall closet. Then when you're ready, I can show you around the ranch."
"I don't have a change of clothes."
"That's probably a good thing. It's not easy to keep clean on the ranch. I'd hate to see any of your fancy clothes get ruined." He began filling the kitchen sink with water. "I should have a few old shirts hanging in the bedroom closet. You're welcome to wear one. I'm afraid you'll have to suffer one more day in those jeans. Unless you'd rather roam around in your underwear?"
"Not likely," I scowled, remembering I didn't have a pair to roam around in, even if I wanted to.
I left Bryce to the dishes and headed upstairs to the bedroom. I stripped off my shirt, folded it and placed it on top of the dresser for laundering. Rummaging through the closet for a replacement, I settled on a black V-neck t-shirt. Much like the one Bryce was wearing when we first met. A myriad of smells emanated from the fabric — a combination of detergent, cologne and sexy man that often had a way of baking into well-worn clothing. The scent was not new to me. Every time Bryce had brushed by me, I had inhaled, loving the blend. There was an odd comfort in its familiarity now. I brought the shirt closer to my nose, taking it in, then berated myself for the act.
I collected a towel from the hall before slipping into the bathroom and hung it on an old brass hook. I adjusted the water temperature carefully. I usually avoided unfamiliar showers. The water pressure and temperature settings were always different. I usually scalded myself or froze. Rarely did I find a happy medium. Often, I spent more time fiddling with the faucet than washing.
The shower was hot and intense. Bryce had never switched to environmentally friendly showerheads, and I was grateful. The pressure of the water on my neck felt terrific, and it was easy to tilt my head back and close my eyes. It wasn't as easy to dissolve the dull ache in my head that persisted.
I was both excited and apprehensive about Bryce's invitation to stay. The beautiful country home was a tempting offer. One I couldn't seriously entertain, could I? I hardly knew him. What would Lauren think after I had repeatedly denied her request to stay with her? Well, I supposed I could tell her that Bryce had an entire bedroom to offer me while she had only an old sofa. That sounded convincing enough, didn't it? Of course, it did. It was the truth after all, wasn't it? Why else would I accept his offer?
Because you're attracted to him, you fool; That was a much more significant influence than the fact that he had room to spare. The excitement I felt around him was so strong. I would have slept in a cardboard box on his kitchen floor if he offered it. If I were smart, I'd admit that those two things alone, were reasons enough not to accept his offer.
I stepped out of the shower and dried off with the fluffy cream-coloured towel. Then I pulled my jeans back on and squeezed into Bryce's loaner shirt. The black fabric stretched against my torso, feeling too tight for comfort. I had a decent frame; very little muscle, but what I did have was mostly toned and my stomach flat. I did not fill the shirt in the same way Bryce did, with his bulging shoulders and arms. I felt a sudden wave of self-consciousness come over me. I was an imposter, wearing a uniform that didn't belong to me. I cringed at my reflection before leaving the washroom.
The day went well. Much better than I had imagined a day on the ranch could be. Bryce had started by showing me around the property, which was quite large. Thirty-two acres to be precise. That was small by farming standards, but Bryce admitted it was more space than he needed. The house, surrounding yard and driveway ate up two acres. Another two acres housed the barn, work-shed and farm equipment. Ten were reserved for the horses to run, while several others were designated for fodder. The remaining ten were undeveloped or rented to other farmers for canola production. I asked him if he hired any help, especially around breeding season.
"Hiring someone would be more work than doing the work myself." That sounded like something my father would say. His view had always been that there was no sense in paying someone else to do what one could do himself.
After the tour, I helped him load three bales of roughage into the back of a wagon. Then, we drove out to the horse pasture. "I thought hay was only used in the winter?" I asked as we pitched bushels into a galvanized feeding trough.
Bryce shook his head. "It's used more in the winter, but I like to use a combination of roughage and grain along with their regular grazing." He lifted the base of his shirt and used it to wipe a spot of sweat from his forehead. The brief flash of his abdominal muscles caused the temperature to spike around me.
Jesus. Knock it off. You're ogling him like a fat kid does cake. It's embarrassing.
I cast one last heap into the basin and leaned on the fork. To my surprise, I had quite enjoyed the task, easy as it was. I couldn't imagine myself living a rancher's life, but there was something about dirty and sweaty work that gave me a sense of accomplishment I didn't usually get at my squeaky-clean job. I liked it.
"Tomorrow, you can help me with the manure," he said, and I instantly knew I would like that less. I must have worn a horrified expression because he reassured me, "I'm teasing. I have a company that comes in and takes care of that for me."
"I thought you didn't hire any help?"
"I don't hire them. They buy it from me."
I laughed out loud. "A company buys your shit?"
He smiled and rolled his eyes. "Not mine, but yes. I assume they process it and make fertilizer or potting soil out of it. I don't ask questions. I only cash the cheque."
We tossed the pitchforks towards the front of the wagon and jumped into the pick-up truck. "Have you given any thought to my offer?" He asked, shifting the vehicle into gear.
Of course, I had. It had prodded my mind most of the afternoon. I had gone back and forth on the subject a dozen times. On the one hand, I acknowledged that the offer was too good to pass up. On the other hand, I knew it brought with it potential complications. One of my worst habits was entertaining thoughts of disaster. There was something about the way he asked this time — a hopeful quality to his voice that drove away most of my objections. I was too cowardly to say yes immediately, lest I appeared too excited. When we got back to his house a minute or so later, I accepted his invitation. I could see his eyes twinkle and his mouth twitch upwards in both corners. He seemed genuinely happy at my decision and yet utterly unsurprised at the same time. Like he had been confident I would accept from the moment he had suggested it. "Well then, before dinner we'll head into town and pick up your things."