Chapter 21
Jesse
“These people are gonna mob me, I just know it,” I grumbled, looking over at Cole as we pulled into the Whitaker’s long driveway. “Everyone in this town hates me.”
“Can you blame them?” Cole replied.
I glared at him, catching the faintest hint of a grin on his lips. “That’s not funny, Cole. This is serious. We have to do business with these people. Make them trust us.”
“They ain’t gonna trust you,” he replied. “Not yet anyway. You gotta earn it back.”
“How the hell do I do that?”
Cole shifted the truck into park and turned to face me, his blue eyes serious beneath the brim of his black cowboy hat.
“You show up. You work hard. You keep your word. Simple as that. The rest comes with time.”
“Simple for you, maybe,” I muttered, looking nervously at the Whitaker’s sprawling ranch house.
Every window glowed with warm light, and I could see silhouettes of people mingling inside.
Cars lined the circular driveway. It seemed like half the county was there.
“You’ve been the golden boy of Hell Creek your whole life. ”
“I’ve earned that respect,” Cole said, his voice hardening. “I didn’t run away when things got tough.”
The words stung, but I swallowed my retort.
He did have a point, and I didn’t want to start fighting now.
We’d promised to put on a show tonight, to make them think we were getting along enough to function.
For business purposes. Though the memory of Cole’s mouth around my cock this morning before Evelyn arrived made my skin flush hot despite the late December chill.
“Let’s just get this over with,” I said, reaching for the door handle.
Cole caught my wrist, his touch sending electricity up my arm. “One more thing,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “No drinking too much. No flirting. And absolutely no bringing up Seattle.”
“What am I supposed to talk about then?” I challenged.
“The ranch. The beef business. The weather. Normal people shit.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I’ll be boring as hell.”
“Good,” he replied, releasing my wrist. “That’s exactly what these people want from you.”
We climbed out of the truck, the cold air biting through my dress shirt. I’d opted for dark jeans, boots, and a simple button up. Cole looked like he always did, though he’d swapped his work jeans for a cleaner pair and wore a crisp blue shirt that made his eyes stand out even more.
Music and laughter spilled out when Mrs. Whitaker opened the door, her face lighting up at the sight of us.
“Cole Nelson! And Jesse too! My goodness, we’re so glad you boys could make it.” She pulled Cole into a hug, then turned to me with only slight hesitation before hugging me too. “Come in, come in! Everyone’s been asking about you two and that fancy new beef website of yours.”
We stepped into the warmth of the house, and I immediately felt eyes on me. Conversations paused. People turned to stare. I recognized some faces from my childhood, now aged fifteen years. They all wore the same expression, curiosity mingled with suspicion.
“Drinks are in the kitchen,” Mrs. Whitaker said, oblivious to the tension. “Food’s in the dining room. Make yourselves at home!”
She bustled off to greet more arrivals, leaving us standing awkwardly in the entryway. Cole nodded to a few people, receiving friendly waves in return. I just stood there, feeling increasingly like I’d made a terrible mistake coming here.
“Let’s get you a drink,” Cole muttered, steering me toward the kitchen with a firm hand on my lower back.
I tried not to lean into his touch as we navigated through the crowd.
The pressure of his palm felt like a brand through my shirt, reminding me of how those same hands had gripped my hips just hours earlier when he buried himself deep inside me.
That sounded so much better than this New Year’s Eve party.
The kitchen was packed with people clustered around a makeshift bar. Cole nodded at the bartender, some local guy I vaguely remembered from high school. I couldn’t remember his name, but I knew, even back then, that he’d always be a local.
“Two beers,” Cole said, then shot me a warning look. “And that’s your limit.”
“Yes, daddy,” I whispered, just low enough for only him to hear.
His jaw clenched, eyes darkening for a split second before he recovered. “Behave yourself.”
“Or what?” I asked, accepting my beer from the bartender.
Before Cole could respond, a heavy hand clapped him on the shoulder. Mr. Peterson, one of the largest ranchers in the county, grinned broadly at us.
“Cole! Damn good to see you, son. And Jesse Harris, back from the big city.” His smile tightened slightly when he turned to me. “Heard you boys are doing some fancy internet business with the ranch.”
“That’s right,” Cole replied, slipping effortlessly into his public persona. “Jesse here set up a website. We’re shipping direct to customers all over the country now.”
Peterson’s bushy eyebrows rose. “That right? And how’s that working out for you?”
I felt their eyes on me, waiting. This was my chance to prove myself.
“It’s been successful beyond our projections,” I said, keeping my voice steady and professional. “We’ve had to increase production twice already to keep up with demand.”
“Huh.” Peterson looked genuinely surprised. “Well, I’ll be damned. Jack always said you had a good head for business. Guess he was right.”
The mention of my stepfather made my throat tighten, but I forced a smile. “He taught me a lot.”
“Not enough to keep you around when things got tough,” came a voice from behind us.
I turned to find Mack Hollister, one my stepfather’s oldest friends. His weathered face was set in lines of disapproval.
“Mack,” Cole greeted him with a nod, subtly shifting to stand slightly in front of me. “How’s business?”
“Can’t complain,” Mack replied, his eyes never leaving my face. “Though I imagine it’d be better if folks weren’t spending all their money on fancy mail-order beef.”
I felt heat creep up my neck. “Our customers aren’t local,” I clarified. “Mostly urban markets that—”
“Wasn’t talking to you, boy,” Mack interrupted.
The kitchen fell silent. I could feel everyone watching, waiting to see what the prodigal son would do. Cole stiffened beside me, his posture shifting into something more defensive.
“This is a party, Mack,” Cole said evenly. “Not the place for old grievances.”
“Some things need to be said,” Mack insisted, his gaze still boring into me. “Your daddy isn’t here to say them, so I will.”
I took a deep breath, feeling every eye in the kitchen on me. This was exactly what I’d been dreading. The confrontation. The judgment. The past I couldn’t outrun no matter how successful our business became.
“You’re right,” I said, surprising even myself with how steady my voice sounded. “I left when things got tough. I was young and angry, and I made a mistake. I can’t change that.”
Mack’s eyes narrowed, clearly not expecting me to agree with him.
“But I’m here now,” I continued. “Trying to keep the ranch going. Trying to honor Jack’s legacy in the only way I know how.”
The silence stretched uncomfortably. Peterson cleared his throat, and Cole’s hand found the small of my back again, a subtle show of support that warmed me more than it should have.
“Well,” Mack finally said, “trying ain’t the same as doing.”
“Give him a chance, Mack,” Mrs. Whitaker chimed in, appearing at my elbow with a plate of appetizers.
“The boys are doing wonderful things with the ranch. Have you seen their website? My niece in California ordered their prime rib for Christmas dinner and said they were better than anything she could get at those fancy markets out there.”
Mack grunted, unimpressed, but the tension in the room eased slightly. Mrs. Whitaker smiled at me, her eyes kind behind her glasses.
“Jesse, be a dear and help me in the dining room, would you? I need someone tall to reach the top shelf.”
It was an obvious rescue attempt, but I was grateful for it. “Of course, Mrs. Whitaker.”
As I followed her out of the kitchen, I caught Cole’s eye. He gave me a small nod, a silent acknowledgment that I’d handled myself well. It shouldn’t have meant as much as it did, but his approval sent a flush of pride through me.
The dining room was crowded with food, every surface laden with casseroles, meats, and desserts. Mrs. Whitaker led me to a cabinet in the corner.
“There’s another platter up there,” she said, pointing to the top shelf. “My husband put it away and forgot I’m not seven feet tall.”
I reached up easily and retrieved the silver platter she needed. When I handed it to her, she didn’t immediately let go, keeping me close.
“Don’t you worry about old Mack,” she said quietly. “He’s all bark and no bite. They all are. They just need time to remember you’re Jack’s boy too.”
The kindness in her voice made my throat tighten unexpectedly. No one had referred to me as “Jack’s boy” with a positive tone since I’d returned to Hell Creek.
“Thank you,” I managed, blinking back the sudden moisture in my eyes. “I’m trying.”
“I know you are,” she patted my arm. “And so does Cole, whether he wants to admit it or not.”
I helped her arrange a few more platters before making my way back through the crowded house.
I spotted Cole in deep conversation with some local ranchers, his posture relaxed as he discussed cattle prices or fence posts or whatever the hell ranchers talked about at parties.
He fit in so effortlessly here, while I felt like an alien who’d crash-landed on the wrong planet.
I needed air.