My head ignores the obvious and dives straight back to Lanie, blocking out everything else outside my comfort zone right now. I can face that uncomfortable truth later. I doubt money makes that much of a difference to her from what I’ve gathered of her unusual lifestyle, rather like my sister. I can see her fitting in well with the remnants of my odd found family. My safety net.
Slow down, Rand. She hasn’t agreed to be part of your world yet.
Lanie hasn’t seen enough to make that choice. She’s not the only one who lives in a strange life of her own making. A few stolen moments are all we have to build on so far, though I already know I have every intention of drawing her into my world and bargaining with the tattered, dust-trodden remnants of my soul.
Dallas secures everything, still grumbling under his breathabout ungrateful assholes with too much free time and not enough sense.
“Are you going to help me set up?” I ask casually.
He fixes me with a hard glare. “If you’re that scared to come off your damned hobby farm and deal with real people, Rand, you should probably stay there ’til you harden the hell up.”
I smother a grin, flexing my forearms on the truck bed. “You’ll be there, then?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Good man.” I swing myself into the cab of my truck, grinning like a mad man.
At least I’ve got someone in my corner for this round.
By the time I pull into Coyote Falls’ drive, my playlist has reached its limits. Randy Houser’s “How Country Feels” takes me as far as the homestead, where West perches on the fence by the barn. Snowy peaks rise above the large, red building like a painted backdrop. My foreman’s beaten hat shadows his weathered face.
Like the rest of the men in the yard at the end of a long day, West lives in his oldest dusty jeans and scuffed leather work boots. Dirty denim is the unofficial uniform of Coyote Falls. A long-sleeved, blue-and-white-checked shirt strains across his barrel chest, his strength making him the perfect work partner. The man possesses more stamina than I’ll ever have, but we’re a match in terms of pure determination and stubbornness.
Maybe a touch of asshole factor on the right occasion.
“Have you been lazing around the whole time I was gone?” I yell, yanking at the straps holding the fence posts on the truck bed. Dallas did too good a job on his side. “We’ll be lucky if I don’t have to cut these free.”
“Yep. Sitting here, doing nothing all day, lookin’ sexy as hell.” West throws me a grin, hopping down to attack the other side of the load.
One strap finally comes free in my hands. I fling the loose end over the top at him. “My western pinup boy.”
He unloops his end of the strap and throws it back at me. “You took a while. I had to look good in case you brought all the pretty ladies home.”
“When does that ever happen?” I raise an eyebrow, not looking at him in case he reads the hidden truth written in my guilty face.
“The ass end of never. We’re gonna lose the light.” He pauses for a moment, a speculative glint in his gray eyes.
“Are you getting old, ready to clock out when it gets dark?” I grunt, tackling the last strap, and keep my chin tucked.
“Clock out when? You never stop, man. Gotta keep up with you.” West beats me to it, the top rail sliding precariously to the edge of the six-wheeler’s bed.
“I got it.” I strain beneath the largest gate but manage to tilt it to the ground without sustaining damage to either myself or the truck. Flirting with Lanie was fun, but working with my hands is a simple pleasure I’ve been denied once and never will be again.
Despite his bitching, West helps with the rest of the load as dusk settles over Coyote Falls. I love how the light shifts at this time of day, covering the homestead in a blanket of purple haze that obliterates the razorbacks. The boys filter back toward the bunkhouse, tired and filthy, if satisfied with a day’s hard work. Levi, Coyote’s chef, will feed them shortly, whining about wasted talents while filling the bellies of men who deserve the best for their efforts.
As I’m finishing up, my unwelcome but constantly present neighbor, Jed, hangs over a fence nearest the bunkhouse, chatting away with several of my younger hands who still have energy to spare. His shiny truck is parked beside Billy’s battered one.
I frown at the interaction, torn between stalking into the homestead or throwing Jed back over his side of the fence. His house is a damn long way from mine by design. Jury’s out on the man’s intentions, but Jed’s morals and mine diverge fairly fast and broad. Where I choose to work alongside the men who kick up dust atCoyote Falls, Jed’s growing paunch and pale skin tell their own tale.
I don’t know if the man wants to steal my boys or wreak havoc on my hard-earned peace, but more than one despondent, broke cowboy has turned up on my doorstep with horror stories of how the overfed rancher mistreats his workers.
“Haven’t you got your own mouths to feed?” I call over my shoulder, my voice loud enough to silence the conversation in the yard.
Scuffling feet tell me my comment was on point, at least on my side of the fence. Boots too heavy to belong in my yard clatter closer as I glance across at West.
“Subtle, Rand.” West shakes his head. He grabs a roll of wire that doesn’t need to be moved and walks away, presenting me with his back, though he doesn’t stop muttering under his breath. “Real fuckin’ subtle.”
“You got some good boys working here this season.” Jed strikes up a conversation with the shoulder still turned to him.
