Chapter 4
WYATT NELSON
Eleven months ago... Pinedale, Wyoming
Mornings on the ranch always started like a fast fuck with zero foreplay—every movement full of friction until the sun rose, the day heated and sweat began to slick over my skin.
The slap of a shrill alarm woke me as usual.
I pried my eyelids apart to greet darkness, tossed on yesterday’s clothing, shoved into my boots, and stumbled into the kitchen to plug in the old percolator.
Cooper wanted something fancier. I had a feeling a big ass package would arrive any day now and we’d have some espresso making monstrosity taking up counter space.
We didn’t have room for that kind of nonsense yet, not until our new pack house was finished.
Coop was jumping the gun buying shit. We hadn’t even broken ground yet.
I didn’t wait for the coffee to finish brewing; I’d just gotten in the habit of having it ready for the rest of my pack.
I pulled open the swollen, creaking backdoor, and stepped outside.
The hour before dawn was my favorite time of day.
There was nothing quite like the solitude of it while the others were still sleeping.
When I entered the stables, I grabbed the mounted pitchfork.
But before I could start my work, my draft horse Bowser stuck his head over the low locked gate of his stall.
I strolled over to greet him, leaned the tool against the wall, and stroked one hand down his chestnut brown nose.
He pushed against my palm, tilting his head slightly to the right.
His monstrous, feathered front legs lifted one after the other and happily stomped the ground.
“You up for a ride today, old timer?” I held the sides of his large head with both hands and tilted my forehead against his.
He gave a soft nicker in response, then shook his head a little.
Flaxen strands of his mane swished over to tickle my cheek.
“We’ll check the fence line after lunch then,” I told Bowser, as if he could understand me.
Wade caught me talking to the horse one time.
Thought he’d taunt me about it for weeks, instead he’d just smiled that stupid boyish smile of his and said he talked to Wednesday, his horse, all the time.
But he could do that sort of thing. Wade had always been the gentle giant sort.
When we’d inherited the ranch together, he’d told me flat out that he didn’t want to be in charge.
So that left me holding the bag. I’d screwed up once, and I couldn’t fuck up again.
Cooper’s inheritance had saved our asses.
We were well in the green now, and I was motivated to keep it that way.
Because how many wealthy Great Aunts die and leave their great nephew, whom they’d met exactly twice, half of their estate?
Lightning like that doesn’t strike twice.
Which means I had to be better. I had to be smarter.
I grabbed the pitchfork again, then walked over to the wheelbarrow leaned upright at the back of the stables.
I pulled it down, dropping the tool into it before rolling both over to muck out one of the currently vacant stalls.
Levi’s Mustang, Samos, was running wild outside in the stable’s connected pasture.
She was always on the move. The pitchfork and my hands quickly became one as I got into the rhythm of the repetitive work, scooping up the soiled hay and filling the barrow.
When it was maxed out, I straightened up and pulled the blue bandana from my back pocket to swipe sweat from my forehead.
Leaving the pitchfork in the stall, I grabbed the wheelbarrow handles and began the short journey to the compost.
The sun was beginning to wake up, the blue-black sky lightening slightly.
I tipped the barrow at the edge of the raised compost bed, giving it a hard shake to dump its contents before heading back to the stables. I started on the next stall immediately; the repetitive work was soothing.
It was pushing seven when I made my second trip to the compost. The sun had crested, sending golden tendrils kissing over our land.
Sagebrush was goddamn beautiful in the morning.
Cows meandering in the distance. Dew clinging to wildflowers.
The pale green glass of our new hothouses looking like something from a storybook.
Our very own Wyoming Emerald City. That were all Boone and Cooper.
If that duo had their way, we’d give up cattle and cater to people with too much money who wanted organic, heritage seed, no pesticide bullshit.
I didn’t have an issue with sustainable farming, but I wasn’t leaving the spirit of this ranch behind.
It had started a cattle ranch, and it would die a cattle ranch.
I found myself moving a little slower back to the stables this time, reluctant to leave the ranch views behind. I had a lot more to do before I went in for breakfast though.
We could hire more hands, but I liked the physical labor.
I wanted to muck the stables, repair the fences, and round up the cattle for vaccinations.
I enjoyed this life, enjoyed every damn second of it.
Even on days like today, during a veritable Wyoming heatwave when the temperature threatened to hit eighty-five when our July average was seventy-nine, I still loved this life.
Love it or not though, I cussed at the rising heat as I finished my fourth round-trip to the compost. I wished summer would give way to cooler weather sooner rather than later.
I spread some fresh hay down on the stalls I’d finished, then shifted my focus to one which had been empty a while.
We’d be getting a new horse in a few weeks.
I wasn’t sure why. We didn’t need one. We had five, one for each of us.
Cooper insisted though. He was a fool with that money.
Levi managed to keep him somewhat in check, but nothing stopped mystery packages and unwanted surprises from showing up at the ranch.
“Oh, Captain, my Captain!” A familiar voice called out.
I moved back out of the empty horse stall and watched ‘speak of the devil’ saunter in holding a thermos.
I hated how our relationship felt different now.
I felt like I needed to pay him back. He got mad when I said he should have a greater share of Sagebrush though.
He wouldn’t let us change our twenty percent equal split.
But the fact remained that Cooper was the only reason we weren’t selling Sagebrush at auction right now.
I hated how that made me feel—thankful, sure, but also small and dependent, like a damn charity case.
Wade felt the same way, but he’d never say it.
I could see how it affected him though, how he was staying up later than normal these last couple months, pouring over his books and looking for an outlet for his unease.
There were times when money came up that we’d just look at each other, twin understanding passing between us.
“Earth to my Captain.” Cooper snapped his fingers rapidly, trying to get my attention.
“Stop the Captain shit.” I ordered, then raised an eyebrow at him.
“What do you want?” Normally, the guys just left me alone in the morning.
I liked it that way, especially these days.
I just felt wrong—like my insides were too big for my skin, an overfilled water balloon past capacity that might burst any second.
“Can’t a guy check on his stoic pack brother?
” Cooper looked too chipper, maybe because that asshole never got up before dawn the way I did.
He was also out here in rubber duck print boxers, a blue ‘kiss the cook’ apron, and yellow galoshes.
The ridiculous outfit made me answer his question with one of my own.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” Wealthy as hell, and he was still dressing like he’d raided the dumpster bin behind the Pinedale Salvation Army.
“Excuse me, you gave me this apron.” He brushed a bit of flour from its front. “It’s precious.”
“Wade got you that apron and put my name on it,” I countered, heading over to snag the utility broom. I needed to brush off the walls and knock down some cobwebs.
“It’s the thought that counts.” Cooper insisted.
“Wasn’t my thought.”
“Your nearly identical twin brother thought of it, which basically makes it your thought,” he pressed, obviously enjoying himself.
I sighed, then lifted the broom to rest its handle on my shoulder. For a split second, I thought about wielding it like a wooden sword and driving my beloved, but annoying, pack brother out of the stables.
“Cooper, per normal, I’ll come inside to eat once I’m done.”
He just laughed, his dirty blond braid swinging as he placed the thermos atop the wood bench beneath the saddle hooks. “Yes, I know. The Wyatt hours of morning solitude are sacred. But here’s some fresh coffee. Touch of cream. stupid amounts of sugar, just the way you like it.”
I scowled but couldn't stop myself from dropping the broom and walking over to reach for the thermos.
I twisted off the top; the rich aroma hit me before the first sip, and goddammit if he didn't make it exactly how I liked it.
Sweet enough to make a dentist weep, and with enough caffeine to jumpstart a dead battery.
"You trying to butter me up for something?" I asked, eyeing him suspiciously over the rim of the thermos. Cooper's eyes held that mischievous glint which meant he was planning something.
"Can't a man gift coffee without ulterior motives?" He placed a hand over his heart, feigning innocence.
"Not you," I grunted, taking another swig. "Spill it."
Cooper leaned against the stall door, that easy smile of his spreading across his face. His dark blue eyes sparked with mischief. “Nothing to spill.” He shrugged, clearly lying.