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The first thing I notice is how it looks the same as I pull up to the open ranch gate—a black, metal, intricate design of the Colorado countryside. Along the top, in a curved scroll, it reads: SULLIVAN RANCH, with a stone pillar on each side of the gate.
The rock in my gut feels like it weighs a ton now, the back of my neck prickling like it used to do when I could feel Sully watching me. It used to make my dick hard, make me want to smile even though I hate smiling, but now it’s all discomfort and anger. Seeing him with Aimee, so soon after we fucked and I found my momma dead… It’s all I can see when I think about him.
Get outta here. What the hell are you doing back at Sullivan Ranch?
I ignore that voice because I’m pretty good at ignoring things that make sense, instead driving down the long gravel driveway leading to the main house.
It’s just as beautiful as in my memories. I remember thinking it looked like a mansion when I was a kid, and despite knowing it isn’t one, it’s bigger than anything I’ve ever had, all dark wood and stone pillars and fireplaces, this style of wealthy rustic that owners of large ranches like this can afford while the hands are all sleeping in the same building that ain’t nearly as nice.
I ignore my twitching muscles and get out of the truck. I see him almost instantly, standing in the corral beside his father. They’re watching one of the hands with a horse, with their backs to me. There’s a good distance between us, but I would recognize Bishop Sullivan’s ass anywhere. The man can wear a pair of jeans like nobody’s business, and man, I hate him for that too.
He’s lean and muscular, a little thicker than he was when I left. I wonder if his hair is the same as it was before, light brown with unruly wisps curling over his ears. It’s still short enough to be hidden under his cowboy hat.
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then turns as if he can sense something. I’m pretty sure his gaze lands on the truck first, then me. Sully—Bishop—takes one step, then another and another before he pauses, as if unsure what to do or if he’s really seeing what he thinks he’s seeing.
“Can I help you?” Another man approaches. I’m not sure where he came from, but then my attention had been all sucked up in Sully. It makes my skin feel like it’s on fire the way he can do that to me, like he’s a vacuum and I have no power against him.
“Here about the ranch hand job. Name’s Porter Dixon.”
I don’t recognize his face and can’t help wondering who all is still here from back in the day, if anyone.
He doesn’t seem to recognize my name, but then why would he? We were just another poor family working for the Sullivans. There were rumors around Laurel Springs, of course, but I imagine they’d died down since the last three Dixons passed or left town, everyone forgetting us in a way they never would a Sullivan.
“I’ll get the boss,” the man says, rubbing a hand over his beard.
“I got it from here,” Sully replies, and I don’t turn to look at him, can’t. Just feel my muscles clenching up, my jaw tightening just hearing his voice. He’s the boss now? It’s not his daddy who’s gonna come over and offer me a pity job like he did my momma when I was young?
“Yessir.” The man tips his hat at Sully and walks away. I still don’t know why I call him that—I don’t do it anywhere except in my head or when we’re alone.
Sully waits until the hand is gone before he says, “Porter?” in this soft, questioning voice that sounds a little deeper than it had when we were eighteen. It’s not as raspy as mine and not as bottled up, which sounds like a confusing way to put it, but it works in my head.
I still won’t look at him, which doesn’t make a lick of sense, considering I’m the one who came here searching for a job.
“Jesus, I can’t believe you’re here. You gonna stand there with your back to me all day or what?”
I turn because I know he’ll just walk around to face me anyway. Sully isn’t like me. He doesn’t get angry and doesn’t hold grudges. He’s the perfect son and the perfect boss, and I’m sure he’s the perfect husband for Aimee too. He’s always gonna do the right thing, what’s expected of him, which is likely part of why he married her. I’ve been doing the wrong damn thing all my life.
“It is you. I?—”
“I’m here about the job,” I cut him off. “I’ve got lots of experience. It’s all I’ve been doing since I left. I’m even better than I was when we were kids. I’ve never found a horse I couldn’t break. Got real good at moving cattle too.”
“I’ve heard.”
I adjust my hat. Has he been checking up on me? “Then you probably know I don’t stay anywhere long, and it’ll be the same here, but if you’re looking for someone who can outwork all the men here, I’m your guy.”
He quirks a brow. “Still cocky, I see.”
“Still got good reason to be.”
I wait for him to smile, but he doesn’t. The weight in my stomach gets heavier by the second. I have to shove my hands into my pockets, squeeze my thighs to keep from hightailing it out of here and never come back.
Sully looks around to make sure no one is close, then says, “You left.”
My chest tightens. “I ain’t here to talk about that.”
I needed you, and you were with her, married her.
