1
Patrick Dillard wasn’t a particularly difficult man nor was he someone that enjoyed complainin’ a whole bunch. Though, he’d be a liar if he denied how much he bitched and moaned when he learned that his old man hired someone to tend the ranch with him for the winter without sayin’ anything ‘til two weeks before Patrick was supposed to pick them up. His old man insisted it was necessary; he wasn’t gettin’ any younger and there was too much land for Patrick to handle on his own. Patrick knew his old man wasn’t staying on the ranch for the winter, but he figured he’d be workin’ with one of the seasoned ranch-hands he knew. Instead, he was gonna be workin’ with somebody he didn’t know and who was most likely gonna be inexperienced fresh meat that would carry on ‘bout havin’ to work in the cold.
By the time his old man told him that someone was comin’, it was too late for Patrick to do anything. Nash Colby, the workerPatrick’s old man hired, was on his way, and there was nothing Patrick could do about it.
Come Monday, Patrick dragged himself out of the house and drove all the way out to the nearest city—three hours outside of town. Suncreek Ridge had petitioned years ago to not allow public transit anywhere near town under the guise of it doin’ more harm than good, but Patrick wished they’d at least allowed a one stop near the outskirts. Grumblin’ about lack of space and city folks not knowin’ how to drive, he pulled into the parkin’ lot and waited in his old, rusted, blue pickup truck. He tilted his hat over his eyes to block out the afternoon sun as it began to creep towards the horizon.
A loud, teeth grittin’ noise pierced Patrick’s ears, jerkin’ him awake just as he was about to doze off. With a sigh, Patrick adjusted his hat then got out of the truck. He watched people mosey off the bus like cattle being herded from the pen to an open field, spreading out of the orderly, single-file line they walked off the bus in.
“He’s about your age,”Patrick’s father had said.“Probably gonna be wearing a cowboy hat or somethin’ like it. Got blond hair—Hell, Pat, you’ll know ‘im when you see ‘im, quit your bitchin’.”
Patrick did know him when he saw him. Nash Colby—wearing a black cowboy hat with frayed edges—walked off that bus lookin’ like a sunflower plucked straight from a garden with his bright blond hair, dark eyes, and golden sun-kissed skin. He was a tall fella, all leg with not a lick of fat on his bones. Patrick couldn’t take his eyes off ‘im. Nash Colby was apretty li’l thing. Something hard and heavy formed in the pit of Patrick’s stomach when he realized he’d thought of another man aspretty. He shoved the thought to the back of his mind, dismissin’ it as nothing more than a slip up—only women looked likethat.
He walked up to the front of the truck, hoping Nash was sharp enough to know who or what to look for. Sure enough, those big brown eyes landed right on Patrick. As Nash’s gaze traveled down, a smirk formed on his pale pink lips, and cotton filled the inside of Patrick’s mouth. He tried to swallow, but it only made it worse.
“You must be Patrick,” Nash said once he was within talkin’ distance. He offered his hand, and Patrick couldn’t help but notice how slender his fingers were. “Nash Colby.”
Patrick cleared his throat and took Nash’s hand, surprised to find it rougher than what he’d assumed it would be. “Just Pat’s fine.”
“Well, just Pat”—Nash stepped closer without releasing Patrick’s hand—“I must say, I wasn’t expectin’ someone so young and handsome to be pickin’ me up.”
Heat flooded Patrick’s face. He jerked his hand back. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those—”
Nash laughed and it sounded like church bells on Sunday. Comfort and sin twisted up into one ringing noise. “I’m a married man, Pat. I’m just yankin’ your chain, seein’ how you’d react. Let’s me know what typa person I’m gonna be holed up with.”
Relief didn’t find Patrick the way he thought it would when Nash said he was married; it only made the burnin’ in his face feel that much hotter. He shifted and rubbed the back of his neck. “Right.” He cleared his throat again. “Well, we outta get goin’. Get you settled in and all that.”
Heart buckin’ in his chest like a caught bronco, Patrick turned on his heels and got into the truck, slamming the door harder than necessary. The truck sputtered a few times before finally startin’ up. Warm air blasted from the vents, causin’ the black tree hangin’ on the rearview mirror to sway. A minute later, Nash joined Patrick in the cab, door squealin’ in protest as it waspulled shut. “I reckon we’re a drive from the ranch?” Nash asked, settlin’ into his seat.
Patrick pulled out onto the road. “‘Bout three hours.”
Nash sighed, crossin’ his arms and closin’ his eyes. “Guess I’ll catch a nap on the way then.”
Conversation dead before it started, the ride into Suncreek Ridge was silent save for the rumble of the truck and the occasional car blowin’ past on the way to the city. Every so often, Patrick glanced over at the man ridin’ shotgun who was every bit his opposite. Nash was a spindly thing compared to Patrick. His face was bare of facial hair while Patrick had a thick, dark beard. However, the one thing in particular that stuck out to Patrick the most was Nash’s freckles. Brown spots trailed down his neck and disappeared beneath his shirt, and for some odd reason, Patrick wanted to know just how much of Nash was covered in those fallen stars.
“You got a starin’ problem?”
Patrick snatched his eyes away, shame burnin’ hot in his gut.
“Cat got your tongue?” Nash taunted.
“Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”
Nash chuckled. “I’m sure, cowboy. Your type don’t ever mean anything by it.” He pushed himself upright, stretching his arms above his head without touching the roof of the truck. “Least, not 'til a month or so in and there ain’t nobody but the two of us on that big empty ranch.”
Patrick flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I ain’t—”
“One ofthose.” Nash turned his head to look out at the window. “Never are.”
Patrick huffed through his nose, nostrils flaring like a bull. “Didn’t you say you were married?”
“Natty’s only my wife in name. But she’s as good a wife as any.” Nash leaned his head back, lookin’ at Patrick with a lazy grin. “Keeps me outta too much trouble.”
Patrick kept his eyes trained on the road, swallowin’ around whatever strange thing had bloomed in his throat. “Sounds like you ain’t nothin’ but trouble.”
“Maybe.” Nash tapped his knuckle on the window as they approached The Broken Spoke, Suncreek Ridge’s only bar in town. “Wanna find out?”
Broken Spoke was stompin’ grounds for just about everybody in town, but with it being the only place that served liquor worth drinkin’, Patrick decided to take the risk. He could use a stiff drink if he planned on makin’ it to the ranch without losin’ his head. Before he was parked good, Nash was out of the cab and headed for the door. Patrick swore, scrambling after the youngin’—though if he was old enough to be married, Nash probably wasn’t that much younger than Patrick.
