Chapter 5
My eyes shootopen as I sit up in a bed that’s not mine, damn near pissing myself. The clanging outside is cruel. It’s still semi-dark in the bedroom, the open blinds providing me a long, tired look at the early morning sky.
I’m slick with sweat, having had another nightmare rattling my mind all night long. A swirl of my stomach, and I’m tossing my legs over the bed and heading for the ensuite. With a flick of the lights, I stumble in, taking one look at myself in the mirror and cringing, nausea forgotten.
I’ve been exhausted nearly every day of my life for the past ten years. But I’ve never looked it as much as I do right now. I could scare a child with a slight glance in their direction due to the heavy bags beneath my eyes and stress lines etched so deep in my skin they look like scars. Staring back at myself right now, it makes more sense as to why Annalise’s friend looked so disgusted with me yesterday.
Poppy, her name was. The impertinent woman with the soul-eating, caramel-brown eyes and a curved figure handcrafted by the fucking gods above. One look at her and I went rigid, drowning in a case of delirious physical attraction. I threw up a wall of steel between us before I took my next breath.
Unfortunately, my wall was pitiful. It did nothing to stop the image of her from following me the rest of the day as I seethed and groaned, her quick-tongued remarks replaying in my mind like a bad laugh track.
I reach into the shower and turn it on, cranking the dial all the way to the right before stripping out of my briefs. A filthy curse escapes me when I step into the freezing cold water and rub at my face.
While my relationship count may be limited, I fuck as often as I can, which isn’t all the much with my schedule. But it’s the only thing that seems to help some of the unending stress I struggle with. That being said, I won’t be taking anyone to my bed in Cherry Peak. I decided that long before my plane touched down.
It’s a pain in my ass that I was introduced to Poppy so soon. Or, rather, that she introduced herself to me. The replacement phone I had to drive into the closest city to pick up yesterday only serves as a reminder of that.
I shake my head and get on with my shower while ignoring the hard-on bobbing between my legs that won’t dull regardless of the cold water. Once I’ve finished, I wrap a towel around my waist and step back into the bedroom.
I’m not prepared to find Wade Steele leaning against the window frame, his arms crossed and hard gaze shooting my way. I suck in a sharp, ragged breath and clench my hands, refusing to show my surprise as clearly as I did yesterday.
“Was wonderin’ when you’d finish up in there,” he grumbles, eyes drifting to the stack of clothes on the unmade bed. “Put those on and meet me outside. And hurry up, it’s five past seven. I don’t give out third chances, and you’re already on your second one. We’re wastin’ daylight talkin’ about this.”
I don’t touch on the fact the sun hasn’t even risen two inches yet. “I thought this place only had one key.”
“Yeah, besides mine.”
“Is this going to be a common occurrence? Everyone on this ranch sneaking up on me?”
Wade pushes away from the window and heads for the bedroom door, completely unbothered that I’m standing here in a goddamn towel.
“Sure to fuck hope not. Got better things to do than come be your personal alarm clock. Get dressed, and we’ll talk outside. There’s a pair of boots by the front door. I suggest you put ’em on.”
I find the stack of clothes on the bed and scowl, trying to put together just what exactly I’m to do to “earn my keep” in this place. Discomfort wiggles in my chest at the unknown of this entire situation.
“What are we—” I cut myself off when I look from the clothes to find Wade already gone. The front door slams shut a beat later.
Swallowing, I inspect the clothes, finding a pair of old jeans folded neatly beneath a plain white cotton T-shirt. They’re clean, despite the stains. For a moment, I wonder if these are Brody’s clothes. And by the time I force myself to put them on, I’m almost certain they are. The jeans are baggy enough around my waist that I have to dig into my suitcase for a belt before heading out.
A dark laugh trickles through my lips as I stare down at the cowboy boots left directly in front of the door. I’ve never worn a pair before, and I’m not about to start now.
I make my way back to my suitcase and pull out a pair of black running shoes, sliding them on before going to meet Wade outside.
Without the sun up, the air has a brutal chill as I head toward the man waiting at the bottom of the porch steps. Hearing me coming, he turns to face me and takes a long, hard look at my clothes before focusing on my feet.
His huff was expected, but he doesn’t bother chastising me for it. “C’mon. Let’s go.”
I fall into step behind him, following in silence. Only when we stop in front of a battered, two-door pickup truck do I ask, “Where are we going?”
“Work’s started already. Got a few jobs for you to do for me today,” he says before opening the creaking driver’s door and hopping into the truck.
I inhale calmly and round the hood to the other side. The first thing I realize when I slide into the truck is the dirt. It’s everywhere, in the cracks of the seats and dusted over the dash. I immediately lift my hand from where it lay on the cloth seat and wipe it clean on my jeans.
“Has anyone ever cleaned this thing before?” I ask, quickly buckling the seat belt despite the fact Wade doesn’t.
My nose crinkles at the smell of dust and what I only imagine is cow shit as Wade uses the crank on the door to roll down his window.
“There’s no reason to clean a farm truck. This thing’s been driven in the muddy pastures for longer than you’ve been alive. It’s seen everythin’ and then some.”
The stick shift between us looks older than the ranch itself. And the sound the engine makes when Wade manages to turn it over on the third try? My eyes go wide at the roar and the plumes of smoke kicking out of the exhaust.
“Right,” I breathe, staring at the black clouds behind us in the side mirror.
We jolt when Wade pulls at the shifter, and we leave the guest house. The gravel road is just as bumpy in the truck as it was beneath the wheels of my suitcase as we head in the opposite direction of civilization. Instead, we keep driving until we hit a fork in the road, one leading to more open fields and the other to one blocked by a long, never-ending wire fence. Behind the fence, I stare slack-jawed at the number of cows following behind a tractor with a bale of hay speared onto two sharp prongs.
“Feedin’ time,” Wade says, parking beside the fence. He grabs one of the pairs of brown gloves from the middle seat and slides them on. “You’re goin’ to wish you wore those boots, boy. Be careful where you step.”
I watch him get out of the truck and push open the gate in the fence. Knowing he’s more likely to leave me here alone for however long this is going to take instead of waiting, I take the second set of gloves and follow him.
“Have you ever worked outside a day in your life?” he shouts over the tractor’s engine once I jog up beside him.
I stretch my fingers in the gloves. “No.”
“This will be fun for you, then.”
He stops walking when the tractor turns to drop the hay bale in front of a large silver trough—one of the many spread as far as I can see in the dark pasture. The cows have formed a herd as Wade moves to the bale, using a knife to cut through the wire wrapped around the middle of it.
“Get in here. This’ll be your job this mornin’,” he demands.
The cows are huge, bigger and more intimidating than I expected them to be up close. They watch me curiously as I decide against arguing with Wade about this chore and stand beside him, pressing my fingers into the hay. Immediately, the texture of it beneath the protection of my gloves turns me off as I recoil from it.
“Cut the wire with this and then tear it apart with the fork. Once you’re finished, fill the trough and move on to the next one.” He hands me a utility knife from his pocket and a pitchfork from the back of the truck, and I take them with a cautious hand.
“How many bales are there?”
“Too many for just you. The ranch hands are already out and workin’. Could introduce yourself to your new friends if you wanted to once you reach ’em.”
The idea of making friends with any of these people is even less appealing than spending all day plucking through hay.
“I assume you’re not staying to supervise?”
“You’re catching on quick. I’m headin’ back now, but the truck is yours. Use it whenever you have to get around. Feedin’ time is 7:00 a.m. sharp always. My wife has breakfast ready every mornin’ at the main house at six thirty for the staff if you ever feel like joinin’,” he says gruffly.
My stomach growls at the thought of food. “Right. And what should I do after this?”
He narrows his eyes on me, searching my expression for something. “We’ll start here. See if you can handle this, and go from there.”
I bristle. “I can handle tearing apart hay bales.”
“Right. We’ll have more for you soon, then, won’t we?”
“Guess so.”
His tongue darts out to wet his thinned lips as he scratches at the grey stubble on his jaw. “Best thing you can do for all of us is drop the attitude and earn your keep without complaint. You need somethin’ from us, we’re more than willin’ to give it. But if you continue scowling and grumblin’ at all of us, you’ll get a whole helping of fuckin’ nothin’.”
“I’ve hardly been here for one full day, and I’ve already gotten the third degree from both Steele men.”
“Better the two of us than my wife.”
The threat in those words is clear. I lift my chin and tighten my hold on the wooden handle of the pitchfork, pressing the prongs deeper into the thawing ground.
Garrison Beckett the CEO stares at the old rancher, refusing to quiver beneath his steel will.
“You’ll hardly know I’m here once I finish. I’m sure we can see these next few weeks through without problem.” It’s the closest thing to an olive branch that I’ll extend.
He nods, those gloved hands tapping at the thighs of his worn jeans before he spins and leaves the way we came. That same bulky black horse that stared me down yesterday morning is waiting beside the truck now, an unfamiliar man sitting on its back this time around.
The man jumps down when he spies Wade coming and extends him the reins. I turn away after Wade swings himself onto the horse’s back and extends a hand for the other guy, helping him back up.
Sunrise begins to peek along the horizon as I watch the back of the tractor get further and further down the field, hours’ worth of work waiting for me. If any of my employees could see me as I stab the pitchfork into the centre of the first hay bale, I’d never hear the end of it.
That’s the thought that has me tearing into the hay with a ferocity that I know I’ll feel the lingering ache in my muscles from tomorrow morning.