Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jasper
“There goes my good mood,” I mutter to myself when I hear the sound of a truck rattling its way down the gravel road. Tossing down the rag in my hand, I stroll outside, knowing exactly who that truck belongs to before I even see him.
The old Ford rolls to a stop beside the barn. Uncle Pete climbs out, wearing his usual permanent scowl and ugly overalls. He doesn’t bother with a hello. Although, I’d expect nothing less from his old, bitter, grumpy ass.
Pete hooks both thumbs through his belt loops as he walks over. “Word around town is you’re still trying to play rancher.”
I bite back my first response. Nothing good will come from taking the bait and stooping to his level. “Pretty sure I’ve been playing rancher my whole life.”
He hums to himself, his eyes sweeping over the property before settling back on me. “Still don’t know what your granddad was thinking.”
Plastering a fake smile across my face, I clap my hands once. “Wow, Uncle Pete, it’s so good to see you too.”
We haven’t spoken since the reading of the will after Grandpa died, except for the day he showed up when the cattle were sick.
He’d spent the better part of the week after that meeting arguing with lawyers, insisting Grandpa hadn’t been in his right mind.
Insisting that Wind River should’ve gone to him instead—that Grandpa would’ve wanted it that way.
I can tell by the way he’s looking at me that his stance hasn’t changed.
But that’s fine by me, because mine hasn’t either.
When he doesn’t say anything, I ask, “Is there a reason you’re here, other than to pout that you didn’t get your way?”
He ignores the question. Again, no surprise there. “You actually think you’re gonna pull this place out of the hole it’s in?”
I huff a breath through my nose. “I’ve certainly been trying to do that this whole time.”
Pete laughs unkindly. “Trying don’t pay the operating loans, boy.”
“No.” I fold my arms over my chest and spin around to face him. “But a second income stream might.”
That gets his attention. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I nod toward the ridge where the cabins peek through the trees. “The guest ranch.”
He follows my gaze, then snorts. “Heard that nonsense died with your daddy.”
I’m surprised my molars don’t crack with how hard I’m grinding them. He’s got some fucking nerve showing up here like this. But instead of telling him that, I roll my shoulders and nod.
“It almost did.”
“But?” He gestures with his hand for me to continue.
“But we’re bringing it back.” I shouldn’t find this whole interaction as amusing as I do.
Something about pressing his buttons brings me so much joy.
Especially after the way he behaved after Grandpa died.
We’ve never gotten along—he’s far too entitled and crass for my liking—but his true colors showed once he realized I was inheriting the ranch he never wanted any part of.
Pete studies me for a moment. The confusion furrowing his brow makes this conversation all the more amusing. “And who is ‘we’?”
“Chesney Jennings and I.”
It takes a real, conscious effort to not laugh right now. Pete’s eyebrows practically disappear beneath his hat, and he looks like he’s just sucked on a lemon.
“Are you fucking kidding me? That fucker ain’t skipped town yet?”
I nod and smile sweetly. “Nope, sure hasn’t.” Well, he kind of did. But then he came back.
He grumbles under his breath, then says, “Imagine he’d be a hell of a lousy fucking partner.”
“Actually, he’s a damn good one.” That seems to irritate him just as much as I expected. “The cabins are finished.” I continue before he can interrupt. “We’re hoping to have the first guests soon.”
“Already?” His face is comically red; he practically has steam coming out of his ears.
I nod. “Ahead of schedule, too.”
The silence that follows feels like a victory.
Uncle Pete clears his throat. “Well, I guess we’ll see if it works.”
That’s it. He doesn’t offer a compliment, doesn’t say good job. But men like him rarely do.
“Guess we will.”
Pete lingers for another minute before climbing back into his truck.
As he pulls away, I catch him glancing one last time toward the cabins—toward the future he’d already written off as impossible.
The truck disappears down the driveway in a cloud of dust, and I stand here for another second, watching it go.
A slow grin spreads across my face. He came here today expecting to find a failing ranch. Instead, he left seeing hope.
And damn, does it feel good, knowing how much that pisses him off.
Once he’s gone, I pull out my phone and scan the list of stuff that needs to get done by the end of the day.
I’ve already worked through and checked off a few this morning, but I’ve still got my work cut out for me.
My eyes linger on the last task on the list: finally talk to Chesney.
At this point, it’s been nearly a week since we had sex.
I’m still a little pissed that he left town without a word, but I can’t really hold it against him for the other days.
It sounds like things with his dad aren’t good, and that obviously trumps a post-hook-up conversation.
It’s been a hell of a week, though, so I’ve been able to keep my mind—mostly—off him.
First, the north pasture needed fencing after something or someone did a number on one side of it.
Three calves needed tagging, which then turned into an emergency vet visit just for them to tell me nothing’s wrong.
Then yesterday, the feed delivery arrived way later than normal, and I got held up a lot longer than I should have.
But today he’s back, and if I’m being honest with myself, I’ve spent more time looking toward the cabins than actually working.
I’m wondering if he’s there, if he’s thinking about what happened… And if he regrets it.
The last one sits heavier in my chest than the others. If Chesney tells me what happened Saturday night was a mistake, I honestly don’t know what I’ll say. Or worse, how much it’ll hurt.
Regardless of what he says, we have to. Not only do I think it’s something we need to do, especially given our history.
But I know it’s going to drive me nuts until we do.
No matter how scared I am about his reaction, it’s important that we address the elephant in the room, rather than ignore it.
We still have to work together, after all.
So after lunch, I put my big boy pants on and decide to get it over with.
I find Chesney sitting on the porch of Cabin Three with a laptop balanced on one knee and a stack of papers beside him. When he notices me walking toward him, his expression doesn’t change. Which somehow makes me more nervous. Here goes nothing.
“Hey.” I wave, like an idiot, and immediately regret it.
“Hey.” That’s it. Then he goes back to typing.
This is exactly what I was worried about. Exactly why I’ve been putting off doing this today. But it’s not like he’s gone out of his way to find me either.
Finally, I breathe out a sigh and ask, “You busy tonight?”
Chesney’s fingers stop moving, and slowly, he lifts his gaze. “Depends.”
There’s another awkward pause. “I was thinking…” God, why is this so difficult? Get it over with, Jasper. “I figured maybe we could grab dinner.”
I can’t read his expression, and I don’t like it. Chesney’s studying me. But he doesn’t look irritated or angry, so I guess that’s good.
“Dinner,” he says slowly, like he’s sampling how the word tastes on his tongue. “To talk?”
I nod, my heart in my throat. “Well, yeah. Don’t you think we probably should?”
He thinks for half a second. “Okay.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “The Wildflower Café?”
It’s embarrassing how quickly relief rushes through me. I’m thankful he can’t tell. Or, at least, I hope he can’t tell. “That works,” I say casually.
“Alright.” Chesney closes his laptop and meets my gaze. “I can probably be done here around six-ish. Maybe six-thirty.”
“Want to meet there at seven, just to be safe?”
He nods once. “Works for me.”
Once I climb back into my truck and drive away, I let out the breath I’d been holding. That’s it. A plan is made, and he didn’t even fight me about it. And somehow, that makes me feel both better and significantly more terrified at the same time.
Wildflower Café, like much of this town, hasn’t changed since Chesney and I were kids.
There’re still the same red vinyl booths, same black-and-white checkered floor, and there’s still a waitress who handles the front of the house all by herself, calls everybody “hon,” and has the ability to make anyone feel right at home.
Back then, her name was Betsy, and now, it’s my sweet friend, Magnolia, Betsy’s daughter, greeting us as soon as we walk in.
Magnolia’s worked here for years and loves it so much that I can’t picture her ever leaving.
Some things in this town refuse to evolve, but this is one place that I’m happy stayed the same.
Chesney slides into the booth across from me.
He’s wearing a faded black Henley with the sleeves pushed up his forearms. His dark hair is damp like he took a shower before coming here, and a fresh scent wafts across the table as he gets settled.
Both things I notice right away, even though I wish I didn’t.
“I can’t believe my eyes,” Magnolia says as she places two cups of coffee in front of us. She mock-gasps before continuing, as if this is the first she’s heard about him being back. “Chesney Jennings is not only back in town, but sitting here with Jasper Smith too. What would the elders say?”
Like Chesney and I, Magnolia isn’t a fan of whispering small town gossip and old feuds. She also isn’t much of a Chesney fan either after we talked the other day. I wonder if he can tell how fake her smile is.
“They’d probably burn us at the stake,” I say.
She snorts before looking at Chesney. “You back in town for good?”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s temporary.” Zero hesitation.