He nodded.
"I can't promise you that I'll never stand you up again. My father missed my high school graduation because a storm knocked down a section of fence and half a herd got out," he said.
I nodded. That sort of problem had to be dealt with immediately.
"I'm upset about last night," he continued, "Because that wasn't time-sensitive ranch work. If I'd missed picking you up because of sick animals or a major problem with the hands, well, that's the job. I missed picking you up because I got distracted by the worst part of the work, though, and something that I don't have to account for for six months."
I nodded again. Clint seemed to have been thinking about what to say, this was the most I'd heard from him at once.
"I will take care, in the future, not to do that to you again. If I miss a date, it will be for a truly urgent reason," he finished.
"Thank you," I said. "I was frustrated, I felt like you didn't care. The flowers and breakfast went a long way to fixing that."
He looked relieved.
"I wanted you to know that I hadn't forgotten you again this morning," he said.
"It worked," I said. "How did the chores go?"
He shrugged. "Nothing out of the ordinary, which is how I like it. I spoke to the boys, and they won't expect me back until well after lunchtime. I've rearranged a few things, fixing the fence in a pasture we're not using can wait until Monday."
"Are you sure?" I asked.
His nod was firm. "It's not a steak dinner, but we can still have a good date," he said. "How about we ride into town and have brunch, or look around somewhere and then have lunch?"
"I do know a place with amazing eggs," I said.
"Brunch it is," he said, standing up. "Good. I'm hungry."
"I'm guessing you're always hungry," I grumbled.
"Yes, ma'am," he said. "Comes with the territory."
There were definitely things about being with a ranching man that I couldn’t fight. Lousy schedules and constant snacking were two of the big ones.
The next two months were some of the best of my life. I spent five days a week working hard at a job that I loved, and every weekend wrapped up in Clint's life at the ranch.
On days we didn't see each other, Clint and I started to call each other and talk into the night.
Both of us were worn out, but it didn't seem to matter.
I was shocked and delighted by how strong my feelings were for Clint. Looking at him made me feel safe and whole, and spending so many nights in a row away from the ranch had me restless by Wednesday afternoon.
I’d said that it would be no more difficult keeping our word not to have sex with one another at night than when we spent long days on the couch together. Of course, that meant that I couldn’t I struggled to sleep knowing that he was in his bed only a few rooms away.
I wondered if he slept naked.
He still made the heat gather in my belly, made my nipples grow hard and my hands tremble with desire.
We still exchanged long, slow kisses that would get me teased by the Francesas, although we were mostly more careful to be private with our more intense displays of affection than we had been in the hallway of my apartment building.
Every Friday, when I drove out to the ranch, I got out of my little car and ran into Clint's arms, as the hands hooted and the sheep jostled each other, restless for food.
"Does it bother you?" I asked, after the first time Brandon had led the rest of the men in a chorus of caterwauls.
He laughed, leading me into the house by the hand. We took seats at the kitchen table, and Clint pulled a plate of pastries over, each of us taking one.
“Why do you always have these things?” I complained. “I’ll put on ten pounds a week.”