it made him think about stuff that he probably shouldn’t, especially given that she’d been talking about horses.
“Well, I smell like wet horse,” he said, more sternly than he meant to.
He caught his grandmother’s gaze. She was leaning back now, her gray eyebrows lifted, and it was obvious she was trying not to smile.
“I’ll be upstairs,” he grumbled, turning.
“You’ll go upstairs and change and then come right back downstairs,” Gigi said.
“Gigi, I have work to do.”
“That work can wait. It’s still pouring outside.”
It was, though it’d probably pass quickly. Storms this time of year always did.
“Go on,” Gigi ordered, waving her hands again. “Mr. Ranch Foreman,” she tacked on.
“Fine,” he snapped.
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