Suddenly "hard labor" doesn't sound so bad.
Cowboys. Everywhere I look.
Big hands. Broad shoulders. Dirty smirks.
And somehow I ended up with not one, not two, but three of them—thanks to the judge who decided a little community service would make me respectable.
Good luck with that.
I swear I'll do the bare minimum, keep my head down, and get through this. But between mud-soaked chores, stolen kisses, and nights that get way too hot under the stars? Resisting them isn't just hard—it's impossible.
I was told this would be punishment.
Instead, it's barn loft hook-ups… and a pig with a real talent for c**k-blocking.
So call me reckless. Call me out of control.
I call it the best mistake I've ever made.
