Epilogue
THREE MONTHS LATER
The car appears on the horizon around noon, a dark speck trailing a cloud of red dust.
I’m on the porch, boots up on the railing, a mug of coffee warming my hand. January in Texas isn’t cold like up north, but the air has a bite to it, and the sky is that flat, pale gray that makes everything look tired. Haywire is standing at the fence, ears forward, chewing on a piece of straw.
“New guy’s here,” I call over my shoulder through the screen door.
Wade’s voice comes back from inside. “I know. Go greet him.”
I set my mug down and push myself out of the rocking chair, wincing.
Flynn got me good last night, and my lower back is letting me know.
At least January is slower on the ranch.
The big drives are done, so Wade’s got us on a morning routine of hauling hay out to the cattle and patching up whatever the fall wore down.
As I walk down the porch steps, I’m hit with a memory of my own arrival.
A beat-up truck with a busted AC, a sunburn on my left arm, and a stomach full of knots.
Now I’ve got calluses on my hands thick enough to strike a match on, and I’ve put on fifteen pounds of solid muscle.
I smell like dust and sweat and hay, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I belong in my own skin.
I’m not sure my parents would still recognize me. I barely recognize myself sometimes. My life is so different, so far from anything I knew before.
Last week, I called my parents to let them know I was staying. That I’d found my place. They were confused at first, but when I told them I was happy, that I was learning a trade, that I had a crew who looked out for me, they said they were glad I’d found my way.
Of course, I didn’t mention that I have a boyfriend now. Or that, once a week, I’m the dessert at my boss’s dinner table. Some things are better left unsaid. They wouldn’t understand anyway. They just need to know I’m safe and happy.
And I am.
God, I am.
The car is getting bigger now, an older model sedan that’s seen better days.
It takes the turn onto the dirt road and kicks up a cloud of that same red-brown dust I remember choking on when I first pulled in.
It moves slowly over the ruts, like the driver isn’t sure this is the right place.
Or maybe like he’s still deciding whether to turn around.
That’s when Flynn comes around the corner of the bunkhouse. He takes one look at the approaching car, then at me, and jogs over, all loose-limbed energy. He slides an arm around my waist from behind and hooks his chin over my shoulder.
“Damn. Now we gotta keep it together again,” he murmurs, nipping at my earlobe. “I was starting to enjoy bending you over a hay bale without having to look over my shoulder.”
I laugh and lean back into him. “If I remember correctly, you liked sneaking around. Said it added a certain thrill.”
“That was before you made Wade loosen up. This is way better.” He squeezes me tighter. “But I guess for the new guy’s sake, we should try to be professional. For a little while, anyway.”
He’s right. That dinner changed everything.
We still work hard, and the days are still long and dusty, but the tension that used to hang over the bunkhouse is gone.
No more lying awake wondering who heard what.
No more avoiding each other’s eyes at breakfast. Wade still runs a tight operation, but once the work is done, we’re free to be whatever we are to each other.
Flynn and I share a bunk most nights. He’s the perfect boyfriend because he loves to share.
Some guys would get jealous watching their man get passed around a bunkhouse full of cowboys.
Flynn gets off on it. He loves watching me almost as much as he loves being the one inside me.
Guess I’m not the only one who found himself out here.
Everyone’s settled into it differently. Sam’s loosened up enough to tell a filthy joke at dinner.
Malik and I take late-night rides, talking about everything and nothing, and sometimes we don’t talk at all.
And Rex is still Rex, but last week he put his hand on my shoulder when he passed me in the barn.
From that man, that’s practically a hug.
But none of it would have happened without Flynn.
That cocky grin, that total lack of self-preservation, that afternoon in the barn when he leaned back on a hay bale and told me to go ahead and touch it.
Without him, I’d still be white-knuckling my way through cold showers and pretending I didn’t want what I wanted.
He cracked me open. And I’ve been wide open ever since.
“You’re getting hard,” I whisper, pressing back against him.
“Can’t help it,” he grunts. “You’re irresistible.”
“Behave.” I elbow him in the ribs. “We’ve got a guest.”
The sedan sputters to a stop in front of the main house, the engine dying with a shuddering cough.
The door opens and a guy climbs out. He can’t be much older than twenty, with a mop of brown hair falling into his eyes, a slender build that says more library than lumberyard, and a look on his face like he’s not entirely sure he wants to be here.
He slams the door and looks around, taking in the barn, Haywire watching him from the fence, the pale winter fields stretching out to nothing.
His eyes land on me, then on Flynn behind me with his arm still around my waist. His gaze moves from Flynn’s hand on my hip to my face and back again.
Something crosses his expression. Relief, maybe. Or curiosity.
This guy’s going to fit in just fine.
“Hey,” I say, stepping forward and holding out my hand. “I’m Justin. Welcome to the ranch.”
The End