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“You enjoy traveling around so much?” I ask, ignoring how my stomach hardens at the thought of him with countless other men. He’s still the best I’ve ever had.
“Might as well. It’s not like I got a home.”
“That’s not true. You’ve always had a place here. You just?—”
“Sure, whatever,” he mutters before his gaze latches on to mine. He can’t possibly still believe the rumors about our great-grandfathers. “Now show me where I’m gonna lay my head tonight.”
I nod and walk toward the bunkhouse. Once inside, I point to one of the empty beds. He immediately plops his bag down, and I have to wonder if that’s all he has to his name, besides his truck.
“That you, Porter Dixon?” Wade asks, then beams as he gets a good look at him. “Well, haven’t you grown into a right young man.”
Porter laughs, then thumps Wade on the shoulder. “I wondered who was still around.”
“Not many of us left.” Wade’s gaze sweeps the room, landing on a group of young hands playing a game of cards in the corner bunk. The newest crop of workers from the beginning of summer. “Lots of turnover, not like it used to be in this line of work.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
Wade glances toward Porter’s bunk. “This mean you’re back?”
He hitches a shoulder. “For the meantime. See how it goes.”
I look away, wondering if this is a good idea or a mistake. Suppose we can just ignore each other unless we’re forced to interact. It’ll make for tense days, though.
As if he senses the stiffness between us, Wade clears his throat. “I can take it from here, boss.”
Suddenly I feel ridiculous standing there. Wade’s the foreman and in charge of the hands, after all.
“Sure thing.” I turn toward the door, feeling out of place. Not that I’ve never hung out with the ranch hands on random nights for a beer or two. But they still see me as one of the bosses and the next in line to inherit this ranch, so some boundaries are never crossed. I’ll need to remember that where Porter is concerned.
Not that it’s ever stopped me before.
Pushing open the door, I hear Wade say, “Make sure you mind the rules.”
“Aw, man, not you too,” Porter replies, and I try to temper my grin.
Wade snickers. “The ranching business is small.”
“Reckon it is.” I glance back one more time and inhale a sharp breath when I see that Porter’s removed his flannel, leaving only his undershirt. There’s a tattoo on his bicep of a wild stallion rearing up, and I can’t help thinking how fitting it is for him. But then the other tattoo catches my gaze. The one that’s five letters across his chest. I can only see the top of the inscription, but there’s no mistaking that it spells out Dixon. Maybe he put it there, close to his heart, to honor his daddy and momma.
I step into the fresh air, then head toward the house, where Mom is standing at the sink, looking out the window. She waves to me, which means she’s probably seen everything that took place.
Once inside, I inhale the sweet scent I’ve come to associate with my mother’s perfume. Like a mix of apple blossoms and roses. I reach for a glass, pour some of her sweet tea, then settle in a seat at the table.
“Porter’s turned into quite a heartbreaker,” Mom says, still facing the window.
I stiffen briefly, wondering if she’s heading somewhere with the comment. But she’s not wrong. Porter is just as gorgeous to me as always.
“I guess,” I grumble, still frustrated over our conversation.
“His momma would be proud that he still enjoys working a ranch.”
“She would.” I set down my glass. “He’d probably like hearing that.”
Though not from me. I have a feeling anything I say will be a fight. And for some reason, he seems to want it that way.
“I’ll be sure to tell him.” She smiles. “Suppose that means he’s sticking around?”
“For now.”
