Chapter 3
3
William Andino, Present Day
I t’s a little after five when I lock up the office and head to my truck. Today was interesting, to say the least. Turning on the vehicle, I blast the air conditioning before rolling up the sleeves of my shirt. It’s hot as hell out, and it’s toasty enough in here to make sweat drip down the back of my neck almost immediately. A vast difference from the coolness that was my office. Reaching into the front pocket of my briefcase on the seat beside me, I pull out my phone and find the contact I’m looking for, hitting call. It only rings a few times before it connects, a deep voice coming through the line.
“Hello?”
“Hey, I’m on my way. Need me to stop at the market on my way and pick anything up?”
“No, got everything here. I’ll see you in a bit.”
It’s been an adjustment being back in Copper Lake. Living in Seattle for the last ten years has gotten me used to the hustle and bustle of the city. Coming back to my roots is such a significant difference. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it .
Not even fifteen minutes later, I’m driving down the long gravel road that leads to Grazing Acres Ranch. Memories from early in my childhood up until college flood my mind as the house and the barn come into view. Many a summer day spent working here, and many nights spent getting into trouble like teenage boys do.
Parking beside an old, beat-up Chevy truck that has to be nearly as old as I am, I turn my truck off and climb out.
“Will,” a gruff voice that I’d recognize anywhere says.
I round the truck, finding Conrad Strauss walking out of the barn, a grin on his face. “How the hell are you, friend?” I ask as we give each other a hug and a pat on the back.
“Oh, same old, same,” he mutters. “I can’t believe you’re back in town.”
“Me neither.” I laugh as we head toward the house.
Conrad and I have been friends since grade school. I remember learning to ride a bike with him and our other friend, staying out and riding up and down the gravel roads as fast as we can until the streetlights came on, and we had to go home. The house I grew up in was about a mile and a half down the road from the ranch, and it didn’t have nearly as much land as this place does. So many fond memories. We’ve kept in touch over the years, catching up every so often if I came into town, but it’s nice to be back and be able to do something as simple as a weeknight dinner with an old friend.
Once inside, Conrad grabs us a couple of beers, handing me one before taking a long pull off his own. I do the same, enjoying the crisp, cool taste on my tongue. “Man, it hasn’t changed a bit in here,” I mutter, glancing around the house that was once like a second home to me. This ranch has been in the Strauss family for generations .
“No, it sure hasn’t,” he agrees. “I was just going to grill some steaks, if that’s okay? I’ve already got the potatoes in the oven baking.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Conrad grabs a plate of the seasoned slabs of meat out of the fridge, and I follow him outside to where the grill is. There’s a large navy blue and white porch swing that I take a seat in while he gets to work. “How’s your dad doing?” he asks.
“He’s doing okay,” I reply, taking another pull of the beer. “Enjoying retirement.”
“He still in that house off Maple?”
“Yeah, he is.”
“Are you living with him, or did you get something of your own?”
“With him,” I say. “The older he gets, the harder things are for him, and it’s just too much house to keep up with on his own. It’s not so bad. The house is plenty big enough, and he takes the room on the main level, while I take the upstairs because his knees have gotten so damn bad, he can’t go up them all that often.”
“I’m sure he appreciates you being there, too.” He glances over his shoulder, a smirk shining bright. “Even if Roger would never admit to it.”
We both laugh, knowing how stubborn my old man is. If it weren’t for my aunt insisting that he finally retire, and keeping me updated on his condition, he probably would’ve worked himself into the ground. That practice is his pride and joy, and I know it was hard on him to make the decision to leave, but it was the right call. He wasn’t fond of the idea of me moving in either, but Conrad’s right; I think he appreciates it now that I’m there .
“What else is new with you?” He flips the meat on the grill, the smell already making my mouth water. It’s been too long since I’ve had a nice steak dinner.
Dark brown hair, flirty sea-green eyes, and a slew of inappropriate memories that surround them pop into my head, but I shove them away. There’s no way I’m sharing all of that with Conrad today, or ever. “Nothing, really. Just settling in.”
We spend the next little while talking about how ranch life has been treating him, while he finishes grilling the meat. Once they’re finished, we head inside and dish up. It’s a nice evening, albeit a little warm, so we opt to eat on the porch. The food tastes damn good, and it’s an effort to not inhale it too quickly.
With the crazy work schedule I had in Seattle, I rarely found time to home cook meals for myself like this, and fuck, do I miss it. A goal of mine now that I’m back in Copper Lake and will have a more set schedule at the practice, is to make the time to cook dinner most nights. Sit down and eat without interruption. I don’t know how many nights were spent eating in a rush while I was looking over patient files and prepping for the next day.
“How’s things with you?” I ask Conrad as we’re finishing up our meal. “Doing any dating?”
“Things are good. No dating. I don’t have the time or the energy for all that. I’m getting too old.”
I chuckle. “I feel you there.”
“How’s Annie?” he asks, turning his head slightly to look over at me.
“She’s good,” I murmur. “We grabbed lunch before I left Seattle.”
Annie and I met in college. Both of us come from a long line of doctors and wanted to follow in our family’s footsteps. We hit it off and got married before going to med school. Since we ended up going to programs at different schools, the first several years of our marriage were spent long distance, which wasn’t ideal, but we made it work. About ten years ago, we decided to move to Seattle when we both got an incredible job offer that neither of us could refuse. It was a fresh start I was seeking, and it seemed like it held the answers to all of our problems.
After a few years of opposite shifts, busy schedules, and a lack of any real intimacy, we decided we’d be better off as friends and decided to call it quits. It’s probably the most civil and stress-free divorce I’ve ever heard of, both of us on the same page and wanting nothing but the best for each other.
“She’s getting married next spring,” I mention as we get up and head back inside. Tossing the plate and my empty beer bottle away, I pad over to the fridge and grab another two.
“Is she?” he asks, looking at me curiously. “Have you met the guy?”
“I have. He’s cool, and he’s not a doctor, which I think is great for Annie.”
“That’s awesome,” he grunts. “Tell her I said congratulations when you talk to her next.”
“How’s Whit been?”
Conrad’s jaw flexes as soon as I say his name, but that’s the only outward sign that the question bothers him. Like me, Conrad is divorced. But unlike me, I’ve always been under the impression that it wasn’t something he wholeheartedly wanted. It’s too touchy of a subject to bring up with him, so I usually don’t, but he brought up my ex-wife first, so it seems like fair game.
“He’s good.” The response is clipped as he works on putting the condiments away in the fridge.
“He took over his father’s clinic a few years back, right? ”
“That’s right.”
“Does that mean you see him quite a bit, what, with the animals here?”
“Yeah, usually a few times a month, give or take.”
“You guys at least get along okay?” I ask as I put the leftover food into Tupperware while Conrad gets started loading the dishwasher.
“It’s fine. We usually keep it professional.” That’s all he says for a moment, but then he adds, “He’s dating someone.”
I glance over at him, his back to me, but I can hear the distaste in his voice. “Is he?”
“Yeah. They’ve been together for a while now. His name’s Reggie.”
“Have you met him?”
“A few times.” Reaching underneath the sink, he grabs a pod and tosses it in before starting the dishwasher. Conrad dries his hand with the white tea towel on the counter before turning to face me. “Have you seen Max yet?”
I shake my head. “Not yet, but I’m going over to his and Trish’s house for dinner on Friday.”
“Nice. That’ll be fun, and Trish sure knows how to cook a mean dinner.”
I laugh. “That she does.”
“Did you hear about Colt getting hurt and cutting his season short?”
Inwardly wincing, I nod, remembering how it felt seeing him at the office this morning. “Yeah, I did. Sucks.”
I can only imagine the concern Colt has that he’ll end up retiring early like his dad, which must be a terrible feeling, given that his career only started a few years ago. Thankfully, his injuries appear much less severe than Max’s, but you never know with these types of things.
Conrad and I head back outside where we catch up for a little while longer before we decide to call it a night, making plans to get together again soon. The sun is long gone by the time I’m pulling up in front of the house I now call home, and I’d imagine my dad’s already asleep. Like most elderly men, Roger Andino is up with the sun and in bed by eight, no matter what. I don’t think he even knows what it means to sleep in; I’ve never seen him do it a day in his life.
Unlocking the front door, I tiptoe through the house, as quiet as I can be. The house is old, and the floorboards creak despite my best efforts to be light on my feet. My dad’s bedroom is near the staircase on the main level. His door is cracked just barely, but I can hear him snoring from inside. I head into the kitchen and grab a glass of water before padding up the stairs.
In the bathroom, I strip down to my boxers, toss my dirty clothes in the hamper, and then brush my teeth before heading to my room. It’s still rather early, but I’m exhausted. I’ve been so busy trying to get settled back at the practice that I completely missed Colt’s name on my books until this morning. It left me no time to come up with a game plan, and I’d spent the better part of the day trying to mentally prepare myself to see him, but nothing could’ve prepared me for how uncomfortable it would be, being alone with him for the first time since that night.
Distorted, fuzzy memories flash through my mind of sweat-slick skin, grappling hands, hot breath dancing across my overheated flesh, our bodies aligned. The pleasure pouring out of us. Then I recall the vehement shame I felt the next morning when I awoke and the recollection of what went on the night before hit me like a ton of bricks.
I can’t be Colt’s doctor. It’s unethical. The entire Bishop family were my father’s patients for decades, but I can’t. I make a mental note to speak to my partner tomorrow about taking Colt on as a patient. I don’t know what excuse I’ll give, but it’s for the best. Nobody can ever know what went on between Colt and I in that apartment above the bar two years ago. Like every other time this memory comes back to me, I do my best to shove it far, far away while also trying to ignore the flood of arousal that hits my system at the same time because Colt Bishop, the man who was once the boy I saw grow up, should never, under any circumstances, be on my mind like that .