"And I was thinking we could pair each guest up with one of the ranch hands for a day," Sabrina continued excitedly, her pink ostrich feather pen wagging behind her clipboard as she jotted down elaborations on her idea. "Maybe Tuesday? Because according to the schedule you left me, Mr. Wild, there appears to be plenty of time in the later hours of the morning on the ranch's slow day—"

"No such thing as a slow day," Trevor interrupted her.

The wagging pen paused, and Sabrina closed her throat quickly over a sigh of exasperation. They had been going at it all morning like this. She was currently perched on a stall partition, trying—and failing—to get Trevor's undivided attention. Wildhorse's taciturn owner was currently shoveling out the stall across the aisle from her own, the bunched muscles of his back offering her few clear signals about how well she was communicating her ideas.

She privately suspected he had chosen the location of their first meeting for a reason, and one that had only partially to do with the chores he insisted couldn't wait. Well, if Trevor had thought that all the dust in the air and the pervading smell of horse manure would be enough to drive her away, he had thought dead wrong.

Sabrina's grandparents, Forest and Harriet Hearthstone, had been the proud owners of their own ranch until their health had forced them to sell it, and Sabrina was no stranger to the filthier aspects of horse upkeep. In fact, there was a particular, even overpowering, nostalgia factor to this life that she continued to seek out. Why else would she take so readily to a job that pushed her out of the city? Why else would she be so damn good at it?

If only Trevor would accept that she was the sort of professional he needed! Sabrina's eyes narrowed in a secret glare at the rancher's back, taking in the triangular sweat stain that darkened his shirt between his powerful shoulders. She wasn't afraid to sweat, and she certainly wasn't afraid of hard work—it just so happened that hard work came in many forms.

She caught sight of the frilly pen out of the corner of her eye. Was it the pen that made him doubt her? It had been a gag gift from a friend. She could get another pen.

"Right. No such thing as a slow day," she echoed. "But you have to allow your workers a break, right? So why not give them a little additional time out of their day to show our guests around?"

"Because I don't have any hands to spare for that sort of thing, end of story," Trevor stated. He heaved a shovelful of manure over his shoulder without looking, forcing Sabrina to dodge to the side to avoid some of the dirt that overshot the wheelbarrow. "I already let most of the seasonal workers go to cut costs. The ones who stayed understand that they already have their work cut out for them this year."

"Well, that's the beauty of my plan, Mr. Wild," Sabrina replied patiently. "You won't need to 'spare' anyone. And as for cutting costs, by the time I'm done spinning things, our guests will be happy to follow the ranch hands around and help them with their chores. They are effectively paying you for the chance to experience all that Wildhorse has to offer—and that includes discovering what it really takes to keep a ranch like this running."

Trevor paused in his shoveling and finally turned to look at her. Sabrina couldn't decide whether he was incredulous of her brilliant idea or dubious that she wasn't completely out of her mind. What she did know in that moment was that sweat and dirt only made the rancher appear more irresistibly rugged.

He's the real deal, Sabrina thought. As much as she hated to admit it, she was a little in awe of Trevor Wild. She had been operating under the misconception that real cowboys had died out long ago, but one stood before her, a flesh-and-blood update to that vintage romantic trope.

The adventure coordinator in her couldn't help but think the stoic ranch owner might unwittingly prove to be one of Wildhorse's main attractions. Market research told her that their clientele would be made up of almost exclusively city women and upper middle-class families. She knew from past experience that families had a way of occupying themselves, but women….

Deep down, Sabrina felt certain that what every woman wished for was fantasy. Enchantment. A little bit of grit mixed in with their decadence, an introduction to a simple yet lavish reality they had always suspected existed far removed from their own. They wanted an escape from the rat race and responsibility—they wanted the chance to return to the outgrown idealism of their girlhood, where wonderful beasts and handsome princes and all of life's hardships could be tamed with a brave outlook and a gentle touch.

And she, Sabrina Hearthstone, could fulfill that longing for them—finally make those seemingly far-fetched fantasies a reality. It was the best job in the world, as far as she was concerned.

So, whether he liked it or not, she was going to have to promote Trevor Wild a bit, even if she had to do it behind his back. Some candid shots of the rancher posted to Wildhorse's social media accounts ought to get a few hearts racing. The fact that she was using her own heartbeat as a gauge just went to show how personally she took her work.

Trevor removed his hat and perched it on the post beside him, revealing a head of close-cropped dark hair. He then reached down, grabbing a fistful of T-shirt, and Sabrina…well, she nearly fell over backwards into the stall in surprise. The thought of him actually removing his shirt hit her like a sucker punch in the stomach, and she quickly raised her clipboard to block her own view and pretended to scribble quickly.

Wait…why was she acting this way? She was a grown woman! It wasn’t like she had never seen a partially-naked man before, even if it had been a while.

Sabrina lowered her clipboard and studied the rancher. As it turned out, Trevor was only using the hem of his T-shirt to mop some of the sweat and grime off his face. Her eyes tracked lower, taking in his smooth chest and the way his abdominal muscles clenched beneath a sheen of perspiration. For someone who insisted on wearing a belt, his pants sure rode low around his hips….

Trevor's strength, when on unconscious display this way, seemed completely natural and effortless. She doubted if he had a gym membership or if such a conceit had ever even crossed his mind—endless days full of hard work toned his body to perfection. He probably didn't even know how good he looked.

In the next instant, he let go of his T-shirt and turned back to the wheelbarrow. The spell broke, and Sabrina blinked. The moment had taken her by complete surprise, and she was unsure what it might bode for the future. She had never had to battle her admiration for a client before. She had never had to battle any client before as fiercely as Trevor was forcing her to.

"You want to watch it with those," he mentioned offhandedly.

Sabrina blinked again. "Huh?"

Trevor gestured toward her earrings, a pair of sterling silver hoops designed as horseshoes, which Sabrina had designed herself and was extremely proud of. "Your jewelry. You want to watch it, especially if you insist on sitting on the stall door like that. All it takes is one tug from a curious horse come in from the pasture to put you over the side."

It's not the horses I'm worried about, she thought mutinously. She fingered her earlobe and scowled. She may or may not have been expecting a compliment with her choice, but she simply could not win his approval.

"I don't want to know your opinion on my fashion choices, Mr. Wild."

"Really?" he asked as he turned back to his work. "Because I have a lot of them, and they aren't just opinions. I would make you a list of everything you've worn already that isn't ranch-appropriate or poses a safety hazard, but I'm not certain you'd have anything left to wear."

"I'm sure you would make a list!" Sabrina fired back. "But I'm a professional woman. I know how to dress myself, and what I choose to wear isn't up for discussion. What I would really like to hear from you is some constructive feedback on the ideas I've been pitching to you all morning!" She rapped the clipboard with her pen to emphasize this. "And every single brainstorm I've come up with you've shot down like a…like a can of beans on a fence post!"

Trevor groaned at the simile. "I'm not trying to shoot your ideas down, Miss Hearthstone." Sabrina scoffed at this, and Trevor shot her a look that conveyed his wearying patience. "Forgive me if I don't think our guests are going to want to muck out stalls after their bubble baths," he muttered as he levered the wheelbarrow up and moved it to the next stall.

The lightbulb went on suddenly in Sabrina's head. Her pen paused its tapping, and she looked up at Trevor. "Mr. Wild, you may not look it, but you're a genius," she said.

"You city folks sure love to pair an insult with a compliment," he said. Still, he paused again in his work to lean against the stall and consider her, his dark eyes thoughtful. "What brilliant thing did I say, and why do I have a feeling I'm going to regret ever mentioning it?"

Sabrina dropped her clipboard onto the footstool beneath her and hopped down after it. "I think this idea is best expressed through a demonstration," she said. "And since you were the inspiration for it, Mr. Wild, I think it's only fitting that you're the one who helps me."