Page 66 of Cattle Stop

“Cooper,” Whit says.

“Huh?”

“Hold it straight.”

Cooper tilts the fence post upright. “I wanna do the hammering this time.”

“No, you put them in crooked.” Whit holds the hammer away, as if Cooper’s going to really lunge for it.

Which…he could do. And be pressed up against that torso, shiny with sweat.

Fencing, he tells himself. “I do not.”

“You do.” Whit points with his bandaged hand back at the line of fence posts behind them, stretching up the hill and off toward the back fields. “You can literally see which ones I did and which ones you did.”

“You always hit my fingers, though.”

“I’ve never once hit your fingers.”

“And besides, being straight has never been a particular strength of mine.”

Whit just grabs Cooper’s wrist, sets his hands around the post, and raises the hammer. “Hold it still.”

“My fingers!”

“You’re fine.”

“You’re going to be real sad the day you do hit them.”

Whit gives the fence post a solid whack and ignores him, his abs flexing above where the waist of his pants sits flat against the V of his hipbones.

“Cooper,” Whit says.

“It’s straight!”

“I’d send you over to Drew to help him with the clapboards except, oh wait, then the outside of the house’d be crooked too.”

“This lane is my genius idea if you’ll remember,” Cooper says.

“You tell me”—Whit brings the sledgehammer down—“every”—another whack—“day.”

“’Cause it’s great.” Cooper lets go of the post, and when it stays where it is, driven far enough into the ground to hold, he steps back. “You know, if we had a hydraulic post pounder, we’d have been done last week.”

Though, then he wouldn’t have gotten glorious day after glorious day of Whit lifting the sledgehammer, triceps tensing, his back flexing, and his pants slipped low on his hips. But on the other hand, they could still be in bed, naked and sweaty, in the early morning heat. A toss-up.

But as far as having his cake and eating it too…

Cooper slips his hand into Whit’s back pocket. T-minus three seconds until Whit sighs, pulls Cooper’s hand away, and points to the next fence post, but hey, Cooper can enjoy that firm curve of muscle until then.

Whit kisses him. Softly, once, then pulls back and looks over his shoulder toward the barnyard. From here, the whine of Drew’s saw is barely noticeable, and wherever Penny is, she’s not outside where she can see them. Cooper squeezes his delicious handful and Whit kisses him again, walking him backward into the side of the pickup truck, the metal already hot from the sun.

“Here I thought you were our taskmaster for the morning. What happened to your work itinerary?” Cooper bites at Whit’s lower lip and squeezes again. “Or is this a yes to getting a post pounder?”

“Is that an attempt at a joke?”

“If you like dirty talk, you can just say so.” Cooper kisses Whit again, a pleasant hum beginning to light low in his stomach.

Insatiable, he’s thought more than once, and apparently today’s only difference is they’re not waiting for the privacy of nighttime and their room. Whit licks into his mouth and Cooper spreads his hands over Whit’s chest, all firm muscles and soft skin.