“Did you know you’ve got the cutest little dimple on your cheek when you get angry?” I cock my head to the side as I stare at it, and she growls in frustration.

“Bronco, you’re—” She growls again. “You’re an asshole.”

“I know.” I shrug, because it’s not the first or the hundredth time someone has called me that.

“How the hell am I supposed to yell at you when you don’t even care!” she yells and throws her hands up.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes!” she yells again, and I fight a smile.

“Then keep going.” I nod for her to continue.

“I’ve been left here to run this dump, that I also happen to love, and you walk around barking orders for people to fix things while you’re throwing money and swinging your big dick—” She covers her mouth with her hand when she realizes what she said.

I press my lips together and look down at my feet to hide my laughter. I can’t remember the last time I was so entertained.

“Forget I said that,” she rushes to say. “The point is, you can’t just blow through here making changes to my life and my things without me knowing. Like the trailer.”

“It was a glorified camper that should have been taken out to pasture in the seventies,” I say gently, but she's already shaking her head.

“I don’t have much, but I’ve worked hard for what I’ve got. And I won’t sit back and let you toss all that away just because you’ve got money and happen to own the Circle C.”

“So me taking care of you means you haven’t worked hard?” I raise an eyebrow at her.

“No, it…um.” She has to stop and think for a second. “I’m just saying you need to respect my things.”

“Even if they’re a danger to you?” I ask, and again she stammers.

“Well, I mean, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“That’s sure what it sounds like.” I move closer to her, so that my hands can rest on her hips. “It sounds like you’d rather be in that broken-down, unsafe trailer than let me take care of you.”

She sighs and won’t meet my eyes. “That’s not it.”

“You don’t want to be looked after?” I rub my thumb over the bare skin between her shirt and her jeans. “Is that the problem, sweet thing? You can’t stand the thought of me looking after you, spoiling you? Making your dreams come true?”

“When you say it like that, it makes me sound ungrateful.” She’s pouting now, and I use my other hand to tilt her chin up so she looks at me.

“If it feels good to stay mad at me and yell, then keep at it. But it feels just as good for me to do this. Believe me, when I walked in here, I didn’t think I’d buy the place or want to fix it up. At first, I thought I’d turn your father down flat, but one look at you and I knew this was something I couldn’t let go. Then I got a taste, and now I’m addicted.” I lick my lips, and she watches the movement. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t give you or do to this place if it puts a smile on your face.”