“Pussies,” Wilder slurs, falling back in the seat.
“Yeah, yeah. Buckle up,” I tell him before closing the door on him.
Jake smirks, and I shake my head. “Thanks for your help.”
“Anytime, man.”
“You need a ride?” I ask before getting into the driver’s side.
“Nah, I can walk.”
Jake lives two blocks away, so I don’t push it. “Alright, well, I’ll talk to you later.”
“Yeah, in the group chat! They’ll love havin’ ya.”
“Sure.” I release a humorless laugh. He knows I’m not that social. Especially to people I don’t know. Unlike Wilder, who could make friends with a brick wall.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m helping Wilder into his apartment above mine. It’s technically a duplex in the ranch hand quarters. Mom kicked us out at twenty-one because she was sick of us coming home at three in the morning. Not that I blame her. We partied a lot on the weekends.
“C’mon, one round?” he prompts, tripping over the shoe he just flung off his foot.
“Go to bed. You’re gonna be hungover for chores.”
He waves me off. “You’re no fun.”
I walk backward toward the door. “See ya in four hours.”
“How about…six?” He grins. “Cover for me.”
Turning around, I give him a middle-finger goodbye wave and go down the steps to my place. It’ll inevitably take me an hour to fall asleep and then my alarm will go off far too early.
Chapter Two
Waylon
Just as expected, I get three hours of sleep before my phone screams at me.
I go through my routine—put on my work clothes, scarf down a half-toasted bagel, fill up my massive jug with ice water, then head out to the retreat barn. We keep our boarded and guest horses separate, and since Wilder and I are the tour guides, it’s our job to muck the stalls, feed them, and fill their water buckets.
Then I take them out to the pasture so they can graze for a bit before we do our first tour of the day at ten. Our second one isn’t until four, so we take our lunch and do random chores in between.
In the evening, we’ll feed them and refresh their water once more, and then call it a night by six or seven.
Twelve-hour days, six days a week.
The weekend shifts are usually shorter, and we get a full day off each week, but it’s never consistent which one we get.
The days are long and sometimes hot, but I get to ride horses and work with my family. There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.
Currently, the weather is bearable. It’s a couple weeks until Thanksgiving and has been in the mid-sixties. The mornings and late evenings are cooler, but it beats sweating my ass off in peak summer when it reaches the nineties. Especially while riding in jeans and work boots.
“Howdy.”
My head pops up from where I’m shoveling one of the stalls, amazed that Wilder’s strutting in an hour earlier than expected. And he sounds awake and energized.
“Surprised you made it,” I say, returning to my task. “I figured I’d be knocking down your bedroom door to get your ass up.”
“I’m wounded at your accusation, Way-Way,” he drawls, pressing a hand to his chest.
