Page 63 of Wilder

“You’re working late,” Laken said, nodding to the feed. “Don’t tell me you’re down here missing the fun up at the bunkhouse because you wanted to get a head start on filling the feeds.”

I pulled my hat off my head to swipe an arm over my brow. The night air had cooled quite a bit but stuck in this stall with Pelly hovering over me was keeping me quite toasty.

Restlessness had forced me out of the house before the ball had dropped, leading me down here to sequester myself until everyone was packed up and off to bed for the night. I’d planned on only staying down here for a little while but had completely lost track of time after going through and fixing each horse’s stall.

Not that I had any plans to be up at the bunkhouse getting into whatever chaos was bound to unfold to begin with, however, evading the awkward questions around why I was avoiding coming around was better than trying to lie my way out of them.

I glanced back at him. “Could say the same for you.”

Laken shrugged, pushing off the door and rolling his shoulders a few times. “I was up in town, just got back from Cal’s. Wanted to head up there for a bit while the ball dropped and have a few drinks.”

Cal’s.

I hadn’t heard that name in a while.

A small bar just up the road in town, known for its questionable practices when it came to checking IDs and a general don’t ask, don’t tell attitude.

The guy who owned it, Calvin Turner, had a reputation for not giving a damn about who walked through the doors so long as they had money to throw down for a few drinks and didn’t cause too much of a scene while they were there.

I’d spent a handful of nights there in my early twenties—back when Cal had just installed TVs and sports betting was starting to take off.

“I’m surprised you weren’t at the bunkhouse with everyone else,” I said, “Don’t tell me they tried roping you into karaoke again.”

“No, nothing like that.” Laken’s lips quirked. “I met someone up at Cal’s.”

That caught my attention.

I raised my brow slightly.

I wasn’t all that tuned in to my ranch hands’ personal lives, and I made it a point not to be for the sake of keeping things professional—aside from Asher, though that was a whole different situation.

But this surprised me. Usually, Laken was too busy chasing Ryder and Dusty around to think about slipping off into town for a late-night meet-up. Out of my entire crew, he and Dallas were my most levelheaded ones. Not typically the type to sneak out for a quick fling before coming back for morning chores.

Then again, at the end of the day, we were all men with needs.

So, who was I to judge?

“A... friend?” I guessed.

He laughed, something distinctly mischievous about it. “Yeah. Something like that.”

I let out a slow breath, shaking my head. “Right. Well, I’m glad you didn’t get yourself thrown out before midnight.”

Laken chuckled, stepped away from Pelly’s stall. “It was a close call, trust me.”

I gave her one last pat before stepping out, too, latching the door closed behind me just in time to dodge the teeth snapping for my hat again.

“Persistent little shit,” I muttered under my breath.

Laken chuckled as we started walking down the main aisle together, the sound of our boots scuffing against the swept concrete the only noise aside from the occasional soft huff of a horse. Most of the others had their heads lazily bobbing out of their stalls to watch us pass, losing interest quickly before retreating back inside.

The stars spread out like scattered diamonds, twinkling against the vast stretch of night in a way that had me stopping to stare at them for a short pause.

The air was crisp but not freezing—an oddity this time of year.

Usually, Texas was cold as hell around the end of December. But for the past two days, we’d gotten a sudden warm front that had blown in from the north, bringing with it just enough sunshine to chase away the lingering frost that clung to the fence posts and grass blades each morning.

It was nice.