Chapter Fourteen
Ethan twisted and turned in the spare bed, soft sheets but unfamiliar.
Better than the cot by a mile, but his mind wouldn’t shut up.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw those two guys at the barn door.
Saw Carter stepping between them as if it were nothing.
His father would lose his mind if he knew Ethan was sleeping under Carter’s roof, but his father wasn’t the one who chased off trouble tonight.
The thought hit him hard: Carter had been the only solid thing in this whole mess. A damn knight in the middle of a nightmare. His hands trembled at the idea, stupid and embarrassing, but real.
He reached for his cigarettes, slipped out of the room, and padded down the hall.
The cabin creaked under his feet, but Carter didn’t stir.
Outside, the porch boards were cold under his bare soles.
He lit up, smoke curling into the dark, and tried to figure out how much he should tell Carter. How much he could tell him.
Carter wasn’t gay. Ethan was sure of that. And even if he were, Carter was his boss. That was it. Nothing more. So why did it feel like something kept pulling him toward the man?
He shoved the thought away and pulled out his phone. Tomás answered on the first ring.
“Stay the fuck out of my business,” Ethan snapped, voice louder than he meant. The words shot out before he remembered Carter was inside.
“Not in it, loser,” Tomás said.
“I know where you work and stay.”
“Oh, big threat. You gonna tell your daddy?”
“This isn’t about him. It’s about you and me. Keep your mouth shut, or I’ll shut it for you.”
The line went dead. When Ethan tried to call back, he was blocked.
“That little fucker,” he muttered, pacing the porch.
The front door swung open.
Carter stood there with the rifle in hand, jaw tight, eyes burning hot enough to pin Ethan in place.
Not yelling. Not wild. Just that controlled fury that made Ethan’s throat tighten like he couldn’t swallow right.
Carter’s shoulders were squared, muscles coiled, ready to take on whoever had pushed Ethan this far.
“Get inside,” Carter said.
Ethan stubbed out the cigarette and followed him in. Carter didn’t lower the rifle until the door clicked shut.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Ethan said, voice small.
“Who were you talking to?” Carter asked, eyes locked on him. Ethan had never seen him look that angry—not at him, but around him, like the entire world had crossed a line.
“A friend.”
Carter’s stare sharpened. “No. That wasn’t a friend. You were shouting and threatening.”
“Just some guy I know.”
Carter’s jaw flexed. “We’ll talk about this in the morning. Get into that bed and don’t come out again.”
Ethan nodded, throat tight. He backed down the hall, feeling Carter’s anger like heat on his skin, not aimed at him, but at whatever danger kept circling him.
He slipped into the spare room and shut the door, heart pounding. For the first time all night, he felt safer. And that scared him more than anything.
***
The alarms blasted through the cabin like a fire drill, loud enough to rattle the walls. Ethan shot upright, heart slamming against his ribs. For a second, he didn’t know where he was. Then the door flew open.
Carter filled the doorway, hair a mess, jaw tight, eyes sharp enough to knock the air out of Ethan’s chest. He looked pissed, not loud about it, just that steady, simmering anger that made Ethan’s breath hitch before he could stop it.
“Up,” Carter said. “Shower. Kitchen table. Fifteen minutes.”
Ethan scrambled out of bed before Carter even finished turning away.
A tight burn climbed up his throat, the kind that made it hard to breathe.
He rushed to straighten the sheets, smooth the pillow, anything to look like he wasn’t a problem.
His hands shook as he grabbed his clothes, the fear settling in his limbs like cold water.
If Carter was angry enough to wake him like that, Ethan needed to move fast, stay useful, and out of the way.
He rushed into the bathroom, showered fast, barely dried off before pulling on jeans and a T-shirt. He was dead tired, eyes burning, but he practically ran down the hall. If Carter was going to kick him out, he would not give him another reason.
Carter stood at the stove, flipping something in a pan. He didn’t look over.
Ethan hovered in the doorway until Carter shoved a hot mug of coffee into his hands. “Sit.”
Ethan sat.
Carter cooked in silence—pancakes, sausage, eggs—the kind of breakfast Ethan hadn’t had since he was living at home. The smell filled the kitchen, but Ethan’s stomach twisted too tight to enjoy it.
After setting the plates on the table, Carter sat across from Ethan. They ate without talking. Every scrape of a fork felt like a countdown. Ethan never once looked up from his plate while eating.
When they finished, Ethan jumped up to clear the table. He didn’t wait for permission. He rinsed the dishes, loaded the dishwasher, and wiped the counter. Anything to keep Carter from getting angrier than he’d been last night.
“Sit down,” Carter said. “We’re going to talk.”
Ethan froze, then sat slowly. “Talk about what?”
“Who were you speaking to on the phone?”
Ethan swallowed. “Tomás.”
Carter’s eyes narrowed. “Didn’t I tell you to stay clear of him?”
“Yes, but—”
“No.” Carter’s voice cracked through the room like a whip. “You don’t get to ‘but’ me. I told you to stay away.”
Ethan’s pulse jumped. “I just wanted to make sure he shut his mouth.”
Carter slammed his palm on the table, not hard enough to break anything, but hard enough to make Ethan flinch. “You don’t trust me to handle it? That it?”
Ethan’s throat tightened. “I didn’t want to drag you into my mess.”
“You already did,” Carter snapped. “And I stepped in. You don’t go behind my back and stir it up again.”
Ethan stared at the table, heat crawling up his neck. Shame. Fear. Something else he didn’t want to name. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re working three extra hours today,” Carter said, still fuming.
Ethan nodded fast. “Okay.”
Carter didn’t soften. Not even a little. But he didn’t tell Ethan to pack his things. Didn’t tell him to call his father. Didn’t tell him to get out. And that tiny mercy hit harder than the yelling. He let out a long, slow breath with relief. He wasn’t being sent back. Not yet.
“Taking the truck.”
Once they were both inside the vehicle, Ethan leaned his face against the window and closed his eyes.
“I’ll drop you at the stables,” Carter said. “You’re working. I’m meeting with your father this morning.”
As Ethan’s eyes opened, his head snapped around to face Carter. “About what?”
Carter didn’t answer. He just put the truck into gear.
That was worse than any explanation. Silence meant decisions were being made without him. Decisions that could end with him back under his father’s control, locked down, watched, and punished. He pressed his palms against his jeans, trying to keep them from shaking.
When they reached the stables, Carter parked and looked straight ahead, not at him. “Work. No trouble. I’ll deal with the rest.”
Ethan nodded fast. “Yes, Boss.”
Carter didn’t correct him. Didn’t soften. Just drove off, gravel spitting under the tires.
Ethan stood there for a second, breathing in the smell of hay and dust, trying to settle the panic clawing at his ribs.
He’s meeting with my father. He’s going to send me back. He’s done with me. The thoughts kept looping, each one worse than the last.
He wiped his palms on his jeans, then wiped them again, unable to stop fidgeting. He forced himself inside.
The horses were already restless, hooves shifting, tails flicking. Work helped. Work always helped. He grabbed a brush and started on Storm first, long strokes down the Arabian’s flank. The rhythm steadied him a little. Storm snorted and nudged his shoulder as if he knew Ethan needed grounding.
“Yeah, I know,” Ethan muttered. “I’m a mess.”
He fed the horses, checked their water, then saddled the ones he’d need for the morning ride. His hands moved on autopilot, but his mind wouldn’t stop spinning.
What if Carter tells him everything? What if he says I’m too much trouble? What if he wants me gone?
He tightened a cinch too hard and had to redo it. His pulse wouldn’t slow.
The barn door creaked.
Ethan turned—and froze.
Tomás strolled in as if he owned the stables, a smirk already in place. “Morning, sunshine.”
Ethan’s jaw clenched. “Get out.”
Tomás stepped closer, hands in his pockets, eyes gleaming with that same smugness that always made Ethan want to swing. “Heard you moved in with the cowboy. Cute.”
“Leave,” Ethan said, voice low.
“Relax. I’m just checking on my favorite thief.”
Ethan shoved him. Hard. “I said get out.”
Tomás stumbled back, then shoved him right in the chest. “You gonna cry to your new daddy?”
Heat shot up Ethan’s back. He grabbed Tomás by the shirt, ready to slam him into the stall door, but another ranch hand, Miguel, rushed in and wedged himself between them.
“Enough,” Miguel snapped. “Both of you. Knock it off.”
Tomás smoothed his shirt, still smirking. “See you around, princess.” He walked out as if he hadn’t just lit Ethan’s nerves on fire.
Miguel gave Ethan a look. “You good?”
Ethan nodded, even though he wasn’t. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Miguel left him alone to finish working.
Ethan leaned against Storm’s stall, chest tight, breath shaky. “If Carter hears about this… if he thinks I’m causing trouble… he’ll send me back for sure.” He pressed his forehead against the wood, eyes closed. He’d never been more scared of losing a place or a person in his life.