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“She’s asleep in his truck. Tuckered out after dinner. The men don’t have more than a couple on nights like this, and outside of a few rare instances, they stick to it.”
That effectively shuts down the conversation, and I don’t press it. I’m glad Wade is mindful of the men’s drinking and has set some parameters in the bunkhouse. I have no doubt they heed his rules, but Randy isn’t a resident and might have other ideas. For now, I’ll trust Wade to take care of it.
Helping him carry some dry logs from the shed, we get the fire roaring, then sit and watch the flickering flames from opposite benches.
Randy exits the bunkhouse and heads to his truck. Watching him closely, I don’t get the feeling he’s had too many, so maybe he’s got some common sense after all. He leans over the seat, no doubt to check on a sleepy Pixie before heading on his way.
Wade lifts a hand as he pulls out. “See, told ya he’s all right. Was even chugging water before I came out here.”
I still have questions but keep them to myself for now.
Every time I hear a random noise that ends up being a coyote’s cry or an owl’s hoot, my gaze shoots toward where I’d see the road if it weren’t so dark and the pines so tall.
Wade must be onto me because his gaze meets mine. “He took his guitar with him.”
I stiffen. “Who?”
“You know who.” He throws me an incredulous look. “You don’t gotta pretend with me.”
I blow out a breath and nod.
“Also asked where the nearest bar was that allowed live music.”
My breath catches. “Whatd’ya mean, live music? Like, somewhere he can play?”
That’s new, not that I know what he’s been up to the past eleven years. Or vice versa.
“Seems so.”
“What did ya tell him?”
“Buck’s seemed like the right place to direct him.” He glances over my shoulder toward the house. “If you wanna take off, I can think of a good excuse?—”
“Nah, appreciate it, though.” A cold sweat steals across my skin, not only because Wade likely knows about me—about us—but because I still haven’t told my parents. I think of Porter’s response to that news and grimace. “Porter wouldn’t want me there anyway.”
He arches a brow. “You sure about that?”
“I’m sure.” Porter couldn’t have made himself clearer. “He thought me and Aimee were still married and had kids.”
Wade’s eyes grow wide as saucers before he barks out a laugh. “Oh, damn. If only he knew how that all fell apart.” His expression sobers. “No offense.”
“None taken. We weren’t right for each other.”
He leans forward. “If I can speak more plainly, you did all that for your ma and pa.”
I nod. No use denying it. “It wasn’t fair to her. But I thought I could make it work. We were friends for years and got along well in most every way.”
Even our sex life was decent. Not great, but not bad either. But the intimacy wasn’t there, for either of us, I suspect. I’m glad she sounds much happier now.
Wade stares at the fire a beat before he says, “No way to make it work when your heart’s with someone else.”
I open my mouth to protest, to tell him it was only casual between me and Porter, but why bother? He isn’t that far off. And no guy I’ve been with since has compared.
“You’d think by now I’d be able to…”
“Not always that simple.” Wade averts his gaze. “Time helps dull the pain but doesn’t always heal it.”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
