I bit back a retort about how I knew where the fucking washroom was. I’d lived here too, after all. But I decided it wasn’t worth the fight. Instead, I focused on putting one foot in front of the other, trying not to limp too obviously.
The kitchen was warm and fragrant when we entered, the smell of fresh bread and beef stew making my stomach growl audibly. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until that moment. Ranch work burned calories like nothing else.
“Jesse Harris, what on earth happened to you?” Evelyn exclaimed, her hands flying to her hips as she took in my appearance.
“Turns out cows don’t like me much,” I said with a weak smile. “The feeling’s becoming mutual.”
Cole snorted as he washed his hands at the sink. “That’s because you approached her like she was a rabid grizzly. They can smell fear.”
“I wasn’t afraid,” I lied, heading for the washroom. “Just... cautious.”
“Is that what they call it in Seattle?” Cole called after me. “Here we just call it bein’ a coward.”
I gritted my teeth and closed the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment. I could hear Evelyn scolding Cole through the thin wood, her voice sharp but too low to make out the words. I sighed and pushed away from the door, turning to face myself in the small mirror above the sink.
Jesus Christ. I looked worse than I thought. My face was streaked with dirt, a bloody scratch running along my cheekbone from when I’d fallen into the barbed wire fence. My expensive haircut was ruined, matted with hay and mud. I barely recognized myself.
I turned on the tap and splashed cold water on my face, wincing as it hit the scratch. The water ran brown down the drain as I scrubbed at my skin, trying to make myself somewhat presentable. My hands stung as I washed them, the blisters raw and painful. I hadn’t worked this hard in years… maybeever. The Seattle marketing firm where I’d been working didn’t exactly require physical labor.
“Fuck,” I muttered, examining a particularly nasty blister on my palm. It had already burst, the skin peeled back to reveal angry red flesh beneath. I’d need bandages, but I was too proud to ask Cole for help.
I did my best to clean up, using paper towels to wipe mud from my jeans and picking the larger pieces of straw from myhair. It was a losing battle, but at least I didn’t look like I’d been dragged through a swamp anymore. Just half a swamp.
When I emerged from the washroom, Cole and Evelyn were already seated at the table, bowls of steaming stew in front of them. Cole didn’t look up as I took the seat across from him, but Evelyn’s eyes narrowed at the sight of my hands.
“Those need tending,” she said, already rising from her chair.
“It’s fine,” I insisted, embarrassed. “I can handle it.”
“Sit,” she commanded in a tone that brooked no argument. “Eat your stew before it gets cold. I’ll be right back.”
As she disappeared into another room, an uncomfortable silence fell between Cole and me. He ate methodically, his eyes fixed on his bowl as if it contained the secrets of the universe. The muscles in his forearm flexed with each movement, the sleeve of his flannel rolled up to reveal the edge of a tattoo I hadn’t noticed before.
“What’s with the ink?” I asked, desperate to break the silence. “You didn’t have any when I left.”
Cole’s eyes flicked up to meet mine, then back to his food. “Got my first one after Dad’s heart attack. ‘Bout ten years ago.”
“Dad had a heart attack?” The news hit me like a physical blow. “I didn’t know.”
“‘Course you didn’t,” Cole replied, his voice flat. “You weren’t here.”
The words stung more than they should have. “He didn’t send a letter or try to call?”
“He did,” Cole’s gaze was cold when it met mine. “But just like always, you didn’t answer.”
“Now wait a minute?—”
“Eat your stew,” Evelyn repeated as she stepped back into the kitchen with a first aid kit. She glared at Cole before sitting down. “Let me work on that left hand while you eat.”
I held out my hand, knowing it was best to keep my mouth shut. All Cole wanted to do was fight. There was almost no reason to eventryto talk with him.
“So,” I said, watching Evelyn work as I ate. “The ranch hands don’t eat in the main house?”
“Not for a few years,” she nodded, breaking out the antibiotic ointment. “Cooking for them isn’t a problem. I still do that and take it down to the bunkhouse before we eat. But the cleanup…” She shook her head. “That many boots tracking mud through the house, all the dishes, and the bathroom upkeep… well, I’m just not as young as I used to be.”
“I didn’t realize you were still doing all that,” I said, wincing as Evelyn dabbed antiseptic on my raw palm. “That’s a lot of work.”
“It’s my job,” she replied simply, wrapping a bandage around my hand with practiced efficiency. “Been taking care of this house since Cole was a little kid, and I’ll keep doing it till I can’t anymore.”
