8
There was something bittersweet about feelin’ the weather start to warm, signalin’ the change of the season. The ranch would slowly stir with new life, and all the regular work-hands would be back. But Nash would be gone, shipped back to God knows where, leavin’ Patrick by his lonesome all over again. Left with nothin’ but an ache in his chest that felt deeper than any bruise.
They spent the days leadin’ up to Nash’s departure so tangled up with one another they might as well have been overgrown weeds. They barely left the warm safety of the house durin’ those days. On the rare occasion they did, they spent it out in the pastures horseback ridin’ and layin’ beneath the big tree that was older than the ranch itself.
Patrick spent his time committin’ the taste of Nash’s rough lips, the feel of his calloused hands, the sound of his voice—low and deep in his ear—to memory durin’ those days. If Nashdecided he didn’t want to come back next winter, at least Patrick would have those memories to keep him company.
Nash rolled over, throwin’ an arm around Patrick’s torso. Patrick brushed a stray piece of blond hair from Nash’s forehead then kissed it. “Morning darlin’,” he rasped out.
“Mm, say it again,” Nash said, pressin’ close against Patrick’s side.
“What? Darlin’?”
“Yeah.” Nash kissed the underside of Patrick’s jaw. “Can’t say I’ve been called that since,God, I don’t know when.”
“Well…” Patrick’s heart jumped to his throat, and he swallowed around it. “You’re my darlin’, ain’t ya?”
Nash got on top of Patrick, a wicked grin gracin’ his pretty freckled face. “I reckon I can be your darlin’, if”—Nash leaned down real close—“you’ll be my Baby.”
Patrick’s face burned. “Ain’t I already your Baby, sir?”
“God have mercy.” Nash groaned, grindin’ his half-hard cock against Patrick’s thigh. “You can’t talk like that today. We won’t ever make it to the bus stop on time.”
“Would that be such a bad thing?” Patrick blurted. He looked off to the side, stomach knottin’ up tight. “To have more time together, ya know? I…I ain’t ready for you to leave just yet.”
“I know, but I’ll write ya. Hell, I’ll call every day if you want. You just gotta wait for me, a’right?”
Patrick looked in Nash’s honey-brown eyes. “I’d wait a lifetime for you, Nash Colby.”
As a child, goodbyes weren’t easy. Patrick hated sayin’ goodbye no matter who it was or how soon they promised to see him again. He would tear up and get all red in the face whenever it was time to leave, or someone was leavin’. Course, as he got older, he had to quit all his cryin’ and snifflin’—it wasn’tmanlyto cry over silly stuff like goodbyes. But Patrick Dillard was a soft man with a heart he wore on the chest pocket of his shirt.
Patrick parked the truck among the other cars, hopin’ everybody was too busy tryin’ to make sure they got to the right bus or had their tickets to notice him and Nash. Nash snuck his hand into Patrick’s, intertwinin’ their fingers. “It ain’t gonna be for long.”
“I know.”
“And you ain’t gotta worry about me shackin’ up with anybody else either.”
“I know.”
“Baby, look at me please.”
Patrick lifted his head.
“It’s just gonna be me and Natty in our li’l bitty house. I ain’t gonna take no ranchin’ jobs 'til next winter. I’ll find work where I live. Might not be much, but I’ll make do. Hey—” Nash placed a hand on Patrick’s cheek, catchin’ a stray tear he hadn’t even noticed. “You’re gonna be a’right, Baby.We’regonna be a’right. I’m gonna come back for you, ain’t no doubt about it.”
“Promise you’ll write?” Patrick hated how small he sounded.
“I promise. Come ‘ere.”
Patrick met Nash in the middle, kissin’ him messily. They pulled away, restin’ their foreheads together.
“I’m gonna miss you something fierce, Patrick Dillard. You wait for me.”
Nash got out of the truck, grabbed up his stuff, and hurried to the bus before the doors closed. The bus pulled away from the stop, and Patrick headed back to Suncreek Ridge.
9
Time passed differently without Nash to fill the silent nights, early mornin’s, and all the slow moments in between. Patrick’s father asked how Nash was as a ranchhand, and if he was worth hirin’ again. It took all Patrick had not to sound any sorta way ‘bout Nash.“He was a’right; did the work just fine; I reckon if he’s cheap enough, we oughta have him back next winter,”he’d said with a shrug, avoidin’ eye contact with his old man. Patrick could only pray and wait to see if Nash would come back for the winter.
