Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Jasper
It’s only been a couple of months since I agreed to move forward with the dude ranch plans, but the cabins look completely different.
I park my truck beside the gravel road, unable to take my eyes away from the sight in front of me.
Two months ago, this part of the property looked abandoned.
And now, it looks alive. True to his word, Chesney brought his friend from Honey Creek down here, and they’ve been working tirelessly on these cabins.
So much so that I’ve barely seen him since that night in the office.
The night I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.
That was the first time in nearly twenty years that Chesney and I have had a real conversation.
And it went surprisingly well. Better than I could’ve expected.
Seeing him light up about blueprints and plans sparked something inside me too. That was the first time since reading the will that I felt like maybe we could get through this. Maybe Chesney and I could find common ground and work together for the sake of the ranch and our families.
Fresh lumber leans against the side of the cabin closest to the truck, the smell filling me with nostalgia and reminding me of when Dad and I first started working on this project.
It feels like an eternity has passed since then.
New porch railings have been installed, and the roof that used to sag in the far back corner from the bad windstorm we had a few years back has been repaired.
I can actually picture guests staying here.
It’s a vision I’ve long since abandoned, much like these cabins, but I see it again—tourists paying ridiculous amounts of money to pretend they’re cowboys for a weekend and the ranch thriving instead of barely surviving.
The thought feels strange, and maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, but this is the first sliver of hope I’ve felt in over a year, so I’m holding on to it.
I climb out of the truck and head toward one of the cabins. The door is cracked, and the sound of power tools echoes through the trees. As I get closer, voices drift, one of them immediately making my stomach do something I’d rather ignore than dissect.
“…telling you, that beam is not level.” Chesney. As it would seem, even after all these years, I unfortunately haven’t figured out how to stop noticing his voice. Or why I still search for it the way I did when I was fifteen.
Both seem equally concerning, but ignorance is bliss, right?
“Dude, it’s level.”
That one belongs to Wade, the infamous contractor friend from Honey Creek.
We met the day he got into town. He’s a nice enough guy.
Definitely more friendly than Chesney. Funny too.
Tall… Like, really tall. And extremely good looking.
I’ve wondered more than once if there’s more to their “friendship” than Chesney let on.
Not that I care.
Why would I?
Another thing I’ve noticed about Wade is that he’s incapable of taking anything seriously.
He’s sarcastic and light-hearted, an interesting juxtaposition to Chesney and his perma-scowl.
The two of them bicker constantly, but get twice as much work done because of it.
I don’t understand it, but I’m not complaining.
Especially after seeing the shape the cabins are in now.
“Dude, it’s literally not,” Chesney mutters, clearly not thrilled with being called “dude.”
“Alright, then it’s level-ish,” Wade throws back, and I can’t help but huff a small chuckle under my breath.
There’s a brief pause, and I picture Chesney staring at Wade, deadpan. “Well, level-ish isn’t good enough.”
I roll my eyes and breathe out another laugh before rounding the corner and stepping into the small space currently occupied by two large men. Then immediately forget how words work.
Jesus Christ.
Chesney’s shirtless. But that’s only the first problem.
The second problem is that nearly twenty years of distance did absolutely nothing to prepare me for that reality.
I practically swallow my own tongue trying not to drool all over myself.
Sweat glistens across his chest, his skin surprisingly tan for it being barely June.
His hard-earned muscles shift every time he moves.
Just by looking at him, I can tell Chesney’s carved out of real strength.
And it’s making me forget my own name right now.
Both men turn around at the sound of my footsteps, and somehow, the situation gets worse. Because now those stupid ocean blues are looking directly at me. His gaze holds mine, and my brain immediately jumps ship, forgetting why I’m here in the first place.
“Uh…”
We’re off to an excellent start. Really strong opening, Jasper. Such a master of communication.
Wade looks from me to Chesney, a grin spreading across his face. “Oh, look,” he says loudly, “it’s your boyfriend.”
I swallow wrong, nearly choking on my own spit. My stomach bottoms out, and I’m still at a complete loss for words. This isn’t the first time Wade’s said something that, but it’s never not startling. I’m assuming Chesney’s mentioned our history before, but I’ve never asked.
Chesney throws a rag at him and sucks his teeth. “Shut up.”
My face heats, and if I had to guess by the obnoxiously wide grin still on Wade’s face, I’d say it’s just as red as it is hot. Cool.
“Oh, definitely your boyfriend.”
“You’re fired,” Chesney spits out.
“You don’t pay me, my friend. Remember?”
Chesney’s only response is flipping him off, while I continue to stand here like an idiot. Completely useless. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighs heavily, then looks at me again.
“What do you want, Smith?”
With him working over here all the time, we don’t cross paths often, but any time we do, it’s been friendly. Which is why his obvious annoyance at my presence takes me by surprise.
I clear my throat and attempt professionalism, only failing slightly. “Came to check on the progress.”
Chesney grabs his t-shirt out of his back pocket and, thankfully, pulls it over his head. Unfortunately, it doesn’t actually solve any of my problems because now I’m painfully aware of how relieved I am.
“Progress is good,” he says, keeping his response short and efficient.
Businesslike. Nothing like the version of him I saw two months ago.
The one who stayed late talking about family.
The one who smiled. The one who felt familiar again, even if only briefly.
This version feels distant and guarded, like he’s building walls back up that accidentally slipped that night.
“How good?” I ask, doing my best to put all thoughts of Chesney and before out of my mind.
He vaguely gestures toward the cabin. “We’ll have three ready before the end of the month.”
My eyes widen. “Three?”
“Possibly four,” he adds with a shrug. “I told you, we know our shit.” There’s a cocky smile tugging on the corner of his mouth.
Wade snorts, but Chesney ignores him as he continues.
“The plumbing’s done in Cabin One, electrical is finished in Two, and we started furnishing them yesterday. This one’s not far behind.”
I can do nothing but stare at him. That’s significantly ahead of schedule, and wildly impressive. “Seriously?”
Something like pride flashes in his eyes as he looks at me again. “Seriously.”
A smile curves my mouth before I can help it.
Of course, Chesney notices, and it seems to make him uncomfortable, if the way his jaw clenches and he averts his gaze is any indication.
The silence stretches awkwardly. Out of the corner of my eye, I can tell Wade is glancing between the two of us, that same shit-eating grin on his face.
After a few overly tense moments, Chesney clears his throat. “Anything else?”
There it is again.
Perfectly professional and respectful without being anything more.
I shove my hands into my pockets and shake my head. “Nope.”
The nod he gives me in response feels dismissive.
The conversation is over before it even really began, and I’m not sure why it sends an unpleasant feeling slithering into my chest. I mutter a polite goodbye to the two men and head back toward my truck.
Wade waves cheerfully and calls out something I don’t bother catching. Chesney says…nothing.
Cool.
Love that.
By the time I climb behind the wheel, irritation has already settled red-hot behind my ribs.
At Chesney. At myself. At the fact that I care at all.
It’s been a lifetime since we were close, and yet, having him back in town again, it feels like no time has passed.
But nothing’s the same. Everything is different.
How could it not be?
We aren’t the same boys we were before he left.
Before that night. The night that changed Chesney—and our relationship—forever.
Most of the time, I do my best to avoid thinking back that far.
Because thinking about that time—about that day, specifically—does nothing but cause me to play the what-if? game.
What if we hadn’t made plans to see each other that night?
What if Chesney got home just five minutes earlier?
And the biggest one… What if we weren’t forced to keep our friendship a secret from everyone we loved?
Because if we didn’t have to hide it, then maybe that night never would’ve happened.
And if that night never happened, then maybe Chesney never would’ve left Sweet Briar, and maybe we’d still be friends. Or more.
But thoughts like that do me no good.
I can’t change the past, no matter how badly I wish I could.
I run the damp towel through my hair one last time before tossing it into the hamper. It’s full, reminding me I really need to do laundry tomorrow.