Chapter 23
23
Conrad Strauss
Age Thirty-Three
“ M y gosh, it’s so damn hot today,” Whit complains as he stands to his full height, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.
The summer sun beats down on us as we work on getting this fence fixed. Something came through last night—probably a coyote—and fucked it all up. It’s not an ideal day to be out here with no shade in sight, but it’s gotta get done.
It’s been a couple of weeks since I found Whit pacing in the barn in the middle of the night. Since I pulled him into my arms and danced with him. I still don’t know what came over me, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. It doesn’t help that we’ve been working side by side almost every day since.
Something’s changing between us; I can feel it, but I don’t understand it.
He’s struggling; that much is clear, but he also acts like he’s fine. The morning after he swayed in my arms, clinging to my chest for song after song, he pretended it never happened. Which was fine for me, since the whole encounter left me more confused than anything. But I’m worried about him. He’s been through a lot—more than he’s probably even admitted. I find myself constantly itching to ask him questions, but feeling like it’s not my place.
Whit scoffs, glaring up at the sky. “It has no business being this hot.”
“You sure complain a lot,” I say with a chuckle as he turns that scowl onto me.
Whit’s so different from I thought he would be. I remember when he first started working at the ranch, I figured he’d come and go quickly like most teenage workers do around here. His hard-working nature took me by surprise. He’s kind—not a mean bone in his body—and soft-spoken, unless you get him talking about something he’s passionate about.
I chuckle to myself, remembering the spiel he got into last week with my father and I about bison. The three of us had to drive about two hours north to pick up some cattle, and we drove past a bison farm. I’ve never seen him light up like that. He knew all these facts even I’ve never heard of, and he didn’t shut up the entire drive there and half of the drive home. Had it been anybody else, I would’ve gotten annoyed with the constant chatter, but for some reason, I didn’t mind it. In fact, I enjoyed listening to him. Seeing his face light up with excitement, the way he animatedly spoke with his hands.
“You coming over for dinner tonight?” I ask, remembering my mom asking me to find out. There’s a kitchenette in the loft above the barn where Whit lives. Most nights, he stays up there, but usually at least once a week, my mom will insist he come over to eat with us in the house.
Glancing over at me, Whit rolls his lips from side to side. “Um, I don’t know.”
“My mom’s making Reubens; it’ll be good.”
Face scrunching up, Whit shakes his head. “Oh, yeah, I can’t. But thank you for the invite.”
I cock my head to the side. “Why can’t you?”
“I, uh…” He peers over at me before quickly darting his gaze away. “I’ve got plans.”
That catches my attention. Whit never has plans, especially not during the week. “Yeah? What do you got going on?”
“Uh, it’s nothing important.”
He won’t look at me, and he’s acting weird. What, does he have a date or something? The thought of that has the center of my chest burning with something I refuse to put a name to. I have no right to give a shit about how he’s spending his evening, but I’m pushing anyways.
“Tell me,” I mutter, trying to be casual, but I wince as it comes out sounding demanding and growly instead.
Eyes flying to mine, I can tell my tone took him by surprise too. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Then why are you acting weird?”
Whit blows out a breath, his hands clenching at his sides. “I don’t like sauerkraut, okay!” he blurts, before clamping his lips together.
I huff out a small laugh. “What?”
He sighs, brushing a hand through his hair. “I hate sauerkraut,” he says, much softer this time. “I hate it, so that’s why I can’t come to dinner.”
“You… hate sauerkraut?” I don’t know what I expected him to say, but it certainly wasn’t this. That’s a lie. I definitely thought he was going to say he was going on a date, so this, while out of left field, is much better. But I ignore that thought.
“Yes. Like, I loathe it. It’s so disgusting.” Planting his hands on his hips, he fixes his gaze on me, a furrow to his brow. “Have you smelled it? It’s putrid!” A gagging sound escapes him that I’m almost positive is fake, but I can’t be sure. “I hate it so much that I firmly believe the cruelest, worst way to die would be to drown in a vat of sauerkraut juice.”
Watching him for a moment, I bark out a laugh. A full-on belly laugh, which only deepens his furrow. I don’t know what it is about Whit, but he makes me laugh. He lightens my mood almost every single day.
“You’re laughing at me?”
“I’m sorry.” Clearing my throat and straightening my face, I say, “I just wasn’t expecting that. You’re intense about your hatred for pickled cabbage.”
“Well, it’s disgusting, Conrad. The smell!”
“Okay, okay.” Holding up my hands, I bite back another laugh. “No sauerkraut, got it.”
“Quit mocking me,” he mutters with a scowl, and all I can think about is how cute he looks when he’s mad.
“I’m not mocking you,” I tease. “If we hurry up, we can take a dip in the creek before we head back up to the barn.” The sweat drips down the back of my neck into my shirt. He’s right, it is scorching out today.
“I don’t have a swimsuit,” he says, eyes flicking over to mine before he looks away.
He does that a lot, avoid eye contact. It’s like it’s uncomfortable for him. When he first started working here, my father thought it was rude; eye contact is important to Henrik Strauss, but over time, he finally realized it’s not rude. It’s just how Whit is.
“You don’t need a swimsuit,” I say as I toss the tools in the back of the ATV. “You got boxers on, don’t you?”
I bite back another grin trying to break free at how quickly his cheeks turn pink. “Um, well, yeah, of course I do.”
“Well, there you go.”
“Are…” His throat rolls against a swallow. “Are you going to do that?”
Lifting one shoulder in a shrug, I say, “Maybe.”
He doesn’t say anything back, but that’s okay. We finish fixing the rest of the fence about a half an hour later, then make a detour to the creek just like I promised. The area is covered by huge trees, which makes for a nice, cool shaded area. Stripping down to my black boxers, I walk into the shallow water, enjoying the way it cools my body down almost immediately. Looking back, I observe Whit as he decides what he’s going to do. His forest green eyes lift, meeting mine, and instead of looking away, he holds my gaze for a moment before he lets them trail down my body.
The weight of his stare heats my blood, the reaction taking me by surprise.
It takes him a moment, but eventually he strips down too, stepping into the water on cautious feet. “This feels so good,” he breathes out, a smile tugging on his lips as he looks over at me.
“It does,” I agree, unable to take my eyes off him. It’s like all of the sudden, I’m seeing him in a new light. Ever since that night in the barn. Maybe it was the way he clung to me or the way he looked up at me, or maybe it’s that I’m finally seeing him as a man instead of the boy he was when he first came here. Whatever it is, it makes my chest tighten and my throat ache. It makes me want to do things I shouldn’t be wanting to do.
Like hold him again.
Or kiss him.
I clear my throat and blink away those thoughts. The back of my neck heats, like he can somehow hear what’s floating through my mind. I’ve seen the way he looks at me; I know I’m not the only one having thoughts like this, but that doesn’t make it any better. I’m fifteen years older than him, and he’s barely eighteen. I shouldn’t be looking at him in that way at all.
We don’t stay in the creek long. After we spend a few minutes cooling off, we climb out and air dry for a minute before getting dressed.. On our way back to the ATV, the air is tense between us, and I wonder if he can feel it too. Neither of us says anything, but I can feel it. Climbing behind the wheel, I turn the key, waiting for Whit to slide in so we can go. It’s been a long, hot day, and a shower sounds nice right about now. Maybe it’ll also tamp down the feelings swirling around inside of me.
It's wrong. I have no business looking at Whit the way I have been. And what’s even more frustrating is I don’t understand where it’s coming from. Being around him has never been unpleasant per se, but I didn’t exactly look forward to it… until now, that is.
Whit climbs in beside me, and after letting out a frustrated huff, I take off, driving us back to the barn. I need to get away from him and clear my head. Parking on the side of the barn, I climb out and grab the bag of tools from the back, charging into the barn to put them away so I can get the hell inside already.
“Conrad.” I hear him say my name, but I ignore it. I have to.
I toss the tool bag on the shelf in the office, breathing out a sigh when I hear footsteps following me.
“Conrad, hello!”
Spinning on my heel, I come face to face with him. “What, Whit?” I ask exasperatingly, feeling like shit about it, because it’s not his fault.
“Did I do something?” he asks, his voice small as he holds my gaze.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
My heart races, stomach tightening. I need to get out of here.
“Then what’s the matter? You were fine, and then after we left the creek, you tensed up.”
“It’s nothing. I’m sorry.”
“Tell me,” he pushes, then a smile curls his lips. “You made me tell you back there, so now you have to tell me too.”
“Whit.” I scrub a hand over the coarse hair covering my jaw. “I can’t. It’s fine.”
His big green eyes gaze up at me as he takes a step closer. “Please?”
My nostrils flair as I exhale a heavy breath. He takes another step, then one more, putting him right in front of me. With our height difference, he has to crank his head back to look at me, and as he bites down on his bottom lip, I snap. My hand flies up, wrapping around the back of his neck, and as he gasps, I crash my mouth down on his, stealing his breath, feeling it instantly revitalize me. Tongue surging past his parted lips, I greedily taste him, knowing this is wrong but not giving a damn because it also feels so fucking right.
It takes a moment, but eventually he kisses me back. It’s unsure and more than a little awkward, but boy, does he kiss me back. His hands come up, grappling at the shirt on my sides, melting into my touch, and I don’t know how much time passes before we finally pull apart, but when we do, it hits me like a freight train.
I shouldn’t have done that, but I can’t find a single part of me that regrets it.
Kissing Whit felt like waking up, and I’m already thinking about when I can make it happen again, consequences be damned.