Chapter 17 Greedy Sons of Bitches
Greedy Sons of Bitches
Wes
I’ve got a million different papers and receipts spread out on the kitchen table at the house, while I look over the books and try to find a way for Pops to afford to hire another ranch hand. It would help take the load off him, and maybe then he wouldn't have to sell the place.
Pops is currently in the living room dozing in front of the TV.
He came in looking weary, and I know it’s because I’ve been in here all day doing this instead of taking the physical load off his shoulders out there.
But I’m trying to find a way for him to keep this place because while I’ve been tasked with convincing him to sell, I can’t shake the guilt of what that would mean for him and this land.
Organization isn’t his strong suit, so I’m having to sort through stacks of papers to find things that are pertinent.
He doesn’t believe in throwing anything away and he stuffs it all in the same boxes, so I’ve got receipts from this year mixed with receipts from three years ago.
I want to pull my hair out, trying to sort through it all.
Unfortunately, the likelihood of having enough cushion to hire more people isn’t looking great, so the giant boulder of guilt remains in my stomach.
I glance up as the screen door swings open. “Hey, nerd,” Tripp greets me. He leans against the door frame. The guy may be short in stature, but his ego is larger than life and he has a tendency to run his mouth.
I scrub my hands over my face. “Hey, dickhead.”
He snorts. “Now that was just uncalled for.”
“How have you not gotten beaten up more since I haven’t been here to protect you every time you talk shit?” I ask, sorting the papers into stacks to look over again later.
“I’ve learned how to talk myself out of trouble. Besides, Sawyer usually has my back. No one would want to go up against that one. She’s damn venomous.”
My cheeks heat at the mention of Sawyer. I haven’t talked to her since I made her dinner two nights ago. A night I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since.
I’d gotten back from town and had let myself in when my knocking had gone unanswered.
Then, I made the mistake of walking into Sawyer’s bedroom.
She was asleep wearing nothing but a towel, which had done a piss-poor job of covering her.
It was draped below one breast, inching up her creamy thighs, barely concealing her apex.
I had turned on my heel and run out of there like the place was on fire. Heat flooded my whole body while blood roared in my ears, and my cock ached, hard and desperate for relief.
Needing to steady myself, I’d stepped outside to visit the horses, allowing their presence to calm the thrumming in my veins. Once I’d finally gotten my bearings again, I’d headed back inside, making enough noise to ensure she woke up and got dressed.
But ever since, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her—and not just because I’d nearly seen her completely naked.
She had opened up to me, sharing things that felt rare for her to say out loud.
And I’d liked it. I’d been happy to sit there and listen to her talk, to get a glimpse of who she was underneath the short temper and that sharp tongue.
The food had been edible, but I was no chef.
Deciding to make Grams’ pork chops had been a bit ambitious, but Pops told me they’d been her favorite when Grams was still alive.
I hadn’t done them justice, but Sawyer had seemed grateful that someone was cooking for her anyway, no matter how mediocre it turned out to be.
“Sawyer called me earlier,” Tripp says. My eyes dart to him, and he smirks at me like he knows my thoughts were all twisted up in her at the moment. “She said she needs some help with the horses tonight. She’s not feeling the best.”
Did I poison her? I hadn’t felt sick at all since eating what I’d cooked, but maybe I was immune to my own food poisoning.
“I’ve got a date tonight, and Allie has a PTA meeting she needs to be at. Do you think you can—”
I’m off my chair and out the door before he can finish asking the question. “I’m on it! Tell Pops,” I call, halfway out the door.
Tripp’s answering chuckle makes me wince at how damn eager I sound. “You’ll have to deal with the goats too,” he hollers back. “And check the fence. Roscoe likes to tear it down.”
I’ve wanted to see Sawyer for the last two days, but I’ve been up to my eyeballs in ranch receipts. All it takes is a reason, and I suddenly can’t wait another second to be near her. Ranch ledgers be damned.
I pull into Sawyer’s long driveway in record time. I’ve gained some familiarity with Dixie over the last few weeks, and now when I pull up, I’m greeted with a few barks and a wagging tail instead of teeth, raised hackles and a snarl.
“Hey Dix.” I make some kissing noises, and she jumps at me in excitement. I give her some extra attention since I assume Sawyer hasn’t been out since this morning.
I’ll go in and check on her right after I get the chores done.
There’s not much sunlight left to work with.
The horses’ tails twitch out in the pasture as they swat away the flies that are trying to use their body heat to stay warm in the dying light.
I shake a bucket of oats and watch their ears perk up.
Soon they’re all at the gate waiting for their treat.
Once I get each horse in their stall, I check them over and fill up their water buckets before giving them each a bit of hay for the night.
Luci chuffs at me as I walk past. “Hey, Luce. How’s it goin’ tonight, buddy?” I offer him my fist and he steps closer so I can give him some pats.
He has dust and pieces of dry prairie grass stuck to his coat from rolling around in his pasture today. I decide to come out tomorrow night to groom him if Sawyer still isn’t feeling well. For now, I still have the goats to tend to before I head inside to see how she's faring.
The goats are bleating from their pen, and when I bring a bucket of their feed in, they nearly knock me down in their excitement.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, surprised by their intensity.
I somehow manage to stay upright despite being accosted by what feels like a thousand small hooves and horns.
“Hey, knock it off! I’m trying to feed you, if you just back off a second,” I chastise when one is bold enough to bite at my T-shirt when I don’t get the food poured fast enough.
I finally shove my way through the hoard of goats to their trough and dump in the feed.
Most are still clamoring for a spot around the first trough as I pour the rest of the feed into the second.
I move a few of the smaller goats to it so they can get some food before the big ones push them out of the way again.
Goats are greedy sons of bitches.
I spot a part of the welded wire fencing that looks like one or more of the goats have been trying to escape and pinch the wire back together, so hopefully they won’t make a bigger hole they can squeeze through.
It’s a short-term fix. These goats are stronger than they look, and the entire enclosure could use an overhaul.
I make a mental note to figure out a better fence to keep the escape artists contained since Tripp made it sound like this was a common occurrence.
It’s fully dark by the time I make my way up Sawyer’s front porch.
As soon as my fist is on the door, I’m second-guessing if I should even be here checking up on her.
Surely, she’d call Allie or Tripp if she needed anything.
It’s highly likely she wouldn’t want me to see her at all, despite us being on better footing over the past week.
Still, I can’t quite shake the urge to see her again.
Maybe it’s because I want to make sure she’s okay.
Maybe it's because I can't stop picturing her stretched out on her bed in that towel, my thoughts bordering on indecent. Or maybe it’s simply because she’d shown me a softer, more vulnerable side of herself and now, I'm simply greedy for more of it—eager to see under that hard-bitten mask she always wears.
I pound on the door before I can untangle which reason has driven me up her porch steps. Maybe it’s a combination of all of them. My knock is answered with silence.
I knock again. Still nothing.
The sound of claws tapping on the wood of the porch has me turning to find Dixie looking at me with what I swear is a raised eyebrow, as if she’s asking, “Are you gonna go in and check on her or what?”
“Alright. Alright,” I mumble to the dog like she actually talked to me.
I turn the knob and am relieved when it’s unlocked. “Sawyer,” I call into the house. “It’s Wes. I’m coming in to check on you.”
There’s no sound of dissent, so I kick off my boots at the door and walk into the little kitchen, outdated and quaint.
Medicine is strewn over the counter: pain relievers, a thermometer, and some prescription meds that I decide I have no business looking at.
I snatch the thermometer and pain relievers off the counter before calling out again. “You in here, Red?”
I hear a soft moan from the couch and turn toward the living room.
The TV is on, but the screen is blank. I walk around and peer under the blankets piled on the couch.
My heart squeezes in my chest at the sight of her.
Her hair is a mess of tangles and she looks exhausted, her usual fire and liveliness absent.
“You look like hell.”
I’m met with a blue-eyed look that is too weak and sad to be a glare, but I’m sure that’s what she’s aiming for, and it makes me smile despite my better judgment.
“Ugh, get out of here, Wes. Let me die in peace. I don’t need your pity.”
“It’s not food poisoning, is it?” I ask, seriously concerned that I might have done this to her somehow despite overcooking the pork chops.
She starts to laugh, but it cuts off with a wince, and she groans again. “No.”
I kneel in front of her. “Open up, Red.”