Page 23 of Bales and Brawn

It’s smaller than my room back above the barn. To one side is a large range for heating and cooking. Beyond there are a few cupboards and a table and chairs which serve as a kitchen area. In front of the range are two comfortable looking easy chairs. I swing my gaze to the other half of the cabin.

“Err, Zane. There appears to be only one bed.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

ZANE

Devin’s face holds a mixture of part horror, part disbelief, and a tiny dash of amusement.

“There’s the chairs; you can put them together to make a bed. Or we can share. Unless you’re a kicker. In which case you can definitely take the chairs. Are you a kicker?”

“Um, I don’t think so,” he says slowly.

“That’s good, then. Nova wriggles a lot and I tell you, it’s really annoying.”

“Nope, pretty sure I’m not.” He still looks perplexed.

“That’s good, then.”

“You knew there was only one bed?” he asks.

“Of course. I’ve been coming here ever since I was ten.”

“And you don’t think that’s a bit odd?”

“Why should it be? I’ve shared with my dad, and with Nova. For a few years with both my dad and my uncle, though when that became too squashed, I used the chairs,” I try to explain.

“But we’re not family. It’s different.”

“It is, but I’m your boss, and I’m paying you to be out here. These are the facilities. You take the chairs or we share. It’s your choice.” I can’t really see a problem, and I leave him standing in the middle of the room with his dark brows still drawn into a thick line. I place the saddlebags on the table and start unpacking the supplies, and after a sigh he follows and starts helping.

“You really don’t think it strange to share your bed with another guy?” He starts up again.

“Look, I’ve been out here for over twenty years. I’ve also been on cattle drives for my uncle where we might spend three days camping out, or in a small bunkhouse on the route. Then you’re sharing a space with maybe six guys and there might be two or three beds. All you’re doing is using it to get some sleep before you get back to work. So yeah, better if you’re not a kicker. Or a snorer. Do you snore?”

He shakes his head, looking only slightly less confused.

“But a few weeks ago you could barely stand to be in the same room as me,” he blurts out, and I stop midway through placing some cans in the cupboard. How can I explain to him something I can’t even work out myself? He’s a good worker, that’s for sure. But it’s more than that. There’s something that draws me to him, it’s unsettling but not unpleasant, and I want more of it. His quick remarks make me smile and his dark eyes cause my stomach to dance. I don’t know what it means, but I can’t tell him any of that.

“Maybe I’ve changed my mind,” I settle on and get back to work, turning away from him so he can’t see my face, which heats with embarrassment. “There are some logs on the porch. Can you fill the basket next to the range?” I ask and he goes outside.

I take a few minutes to breathe deeply. I hadn’t thought there was anything wrong with sharing a bed. I’ve done it dozens of times. But Devin’s questioning makes me unsettled. It’s too late now, though, so I push the thoughts away and concentrate on making the cabin more habitable. I light the range, and while it’s heating up we dust and sweep the cabin and fetch water. Thankfully the silence isn’t awkward, and Devin hums as he works. The tune sounds familiar but I can’t quite place it.

We heat up some stew Arlene made for us and eat it on the porch, looking out over the valley, with the mountain behind us.

“That way is Foggy Basin.” I point to a barely visible dark mass to the east, then to the south. “And that’s Big Butte Lake, where Butte Creek runs into.”

“It’s a great view,” Devin says and I agree. I gather up the plates and take them inside.

“Would you like some tea?” I ask. “Or there are a few bottles of beer if you’d prefer.”

“I don’t drink,” he replies. I remember him saying that when I interviewed him, but I didn’t realize he actually meant it.

“What, never?”

“Not anymore.” There’s a hardness to his voice that tells me there’s a story there, but his tone is warning me off prying. I start to make us both a mug of tea, and as I unwrap the teabags I see the package Arlene put in the saddlebags.

“Arlene sent us butter cookies,” I say as I hand Devin his tea and offer him the pack so he can take a couple. I settle back in my chair and rest my feet on the railing in front of me, starting to relax.