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“Hey.”
“Hi,” I say back sheepishly. I don’t feel as confident as I did earlier when were out on the patio alone. I reach down to open the lid of the cooler and pull a water out. Is the heat on in here? I fan my face and twist off the cap of the water bottle.
“Come with me,” Gage says in a whisper.
It’s pathetic how I snap to attention and do exactly as he says. This man could tell me to get on my knees and crawl and I’d probably fucking do it. I silently chastise myself.
Get a grip girl.
He leads us out the back door but doesn’t stop when we’re outside. Curiously, I try to peek around his big frame to see where we’re going. After a few short minutes of walking, I see a line of trees and a wooden fence. On the other side is a group of chairs and a campfire surrounded by big cinder blocks.
He effortlessly places a hand on the top of a fence post and swings his body over the top to the other side. Tentatively, I secure my foot on the lowest picket to climb over. I need to remember to pick up my old boots from my parents’ house tomorrow. These chucks aren’t going to last long out here if I’m climbing freaking fences every day.
As I bring my other foot up and begin to swing it over the top, two strong hands grab my hips on both sides. Gage lifts me high in the air and I gasp at how quickly I’m brought back down to my feet directly in front of him.
He brings his hands back to his sides and leaves a burning where they were just on my body. His throat clears and I’m beginning to realize that must be a nervous habit of his. We walk toward the chairs and when I sit down, he picks up a quilt and offers it to me.
I gladly take it and bring my legs up to my chest, wrapping it around my whole body. He takes the seat right next to mine and sighs.
“Thanks. I needed the fresh air,” I admit. “It’s a little overwhelming in there.”
He chuckles. “Yeah. I don’t notice anymore because I’m so used to it. But it’s a lot of people.”
“Is it always like that? A lot of people around, I mean?”
“Nah,” he shakes his head. “Just on the weekends and during the slower parts of the year. There are a lot of guys that come in and out of the bunkhouse though. For breakfast or to hang out or whatever. I—” he clears his throat again. “Wehave several part-time guys that crash there on nights where we have an early morning the next day.”
I nod and take another sip of water.
“It feels good to be around people that you’re not working with or competing against for some type of accolade or position,” I say.
“Is that part of why you don’t want to be a doctor?”
“I never said I didn’t want to be a doctor.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I turn my head towards him to see he’s already looking at me. He holds my gaze like I’m made of glass and he can see right through.
“I want to be successful.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Sure. But we all have different definitions of that. For me, it’s being so good at my job that I feel secure in never losing it. And working toward a salary that could provide for my entire family. I wasn’t born rich. Unlike some people, I have to dedicate every fiber of my being to achieving the success that I want.”
He shifts uncomfortably for some reason and the tension in the air between us thickens.
“Sorry, I went off on a rant. I’m just saying that things like this,” I wave my arm out to the wide expanse of the beautiful ranch in front of us, “mean something. The work you guys put in here every day to make things run? I respect that. It wasn’t handed to you.”
“That means a lot to you?”
“Yes. It does. I’ve met too many entitled people who walked around with a silver spoon in their mouth before they even learned to talk. It’s partly why I wanted to go to medical school. It’s challenging and rewarding.”
Gage rubs his jaw. He looks deep in thought.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I agree with you. You have ambition. I like that about you.”
