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Their eyes lock, and it seems as if everyone is holding their breath, waiting for an argument or maybe even a physical altercation. Finally, Randy’s shoulders sag, and he takes the offering, but not before guzzling the rest of his beer and letting out a loud belch.
That turns into a burping contest that continues as Randy unscrews the water cap and Porter finds the only open seat, which is beside me. Guess the men are more aware of my presence than I thought.
“Nice of you to join us,” I say as the men laugh and try to outdo each other.
“Could say the same to you, boss,” he retorts.
I shrug. “Felt like it tonight. Plus, wanna keep my eye on Pixie.”
Porter’s gaze fills with concern as it swings around the space, possibly in an effort to locate her.
I raise a thumb over my shoulder. “She’s with Mom on the porch.”
He visibly relaxes, which surprises me. Maybe he’s taken a liking to the girl as well. Or just knows from experience what it’s like to be around a parent who drinks. That’s probably what his comment to Randy was all about. Remembering his dad sinking further into his addiction, and according to others, his depression, over all the ranch business. Not sure I ever understood all that, and I sure as shit don’t intend to bring our grandfathers up again, so for now, we’ll let sleeping dogs lie.
“Pixie’s something else,” Porter says around a sip of beer. “Older than her years. Bet she has to be.”
I nod, knowing exactly what he means. It’s the reason for my growing concern.
“How about you join in with your guitar?” Big Jimmy says to Porter.
He stiffens beside me as if surprised they know that about him.
“Not like we ain’t seen you practically making love to that guitar,” Jeb says. “Protecting it with your life, like one of us is gonna take off with it or something.”
“Surprised you don’t sleep with it,” Otis adds, and the others laugh.
“We wouldn’t even know what to do with a dang instrument.” This from Randy. “Not one of us got a musical bone in our bodies, besides Wade.”
“Hey, speak for yourself,” Bulldog says, and I remember somewhere along the way hearing about him learning to play the violin in school.
“Yeah, well, I’ve had it stolen before, for parts or money or whatever,” Porter replies through a tight jaw. “So you can’t fault me for keeping a close eye on it.”
“What happened next?” Otis asks with a sparkle in his eye, as if hoping for a good story. These men love running their mouths and gossiping about the other ranches.
Porter hitches a shoulder. “I got it back, that’s what.”
“Ooooh,” Bulldog replies. “Did they even see you coming?”
“Nope.” Porter takes a swig, and my stomach tightens thinking about all the time that’s passed between us and the untold stories. It’s like we’re strangers, learning things about each other. And just as the others seem to bend an ear toward him, so do I, eager to hear more. “But he deserved it.”
Bulldog whistles, and all the men start talking at once, lobbing questions at him.
“That one of the times you got fired from a ranch?” Otis asks at the same time Jeb says, “How could the boss not take your side?”
To my surprise, Porter answers them, maybe because the beer is helping smooth the way or because he feels the need to explain himself regarding his reputation. “Think they were just looking for an excuse to let me go at that point. Didn’t help that I was fucking the owner’s son.”
My throat constricts with the bitter taste of jealousy as I imagine Porter fucking the man over a hay bale. My face catches fire, and I look away. Porter’s brazenness is obvious to me. He wants to bluntly put himself out there, for shock value. To get a rise out of them—and me. But also to dare the men to call him a queer or something worse.
Instead, most of the men laugh and play along. Wade shakes his head, Big Jimmy grins, but Randy spits on the ground as if disgusted by his confession. It makes my gut churn, wondering if he’d have the same reaction knowing about Porter and me.
“You got some balls on you,” Jeb says. “Plenty of daughters I wanted to fuck, but no way I’d chance it.”
“Not like it was my idea,” Porter says, and again there’s an eruption of laughter.
“You fucking love this,” I spit out, trying to tame my reaction, and he offers me a knowing grin. This is the Porter Dixon he’s become. Oh, he was all sass back then, but his momma would’ve wrung his neck if he outright disrespected anyone in charge. What that says about what we had going, I’m not sure, but right now I feel like I want to puke.
The men start sharing stories about their time on different ranches, and Porter listens politely, not giving any more of himself away. But it had the desired effect. The guys think he’s one of them now, and I suppose that’s not a bad thing. Though it’s unlikely Porter would trust any of them as far as he could throw ’em, and I’d bet our brightest steed it’s the same for them. They find Porter interesting, but until they’re convinced they can rely on him, they’ll also keep their distance—outside of shooting the shit and giving him shit too.
