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“I guess it’s not really fair that I want them to leave me alone, when I don’t do the same for you, but I think you’ll like it here if you give it a chance. Take it from someone like me who doesn’t have a home—not really. This isn’t a bad gig for you.”
I’m close enough now that I can reach out and touch him. Storm blows out a couple of breaths, the hot air hitting me, and I wait.
“Yeah, I know. It’s hard not being angry at the world. I’m not one to talk.” Slowly, I raise my hand and rest it on Storm’s neck, then give him some rubs. He lets me, and damn, it makes my blood sing, makes me feel like sunshine is coming out of my pores or something.
We still haven’t been able to get a saddle on him. Before that, I need to get him halter broken, but for tonight, for now, this is enough.
I spend a good twenty minutes out there just petting and loving on Storm until he starts to get anxious and it’s clear he’s had enough of me.
I make sure the gate is closed tight when I leave and head straight for the bunkhouse. The crew is still there, but the pans are all empty. Pixie’s daddy is here, even though they don’t live on the ranch, and I figure it’s because of the bonfire Sully told me about.
“I saved you a plate.” Wade points to the microwave.
“Thank you.” I tug it out without warming it up. I’ve eaten a whole lot worse things than cold food in my life. All the guys are sitting around the table, playing cards, so I take my plate over to my bed and start shoveling spoonsful of meatloaf and mashed potatoes into my mouth.
“You want in on the next game?” Bulldog calls over to me, but I shake my head. His forehead wrinkles in disappointment, and I get why. The guys on a ranch are like family—or hell, at least like friends. They sure as shit don’t keep to themselves the way I tend to. “You gonna at least come hang out tonight?”
I shake my head to that too.
“You think you’re too good for the rest of us?” Randy looks my way, and I feel the hair at my nape rise.
“Nope,” I answer simply, unwilling to pay him much attention. It feels like that’s what he’s looking for.
“That’s enough.” Wade’s voice is firm and steady, Randy breaking his ice-blue gaze on me and returning to the game. Everyone listens to Wade around here. They respect him. That’s just the way it works.
I finish eating, grab some clothes, then go shower. I stay in there longer than I need to, and by the time I head back into the bunkhouse, it’s empty.
I look out the window and see the bonfire is already going. Everyone is sitting around, some with a drink in their hands, laughing and talking while Wade plays his harmonica.
My gaze finds Sully and holds. Jesus, the man can wear a pair of blue jeans, the fabric slightly loose but tight enough to show his thick thighs and round ass. I thought I was gonna die the first time I fucked him, thought that if there was a heaven, it was the feel of being inside someone’s ass. I busted my nut too fucking fast, but I made up for it afterward. Don’t matter how much ass I’ve had since, none of it is as good as his.
“Fuck.” I rub a hand over my face. Just boss and employee, just boss and employee. I need to get this shit outta my head.
I try to ignore the twinge inside me, urging me to go out, have a drink with everyone, shoot the shit and play my guitar. Just the thought makes my chest tighten. I’ve done that at other ranches over the years, spent time with the other hands, partied and gotten drunk with them, fucked some of them too, but those ranches weren’t the Sullivan Ranch…and those men weren’t Bishop Sullivan.
Chapter 11
Bishop
I can’t help looking toward the bunkhouse every few minutes, knowing Porter is in there sulking and being antisocial—or just pretending to be to spite me. So imagine my surprise when the door slowly creaks open and Porter steps out, seemingly unsure about the decision.
I’m not the only one stunned by his arrival. Wade’s eyes widen even as his lips keep steady on the harmonica, and some of the others mutter under their breath.
“Well, well, well,” Randy says, already a few brews in. So are Jeb and Bulldog, but they’re only a stone’s throw away from their beds. “Guess you decided to bless us with your presence.”
My gaze shoots to the ranch house, where Pixie is sitting with Mom on the front porch, enjoying the fire from a distance and gazing at the night sky. We all know that Randy needs to get her to bed soon, but he doesn’t seem to be aware of his own shut-off valve, and it makes me nervous. Maybe it would be reasonable to discuss the situation with my mother, since she seems to instinctually know when Pixie needs a diversion.
“You were already blessed back in the bunkhouse,” Porter lobs back. “What? You need my company around the fire too?”
Some of the hands chuckle, but Randy’s jaw tightens. “You know exactly what I mean. Like I said before, you act like you’re too good for us.”
“Knock it off already,” Wade says, narrowing his eyes at Randy.
“Not in front of the boss man,” Bulldog hisses, and Randy stiffens, his eyes darting to me.
I want to say something so that nobody’s on edge around me, but I let it play out, pretending I’m only half listening to the conversation.
Wade returns to playing his harmonica, while Porter moves to the cooler and reaches inside for a beer. He draws out a bottled water as well and heads toward Randy. “Maybe it’s time for a switch. Take it from me, I know all too well.”
