Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Wilder
Mom
Wilder
I know and won’t be.
Mom
Good. Drive safe.
Wilder
Thanks, Ma. I will.
My first full day working the stud farm wasn’t as bad as I expected. Our stud, Rocky, only tried to kick me once and luckily he missed or I’d be down a testicle.
Breeding season is over and the mares went back to their owners. The only thing for me to do besides take care of Rocky’s needs is focus on online sales by collecting, evaluating, and processing his semen for shipment.
It’s boring and weird as fuck—and definitely not my first choice of ranch duties—but hell, I’ve done worse.
The only thing that got me through the day was knowing I’d get to see Delilah, even if for a few minutes. She works till five, so I’ll be cutting it close, but I’m hoping to catch her before she leaves the store.
Although she’s not ready to discuss what happened between us this past weekend, I hope she will eventually. Until then, I’ll play her little game of not talking about it.
Since it’s a forty-five-minute drive to the shelter, I leave an hour early. By the time I get to the store, it’s a few minutes past five, but her truck is still in the parking lot.
“Hi, welcome to Lacey’s,” one of the workers greets with a smile. “Lookin’ for yourself or the misses?”
“Uh…” I scrub a hand over my jawline. “Is Delilah around?”
“That depends.” She crosses her arms. “Are you a reporter?”
“No.” I lift my Stetson so she can get a better view of my face. “I’m Wilder Hollis. A friend of hers.”
“Ohh, right.” She snaps her fingers. “The cop puncher.”
I wince, waiting to see how she reacts.
“You just missed her,” she continues. “She left with some guy.”
My heart slams into my chest. “Who?”
She shrugs, messing around with random items behind the counter. “No idea. I came in for my shift and then they left.”
“You don’t know where they went?”
“She didn’t say, but they took a right out the door, if that helps.”
“Okay, thanks.” I rush outside and debate if I should call her or not, but when I get down the block, I see her through the large café window.
She’s sitting at a table with a man across from her. They each have a cup in front of them, smiling and laughing.
I growl, hating how jealous I am. As much as I want to barge in there and rip off the guy’s head, I can’t risk causing another scene that’ll get me thrown in jail.
Getting closer, I continue watching him, vaguely recognizing him and trying to place from where.
And then it hits me.
You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.
Why the hell would she go for coffee with the guy who spilled beer down her shirt and hit me?
That’s fucked up.
Even more fucked up she didn’t mention it to me when we texted this morning.
Before I can stop myself, I reach for the door and whip it open.
Delilah’s already on her feet when I enter, staring at me like a deer in headlights.
My gaze shifts to the man behind her and my jaw clenches.
“Wilder.” She steps closer, seemingly calm, but the grip on her iced coffee is tight as she holds it close to her body. “Let’s talk outside.”
“Delilah, wait—”
She spins around but inches back as he approaches.
“Don’t,” I warn him.
He holds up his palms in mock surrender. “Relax, I’m not gonna do anything.”
“Sorry, Jonah. I have to go.” The remorse in her voice has me even more confused.
Delilah turns and shoves me through the door. She stays silent as we walk toward the parking lot.
“Delilah…are you gonna say anything?” I ask before we approach her truck.
She finally looks at me. “What’re you doing here? I thought you had registration.”
“I was stoppin’ in to see you quickly. Your coworker said you and some guy went downtown, so…”
She crosses her arms, leaning against the door. “So what?”
“I went to find you and see who you were with…” I shrug. “I was worried.”
“Wilder, I can take care of myself.”
“I’m aware, but why would you meet up with that guy of all people? He’s the reason Wesley smelled beer on you.”
She blows out a breath, dropping her arms. “He stopped by the store yesterday to apologize. When he asked to take me out, I suggested going for coffee instead. But it wasn’t a date. We were going as friends.”
I snort, lifting my hat to scrub a hand through my hair. “As friends? Did he know that?”
“Yes,” she drawls, less than amused at my accusations. “You and I hang out as friends, so what’s the big deal?”
“No…” I say firmly. “We’re not friends. The moment your lips touched mine and I got a taste of you, we stopped being just friends.”
“Wilder,” she mutters softly, dropping her gaze.
“Yeah, I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but I do.”
“You’re gonna be late.”
I scoff. “I don’t fuckin’ care.”
I’ll apologize for it when I get there, but I’d rather stay here and talk this out if she’s willing.
“It’s part of your probation!” She shoves me lightly. “You need to go.”
I grab her wrist before she pulls away, then lean in closer. “Gimme one good reason why we can’t be more than friends.”
Her gaze locks on mine as I tower over her. “We’d be toxic together.”
Arching a brow, my spine straightens, and I release my hold on her. “Toxic how?”
“Our siblings are datin’ and our lives are too intertwined. It’d make things awkward if we broke up. One or both of us will end up hurt. And it’s not like we could avoid each other forever. Then what?”
“Who says we’d break up?”
“You’ve never been in a serious relationship, so what makes you think we could make one work with all the history between us?”
The history neither of us has ever brought up.
Stepping closer, I close the gap between us and rest my forehead against hers, defeated. With a deep sigh, I respond, “That’s exactly how I know it would…but I guess you’re not ready to have that conversation either.”
My heart hammers so loud with anger and frustration, I wouldn’t be shocked if she hears it when I storm away.
I arrive at the shelter five minutes late, but Miss Tierney waves me off when I apologize for my tardiness. She greets me with a smile and brings me back to the office.
“Even though this is part of your probation hours, we have rules we expect everyone to follow.”
“Yes, ma’am. Whatever you need me to do. I’m not here to cause any trouble,” I reassure her.
She furrows her brows when I call her ma’am, but she’s probably in her late thirties, five to seven years older than me if I had to guess. But she knows my mom from the local 4-H program where Landen helps some of the kids with riding and roping lessons. She’s one of the moms of a boy he’s trained.
She goes through their rules and expectations. This is one of the larger shelters in the state and it’s always at capacity. I’m ashamed to say I’ve never volunteered at one before, so even though this is for my community service mandate, I’m glad I’m here to help.
“You’re gonna start in the back of the kitchen. Once you get a feel for things, you could get moved to the front. People who come here are in a vulnerable condition and are used to certain volunteers, so that’s why it’s a gradual change when we add in new people.”
“No problem. I don’t mind helpin’ in the kitchen. Whatever you need,” I say genuinely.
“Perfect!” she beams. “Fill out this paperwork and then I’ll give you a tour.”
Miss Tierney introduces me to some of the staff members as well as the volunteers who come on a regular basis. Most are older, in their sixties and seventies, but they glare at me like I’m in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs.
Miss Tierney must’ve told them why I was coming ahead of time.
She shows me around the kitchen, gives me the basics on the tasks I’ll be doing, and then she brings me back to the office.
“Me or another supervisor have to sign off on your hours after each shift. So make sure you find someone before you leave for the day. I know you work long hours at the ranch, so I scheduled you for Saturday and Sunday afternoons. You’ll work through dinner prep and meal cleanup, then you’re free to go. ”
Perhaps it’s a good thing Dad made Landen and me switch jobs since there’s less work on the stud farm and I can take the weekends off to be here.
“Sounds good. I’ll see you in four days, then.”
Standing, she takes my hand and shakes it. “Regardless of the reason, I’m glad you’ll be here. Your natural charm will make the women feel more comfortable around you.”
I involuntarily blush and grin at her compliment. “Uh, thanks?”
Though I hadn’t considered that a man working in a shelter for women and children would raise concerns, I can understand why. Who knows what they’ve gone through and the last thing I’d want to do is make any of them uneasy.
She snickers, patting my arm. “You’re welcome. We’ll see you Saturday at four.”
When I get to my truck, I check my phone and am disappointed when I don’t see any notifications from Delilah. Not that I expected her to text, but I hate how unresolved things feel between us, and I’d hoped she’d want to talk.
The forty-five-minute drive home helps clear my head some more, but I’m craving a beer while I process everything. I know it’s one of my coping mechanisms, however, some days I need it to push the overwhelming thoughts roaming through my head.
Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, there’s no beer or liquor in my fridge. I stopped buying it regularly when I went sober the first time, and then only went back to social drinking when I started up again.
Too bad I don’t have any of Gramma Grace’s pot cookies.
Once I’m home, I hop in the shower since I didn’t have time before registration. I changed out of my work clothes and cleaned up the best I could, but now I’m craving the scalding-hot water on my skin.
My therapist calls it a form of self-destructive behavior. It’s an alternative to cutting but without the fear of bleeding out. It’s a way for me to regulate my emotions while replicating the relief I used to get.
Sometimes I’ll do ice-cold showers instead, usually if I’m hungover and have to go to work, but I’ll stay under the water until my skin feels like it’s frostbitten.