“I think it’s safe to conclude I am not a farmer,” Gabriel grumbled as he stepped toward Jocelyn, using his T-shirt to dust off the flakes of the dry manure that stuck to his neck and arms. He wrinkled his nose as though disgusted that the shirt wasn’t going to get him clean, no matter how hard he brushed it against his skin.
It took a few seconds for his words to get through her haze. Jocelyn then blinked, finally managing to tear her eyes away from the man’s flexing muscles, and chuckled, the sound nervous and breathy even to her own ears. “No. You are most definitely not a farmer. Far from it. I think you got more manure on yourself than in the actual trailer.”
“Great.” He came to a stop in front of her, eyes squinted against the blazing sun. “Well, that only leaves about a billion ot
