Page 37 of Slow Burn

Austin barks a laugh. “That is not where I was going, man. I know that would never happen in a million years. I trust you.”

Relief washes over me, but it’s quickly replaced by the sickening feeling of shame. I was careful to keep Lyla at arms length when she first got here. Hell, I kept her a fucking mile away. But every boundary I thought I had drawn in the sand, I’ve quickly stepped over.

I shared personal things with her, and I listened when she shared with me.

I let my mind go to places I told myself I never would.

Now, Lyla is working in my house, and all I’ve been thinking about all day is storming into her office, sweeping everything off the desk and kissing her until she can’t think straight.

Chapter 15

Lyla

The smell of fresh coffee hits me as I slide open the glass door and step into the kitchen.

I brought Critter with me, and set him down on the kitchen floor. If there’s one perk of this job, it’s being able to bring my dog into the office.

He starts sniffing around and exploring the house, finding all different scents that he’s never smelled back in the city. He seems particularly interested in a pair of boots at the back door. They probably smell like horses, or horse shit, or a combination of the two.

The house is quiet, I’m not sure what Wade is up to this morning, or if he’s even awake yet. But one thing is clear, Beck is already out on the property hard at it already.

Ranchers are well known for being early birds. They’re also well known for being a bit broody and preferring their solitude, and I’ve come to learn that Beck fits the mold to a tee. Maybe taking over Wild Sage is his destiny, maybe he was meant to do this, as much as he grumbles about it.

I pull a mug down out of the cupboard, one that looks like it was handmade with clay, fired with a speckled glaze so the natural ceramic shows through. I make it the way I like, with a splash of oatmilk. There’s a carton of it in the fridge, and I realize it must have been Beck who put it there. There was none at breakfast the other day, and Wade hasn’t been out to the store recently. First the whipped cream, and now this? Something warms in my chest at the thought.

I pad through the house, soft on my feet so as not to wake Wade if he’s still sleeping. I find the office, a dark and moody room, painted in a muted navy blue with cream curtains framing the window that looks out to the rest of the property, and heavy leather furniture.

Beck had it all ready for me to start work. He’d cleared the prominent wooden desk of any papers, and I have to say, it has been nice to sit on something other than the wooden kitchen chair, even though I have impeccable posture.

It takes me the rest of the morning just to get through half the pile, but I’m starting to see some progress. The accounting software has helped me see patterns in spending, gaps in income, and I’ve even jotted down some notes so I can look into more possibilities for how to close the profit margins.

For one, Beck could sell off some extra cattle this season, more than what he normally does. It would mean he could line his pockets a little more (pro) and keep a smaller herd for next year, reducing some of his expenses during the off season (another pro). There’s also a decent tax break that we could take advantage of for having to sell livestock because of drought conditions.

The only con? I fucking hate that I’m considering selling off cows. It means even more of them will be bought for meat, and I can hardly stomach the thought already. But this is the job, and I have to be able to separate my own beliefs from the business. That’s a lesson I’ve already paid for.

I’m so engrossed in the work, lost in the mundanity of creating new entries, filling in the values, and then adding the sheet to my completed pile, that I hardly notice Wade knocking softly on the door jamb.

He’s wearing his usual jeans that have been so worn they’re almost white at the knees, a flannel plaid button down, and a friendly smile.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says.

I wave off his apology.

“I wondered if you’d want some lunch. I made enough for both of us.”

I look down at the work I’ve already done, and decide it’s probably time for a break. Besides, his offer is too good to pass up. I’ve had Wade’s pancakes, I know he’s a good cook.

I nod. “Sure, I’d love that.”

My heart warms at the way his face lights up at my acceptance. I wonder how often anyone sits down to lunch with Wade. Truth be told, I haven’t had anyone sit down to lunch with me in a long time either. My shared dessert with Beck was the closest thing to a date I’ve had in years.

I laugh inwardly at that thought, because it ended just like my other dates have: with Beck getting up abruptly and leaving before anything physical could happen.

I follow Wade through the house and out to the shaded back porch, where he has lunch waiting for us. There’s a pitcher of iced tea with slices of lemon, and some kind of warm kale salad.

“It’s all vegan,” Wade says as we sit down on the rattan furniture. “Salad came from my own garden.” He gestures out to the yard to the small patch of growing vegetables.

“It looks amazing, thank you.”