Chapter 12
Two Weeks Later
For the first time in about fifteen years, Suncreek Ridge saw snow.
Patrick and Nash herded the cattle into the barns, takin’ the extra precaution to separate the bulls into their own barn.
The herd made their disapproval of bein’ carrolled into a much smaller space than they were used to well known, but eventually settled once feed was distributed.
Finished with the cattle, they went to check on the horses.
Colt whinnied then trotted up to his stable door and nudged Patrick’s head with his snout. Patrick smiled. “Hey boy,” he murmured, rubbin’ Colt’s snout.
Nash hip bumped Patrick. “You’ve been spendin’ more time with the horses.”
“The old bastards passed durin’ the summer.
Heat got to be too much from them. Mama found ‘em in the stables. Pa had to just about carry her out.” Patrick blinked a few times then cleared his throat.
“It was real rough for all of us, but especially her. She hasn’t been to the ranch since, so it’s just been me to take care of them. ”
Arms wrapped around his waist, holdin’ him tight. Nash set his chin on Patrick’s shoulder. “You did good, Baby. They both look strong and healthy.”
“Thank you. I worry sometimes that I ain’t doing enough for them, but I try.”
“That’s more than most folks do. ‘Sides, I know you’re doin’ good with ‘em because of how Colt came up to ya right away without any bribe.”
“He thinks he’s gonna get one. He’ll start sniffin’ my chest here in a second lookin’ for a sugar cube.”
“Ain’t that just precious.” Nash kissed Patrick’s cheek. “Just like you.”
Patrick rolled his eyes, cheeks blazin’. “Shut up.”
“What? You are.”
Patrick scoffed, but didn’t say anything else. He didn’t see the point in bickerin’ when their time together was so short. “Let’s change out their blankets and give them some feed so we can get inside. My fingers are turnin’ blue.”
Bright, brilliant laughter filled the barn, remindin’ Patrick of the day his father told him that he’d hired somebody by the name of Nash Colby.
It felt like a lifetime ago when Patrick begged his father not to hire anybody, claimin’ that he could handle it on his own.
Another person would just be another mouth to feed, another paycheck to write.
If his father had listened though, Patrick would’ve never met Nash.
He tried to imagine how different things would’ve been.
Life would’ve carried on like it always had, empty and dull.
Patrick would’ve probably ended up alone and miserable, destined for nothin’ more than the company of trashy cable TV.
Patrick watched Nash sling Minx’s blanket over the door with a resoundin’ thwack of heavy wool against wood.
For once, he was mighty thankful his father didn’t listen, cuz he unknowingly gave Patrick the best thing that ever came out of ranchin’.
“That starin’ problem of yours is back, Baby.” Nash smirked, leanin’ against Colt’s stable door. “What’s goin’ on in that pretty li’l head of yours?”
“You ever think”—Patrick turned Colt, adjusting his blanket—“‘bout how different things would be if you didn’t come work for my old man?”
“I do.”
“Do you ever regret it?”
“No. Not in the slightest.”
Patrick’s heart was a wild thing within the confines of his ribs. “Really?”
“Honest. Do you?”
“No, but I guess I just worry.”
“Worry ‘bout what?”
“You gettin’ bored of not ranchin’ year round and decide comin’ here every winter ain’t worth the little bit of money you get out of it.”
Nash’s eyebrows furrowed. “Baby, I’ve been comin’ every winter for the past four years; don’t you think that means something?”
“Of course it does. I ain’t sayin’ that it doesn’t.
But don’t you ever get tired of all the waitin’ and sneakin’ about?
Prayin’ that nobody’ll figure out what’s going on or ask why you come back here of all places?
” Patrick left the stall. “Cuz I do. And I’m tired of feelin’ like my heart’s bein’ ripped right outta my chest every spring.
It kills me every single time I watch you get on that bus.
And it may be selfish of me, but it guts me to my fuckin’ core that I can’t have you all to myself. ”
“Baby, why didn’t you ever say anything?”
Patrick could hear Nash’s heart breakin’ in two. “Cuz you ain’t like me, darlin’,” he said softly, starin’ into those honey brown eyes. “You’ve got the world in the palm of your hand, and all I’ve got is you.”
“All I’ve wanted these past four years is you, Baby.
Nothin’ else.” Nash’s voice sounded so very small, the smallest Patrick had ever heard someone sound.
“I would drop everything in a heartbeat just to have you. I never did cuz I thought that I was holdin’ out for nothin’.
That I would get down here one year and it wouldn’t be you standin’ at the bus stop. ”
Patrick straightened Nash’s ratty cowboy hat then placed a cold hand on his warm cheek. “Darlin’, it was only ever gonna be me at that bus stop.”
Nash cupped Patrick’s face and kissed him.
Nash didn’t taste like Pall Mall Reds or bad decisions, but toothpaste, the lingerin’ hint of burnt coffee, and forever.
God, Patrick prayed they would have forever.
No more countin’ down the days 'til goodbye. No more summers spent hurtin’ and longin’ for frozen fingers and wind-chapped cheeks.
Patrick didn’t care what it took to get forever, even if it meant givin’ up the only place he’d ever called home. He’d give it all up to keep Nash.
Nash went to pull away, but Patrick gave chase, a fragile no tumblin’ from his lips before he could stop it.
Nash didn’t say anything if he heard, but their lips found each other again, and hands drifted further down.
Patrick lost himself in the feelin’ of Nash’s mouth against his, the sound of their combined heavy breathing, the feel of desperate hands tuggin’ at the layers he wore to protect against the unforgivin’ cold.
His back made contact with the stall door, rattlin’ the hinges.
Patrick was too focused on Nash to care, pullin’ him closer and pressin’ against him, feelin’ his warmth seep into his bones.
Nash pulled away from the kiss, flushed and pantin’, lips red and wet. His eyes held nothin’ but desire and what looked a lot like the words I love you. Patrick’s heart skipped in his chest, those same words dancin’ on the tip of his tongue, beggin’ to be said—to be heard.
“I need you,” Patrick whispered, wishin’ he was brave enough to say what he really meant.
“Say it,” Nash said, voice raw and tremblin’. “Please, Baby, I can’t keep goin’ like this without hearin’ it.”
Patrick swallowed, pulse poundin’ in his ears. “I love you.”
“Again.”
“I love you, Nash Colby. I love you so damn much it makes me fuckin’ sick when you leave, and I can’t stand not bein’ with you. I don’t wanna spend my life only seein’ you six months a year; it ain’t enough. Not for me.”
The only sounds were Patrick’s own heart and the harsh, howlin’ winds outside as he stared into Nash’s glossy eyes. Nash’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and he sniffed. A watery smile spread across his lips. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waitin’ to hear you say that.”
“I’ve got a feelin’.” Patrick dared to crack a joke, prayin’ it would ease the tightness in his chest. “You gonna say it back?”
Nash let out a small, breathless laugh. “Baby, I ain’t never loved anybody the way I love you.
Not a single fuckin’ person has ever made me feel this way, and then I saw you and suddenly I was so wrapped up in you, I damn near forgot my own name.
God.” He laughed then sniffled again, swipin’ at his eyes with the back of his hands.
“Ain’t this so romantic? Me snottin’ in the fuckin’ horse barn while sayin’ how much I love you? ”
Patrick brushed his thumb over Nash’s stubbled face. “Most romantic thing we’ve done in this barn.”
Nash’s laugh came from the gut, big and bold and beautiful just like he was.
Patrick couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face as Nash pulled him in close and held him ‘round the waist. Nash, eyes closed, placed his forehead to Patrick’s, and said I love you so softly Patrick almost thought he was dreamin’.
“What did I do to deserve someone like you?” Nash asked, nudgin’ their noses together.
“Not much”—Patrick smiled when he heard Nash scoff—“but you’re just somethin’ irresistible, Nash Colby.”