Page 93 of Wilder

“What’s got you so jittery tonight?” my mama asked, a glass half-raised to her mouth. “Haven’t seen you this fidgety since you were a boy.”

I paused mid-chew, my leg going still under the table. “No reason.”

I didn’t even have to look up to know she was narrowing her eyes at me over the rim of her glass like she always did when she sensed I was trying to be slick. My mama had a sixth sense when it came to bullshit.

Always had.

I could’ve been halfway across the damn state and she’d still know I was hiding something. From some weird maternal telepathy my father and I used to joke about but were always secretly scared of.

No amount of distance or changing the subject could shake it once she has her eyes locked on to whatever she thought she saw.

My fork scraped against the edge of my plate as I shoveled another bite into my mouth, using it as an excuse to not be able to talk if she asked me something again. Sitting here vibrating, feeling like I’d swallowed a livewire, all because I was waiting to sneak a boy into our house like we were a couple of rowdy teenagers tired of messing around in the haystacks out by the stables.

Outside, the sun had already set.

Dinner up at the bunkhouse usually got over and done with around six. Factoring in clean up, dish duty, and maybe a quick shower and a change of clothes, Asher would probably show up at my back door pushing six-thirty.

Which gave me all of about half an hour left not to let slip to my poor mama that I was losing my goddamn mind waiting.

Him laid out on that desk, the image of him panting while covered in both of our cum, was burned into the inside of my eyelids. The way he’d begged me to take him replayed on repeat. The soft little sigh he let out when I’d reached for him today in that shed.

The way his fingers glided over his stomach, coating them in our release before he brought it up to his mouth to taste it.

Lord have mercy.

My leg began to shake again, earning me another pointed look from across the table.

“Wilder Reese. You tell me right now what has gotten into you.”

I flinched.

Not visibly, at least I hoped not. Enough that my hand jerked slightly when I reached for my glass.

I brought it up to my mouth to buy time, using it to mask the flush I knew was creeping across my cheeks, staining them a deep, cherry red I was known for having when I was a boy after getting caught doing things I shouldn’t have been doing.

I was bad at lying—always had been. Half-truths never came easy, either, but they weren’t as hard of a pill to swallow.

God help me, I’d never been this twisted up over another person in my whole damn life.

I sighed, setting my glass down. “Nothing’s gotten into me. Just tired. It’s been a long week.”

She raised one thin brow at me, the fine lines around her eyes deepened with her suspicions. “Really, now. Something happen?” That slow, southern drawl always sounded so sweet, even when it was laced with a thinly veiled threat to knock it off.

I forced a shrug, leaning forward to drag the prongs of my fork through what was left of my potatoes.

The problem was I had nothing solid to give her. Not unless I wanted to confess to what I was sure would be a night spent doing whatever I could to Asher while my mother peacefully slept on the opposite side of the house none the wiser.

Having a ranch that ran as smooth and efficient as ours didn’t give me much to complain about. No crisis or injury, no new intakes. Nothing that would explain away why I was sitting here squirming like a man ready to be dragged into confessional.

We were a well-oiled machine at Boone Ranch. Everyone pulled their weight, things got done on time, we broke even most months—which, in the world of ranching, was more blessing than curse—and most folks had enough competence to know better than to screw around or slack off.

Carter’s face flashed in my mind.

Well, most everyone...

“Actually,” I said, changing tactics. If Mama was going to keep pressing, I might as well throw her a bone. After all, it wasn’t a lie. Just not the truth she was actually looking for. “We’re having some problems with one of the greenhorns we hired early last year.”

Her head tilted in curiosity. “Oh? Don’t tell me it’s that sweet boy from Louisiana. I know him taking a long break from here might’ve set y’all back a bit but he’s a hardworking one, isn’t he?”