The October sun has broken through the clouds and is bearing down on me, making me sweat. Or maybe it’s Sawyer watching me make an utter fool of myself that has me sweating.
At least the throb in my head has receded to just my temples instead of my entire skull. I guess that hangover cure has some merit, after all.
I huff out an aggravated grunt and put my hands on my knees to catch my breath. This was a lot harder than I remember it being. Granted, I’m definitely out of practice, a decade and a half older, and more used to sitting behind a desk all day than dodging a 1200-pound animal.
“A little more out of shape than last time we worked together, huh Wes?” Tripp goads.
“I’m an accountant. Of course, I’m out of shape, you prick. What’d you expect?”
He laughs, knowing I’m not really mad. Shit-talking is Tripp’s love language, and he’s not saying anything that isn’t true.
I swipe a hand over my sweaty forehead. I should have put on my old Stetson that was hanging up in the spare room this morning. But the thought of putting it on again had feltwrong, like putting on a pair of shoes that no longer fit. I’d left it hanging on the hook in the bedroom, but now with my eyes burning from the sweat, I’m regretting that decision.
Once we finish the separating, we get them into the chutes so Sawyer can vaccinate and deworm them. This isn’t her firstrodeo, and the way she handles the animals makes me wonder how many times she’s done this with Pops.
It makes something twinge in my chest. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he found someone else to help out during the busy season, but it makes me feel some type of way. Like I’ve been missing out on something these last several years of not being here.
Pops slips away while we finish up with the vaccinations between the three of us, claiming he’s going to shower, so I don’t use up all the hot water.
Once he’s a good distance away, Tripp leans in and says, "He’s been needing to take naps most days ever since the heart attack."
Aside from a quick break for a sandwich, I haven’t eaten anything today and my stomach growls to remind me I’m damn hungry after all the physical labor.
“Are you cooking, Sawyer?” Tripp asks hopefully, his thoughts tracking with mine.
Sawyer gives Tripp a smile that tells me this question is always asked and answered the same way, and it makes me wonder if there’s something between them that Tripp hasn’t disclosed to me yet.
“I’ve got chili in the crockpot.”
My stomach grumbles in response.
“And cinnamon rolls?” he questions.
She bats his hat off his head, and he shoves her away playfully. “Of course. They still need to bake. It’ll be ready after y’all shower off.”
She pulls herself up into her pickup truck and drives off. I cock my head to the side and skewer Tripp with a look.
“What?”
I glance back at Sawyer’s truck, pulling down the drive. “Is there something going on between you two?”
“Who two?”
I roll my eyes at the convoluted question. “You and Sawyer.”
“God, no. She’s my sister’s best friend. Allie would kill me if I even thought about it. Why?”
I shrug. I didn’t have a reason to ask, other than sheer curiosity about whatever dynamic I’d just seen playing out right in front of me. Tripp was always a bit of a flirt with everyone, but she was much more comfortable around him than I’d assumed she would be.
“You got a thing for her?” he questions, eyebrows waggling.
“God, no,” I repeat his sentiment.
He laughs and shakes his head at me. “That’s probably for the best. She’d chew you up and spit you out without blinking an eye.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He scans me from head to toe. “It means you’ve gotten too soft over the last fifteen years to stand toe-to-toe with that one and live to tell the tale.”
