Chapter 9
Wade says it so calmly it takes me a second to register.
Sam’s fork clatters onto his plate. Flynn sits up straight. Rex squares his shoulders.
“You think I’m deaf?” Wade says. “I went out to check on that calf last night. Walked right past the bunkhouse. Walls ain’t thick, boys.
” Wade looks around the table. “And that little trip to the bathroom at the honky tonk? I might be forty-two, but I ain’t blind.
” He picks a piece of gristle off his plate and flicks it aside.
“I see everything that goes on around here. That’s my job.
Rex wound up so tight he’s about to put his fist through a wall, Sam actin’ like a nervous colt every time Justin walks into a room, Flynn treating my bathtub like it’s a Roman bathhouse…
” He shakes his head. “It’s not exactly subtle. ”
“Sir, I—” I start, but he holds up a hand.
“I’m not finished. You think I give a damn who’s sticking what where?
I don’t. That’s your business.” He leans forward, forearms on the table.
“What I give a damn about is this ranch. And my crew. When you start hidin’ shit from each other, when you start picking fights in public, that’s when it becomes my problem. ”
All the blood drains from my face. I’ve never heard Wade talk this much, let alone this directly.
The man barely shows anything beyond mild irritation or, on a good day, a nod that means you didn’t screw up.
And now he’s sitting here telling us he’s been watching, listening. He’s been aware all along.
And the thing I absolutely should not be feeling right now, the completely inappropriate response to my boss calling me out at his dinner table, is that it’s turning me on. But fuck. It is.
Wade goes on. “That’s why I told Justin to cook tonight. Not the usual stuff. A proper meal. Because I wanted us sittin’ here like men, clearing the air. No more sneaking around.”
“Boss, come on, we were just—” Flynn starts.
“Flynn, you used my private bathtub. My personal bathroom. Of all the people at this table, you’re the last one who gets to deny anything.” He takes a sip of water. “And for the record, I don’t care what you did in there. I care that you were in my space without askin’.”
Flynn sinks into his chair, uncharacteristically quiet.
Malik clears his throat. “So what’s the bottom line here, boss?”
Sam is staring at his plate, jaw working. “If you want me gone, just say it. I’ll pack my things tonight. I’ve tried to keep it professional, I’ve tried to?—”
“I don’t want you gone, Sam. I want none of you gone,” Wade cuts him off without raising his voice. “I want you to stop lyin’ to me. And to each other. That’s what’s bad for morale.”
I’m gripping the edge of my chair. My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure everyone can hear it.
Wade is sitting there, calm as stone, telling these men he knows everything and he doesn’t care.
Those thick forearms resting on the table.
Those hands that could snap a fence post. That stern look in his brown eyes.
I press my thighs together under the table.
A crew’s gotta look out for each other. That’s what he said this morning.
And I thought he was talking about work.
About pulling your weight and watching each other’s backs in the field.
But sitting here, listening to him lay it all out without an ounce of anger, I can’t shake the feeling he meant more than that.
The thought is so insane, so far from anything I’d ever expect from Wade, that I can’t even finish it in my own head.
But if this ranch has taught me anything, it’s that the things you think are impossible have a way of becoming real.
“I know what to do about it,” I hear myself say.
Every head turns to me. Flynn’s eyebrows shoot up. Sam’s blue eyes go wide. Malik has a quiet half-smile on his face. Rex’s shoulders lock tight.
Wade nods. “I’m listenin’.”
I push my chair back and stand up. “Give me a minute.”
I clear the table. Plates first, stacking them in the sink. Then the skillet, the bowls, the leftover cornbread. I wipe down the surface with a rag, pushing crumbs and grease toward the edge.
“Justin, what are you—” Sam starts.
“Just wait.”
When the table is bare, I grab the apron from the hook by the stove and walk out of the kitchen toward the bathroom. I can feel their eyes on my back the whole way. I close the door and lean against it, breathing hard.
My reflection stares back at me in the mirror. Flushed. Wide-eyed.
What I’m about to do is either the bravest thing I’ve ever done or the stupidest. I’m betting on a little of both. This is a huge risk. But I’m done playing it safe. The real Justin, the one I’ve been finding on this ranch, likes the thrill of walking along the cliff’s edge.
I pull off my shirt. Kick off my boots. My jeans hit the floor. Boxers next. I run the tap and splash water under my arms, between my legs. Then I tie the apron around my neck and knot the strings at my lower back. The rough canvas scratches against my bare skin.
I look at myself in the mirror. Naked except for that worn apron, a faded longhorn skull printed on the front. I look at the tent it’s making over my crotch. My nipples are hard. I take a breath and open the door.
The kitchen goes dead silent when I walk in. Five men stare at me, some with their mouths open. The only sound is the clock ticking on the wall.
I walk to the table, feeling their eyes on every inch of bare skin. My legs, my back where the apron doesn’t cover, the curve of my ass. I place both palms flat on the wood, lean forward, and bend over the surface I just scrubbed clean.
“Who’s ready for dessert?”