I scoff. “She sounds lovely.”
He shrugs. “She wasn’t so bad. At least she wasn’t until she realized I wasn’t changing the way she hoped I would.”
My gaze trails over him speculatively. “She thought you were a fixer-upper boyfriend?”
“Maybe I was. I don’t know. I was never really happy, I guess.” He studies the chip in his fingers before putting it in his mouth.
“Hm. You seem happy enough to me now. Definitely not when you first got here, but you’ve settled in nicely.”
Wes hasn’t been here long, but I can see a change in him already. He got knocked right off his high horse when Pops made him stay, and now he’s down in the dirt and dust with the rest of us in Cottonwood Creek.
It suits him.
Just like those Levi’s and that damn Stetson he’s still wearing.
He puts the back of his hand to my forehead, eyes widening in alarm. “Your fever must be back. That almost sounded like a compliment.”
He laughs, and I roll my eyes dramatically. “Don’t you have work to do or something?”
“I suppose so.” There’s a hint of disappointment on his face, and now I’m regrettingmy words.
I enjoy having him here, trading barbs with him as he lounges on my couch.
Weird.
The thought takes me off guard. Maybe I’m just feeling cooped up since I don’t have the energy to do anything.
Wes squeezes my thigh, and I feel the scrape of new callouses against my soft skin, silent proof of his hard work these past weeks. The subtle friction of it sends a shiver up my spine, and suddenly I want to feel those rough hands everywhere. It's a fleeting reminder of just how long it's been since I've been touched.
He removes his hand too soon and stands up. The absence of his touch is prominent, and though I want to tell him not to go, I hold back because, while I might have come to think of Wes as a friend, I know he’s not staying.
He has a life back in the city that he’s eager to get back to as soon as everything is settled with Pops and the ranch. So instead of asking him to stay and keep me company, I watch him walk out my door and listen to the rumble of the old blue Chevy as he leaves me in the dust.
Tit for Tat
Wes
I’ve spent the past week pulling double duty on Dawson Ranch and helping Sawyer out with the horses. I also tore out the entire goat pen because they had worked another hole into part of the welded wire fence. I replaced it with cattle panel fencing, which will hopefully do the trick and keep Roscoe and the girls from getting into trouble.
I’m exhausted but also more awake than I’ve been in ages. It’s strange to feel both things at once. The exhaustion of a fifteen hour day of manual labor and that exhilarating feeling of being out in the crisp air all day with the sun tanning my skin.
I’ve brought Sawyer supper every night this week, but tonight she surprised me by having dinner made when I got here. Her eyes are brighter and more lively, even though her face is still a bit drawn.
She was itching to spend some time with the horses, so when she tried to tell me she could do night check on her own I told her I’d do all the work, and she could spend some quality time with the horses. She didn’t put up too much of a fight, which tells me exactly how much the fatigue is still wearing on her.
We walk down to the stable together and her eyes snag on the new fence the moment it’s within sight. She comes to an abrupt halt and just stares.
I didn’t tell her about replacing the fencing for the goat enclosure. And now that she’s stopped beside me, not saying a word, I wonder if I should have asked for her input. She might have had a plan for it, which I’ve now undermined by trying to be helpful.
“If it’s not what you want, I can redo it. We had the extra cattle panels, and since Roscoe keeps tearing up the welded wire, I thought this would be a bit more durable,” I say when I can’t stand the silence any longer.
Her jaw works as she stares at the fence some more, still not saying a word.
“I’m sorry. I should have talked to you about it before—”
“Wes, shut up,” she says, her voice cracking on the last word as she walks up to the new enclosure.
I keep my mouth shut as she surveys my work, testing the fence by shaking it and then standing on it while the goats bleat their excitable greetings. Finally, she launches herself at me, throwing her arms around my neck. “I can’t believe you built my goats a whole new enclosure.”
