Seven
Wyatt
There was something strange going on at rocky ridge, i was sure of that much.
The day after the coyote escape incident, Vern appeared in the doorway to my rented room, leaning nonchalantly on the doorframe. “Hey,” he said.
I glanced up from my laptop, then popped out my Air Pods. “Yeah?”
Vern gave me a nod. “Just heard from Cal Carlyle,” he said, and my stomach sank like a stone.
I hadn’t told Vern anything about the coyote. He’d asked why I’d been so late the last few nights, but I’d told him the rounds had taken longer than I’d thought they were going to. Vern seemed satisfied with that answer—maybe he figured it made sense, given how green I was.
“I, um,” I started.
“He wants you to call or text before you drop by,” Vern said, lifting a brow. He studied me for a second or two, then said, “I didn’t know you were friendly like with the Carlyle boys.”
“I, uh,” I stammered out, brain grinding on half-baked excuses. “My car flatted.”
“Oh,” Vern said, eyes widening.
I nodded. “The day after I got here. I’d just left Bobby’s place. Lucky for me, I didn’t get too far.”
Vern snorted. “Surprised any of the Carlyle boys know how to change a tire,” he said.
“Ah,” I started.
Vern waved a hand. “What you do is your business, all right? So long as the animals are tended, I don’t give a rat’s ass.”
“Er, thanks?”
Vern nodded, then turned himself about. “Breakfast’s ready in ten,” he said, then loped downstairs, floorboards creaking every step of the way.
I inhaled deeply, then slowly released my breath. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Did he think I was … fucking Cal or something?
I swallowed tightly. I could easily go set the record straight—I might have swung that way, but Cal was not my type.
Cam, on the other hand …
I shook my head furiously, clearing the thought of the younger Carlyle brother and his tawny hair, his amber eyes, his tan skin, his muscular arms …
I didn’t need to pop a boner before breakfast. I forced myself to my feet.
I could tell Vern the truth—that I was looking after the wounded coyote Bobby had shot.
But part of me didn’t want to. I figured Vern would be more upset about that than he’d been about the idea of me potentially fucking Cal Carlyle.
Which was, honestly, kind of refreshing. I’d expected everyone in this place to be a close-minded bigot. Vern’s attitude maybe wasn’t welcoming, but he’d made it pretty clear he figured my sex life wasn’t any of his business, and he wasn’t going to give me any trouble about it.
For half a second, I wished he was my father, because his reaction was certainly preferable to the fit my own dad had pitched when he’d found out I was gay. We hadn’t spoken since I’d moved out and gone to college.
I sighed. It was sad that Vern’s “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy made me like him that much. I closed my laptop and trotted downstairs to the kitchen. “Anything I can help with?”
Vern pointed. “Set the table,” he said. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Please.”
I nearly chuckled. Vern was a bit gruff, maybe rough around the edges, but he seemed like a good guy. He’d cooked breakfast and dinner the last few days, although I supposed he had to do it for himself anyway. He was a bachelor, after all.
I went to the cupboards and pulled down some plates. “Want me to get the coffee on?” I asked.
“Hm, if you don’t mind.”
We’d very quickly figured out that I was better at making coffee, but we were both better off if I left the cooking to Vern.
I eyed the older man. In college, my cooking skills had been limited to boiling water and cooking instant ramen. Granted, that was a lot of what my budget had allowed. But if I figured I was eventually going to get my own place, then I should probably learn to cook.
Maybe Vern could teach me.
He laid out scrambled eggs, whole grain toast, and bacon.
Lest I was worried that I’d be clogging my arteries, yesterday, we’d had porridge, and the day before that, fruit parfaits, which seemed super feminine, but Vern assured me there was nothing “masculine” about getting scurvy or having a heart attack.
Eating healthy, he insisted, meant a balanced diet—which also meant having bacon and eggs every now and then.
I set the table and brewed the coffee while Vern put the dishes in the sink to soak. Then we sat down and tucked in.
Plucking up my courage and clearing my mouth of toast, I said, “So, what do you know about the Carlyle brothers?”
Vern’s blue gaze flicked up to meet mine. He considered for a second or two, then said, slowly, “That depends on what you want to know.”
I thought about that. “Is it just the two of them, Cal and Cam?”
Vern snorted. “If only,” he muttered, then took a huge gulp of his coffee. He closed his eyes in delight. He set the mug aside. “No, there’s a whole pack of them boys—seven of ’em, I think. Cal’s the eldest, and he inherited the ranch after their parents passed.”
“Oh,” I said, eyes widening.
Vern nodded grimly. “Minnie, their mother, she was something else. But she got cancer, oh, ten, fifteen years ago? I can’t remember. The boys were still in school, at any rate. Carl, he did his best for them after that. He’s been gone five years now—heart attack.”
I grimaced. “That’s rough.”
Vern nodded. “Cal’s done his best, but it’s tough when you’ve got a pack of feral boys.”
I swallowed a sip of my own coffee. “I’ve only met Cal and Cam. Where are the rest of them?”
Vern’s eyes got wide. “Oh, gosh, let’s see here.
So you know Cal and Cam, and the next is Carter, the real troublemaker of the bunch.
Pretty sure he shipped out to the army. Then there’s Cash.
I think he’s gone up to Canada to help out on some relative’s ranch—maybe a cousin or something?
Chip, he’s the smart one, so he’s gone off to school—not sure what for, Cal’d know better than me.
And then there’s the twins, Connor and Cody.
I think Cal sent them to live with their aunt while they finish up school.
They were doing really bad with their grades, so Cal figured they needed someone who could look after ’em more than he could. ”
I nodded silently. Vern stabbed at his eggs. “Anyway, it’s just Cal and Cam there right now, and trust me, you’re lucky. The whole pack of them is a lot to deal with.”
I pushed eggs around on my plate. That was the second or third time Vern had referred to the Carlyles as a pack.
I tilted my head, considering. “Forgive me asking,” I said, “but since I’ve been up there a couple of times, I’m getting to know them a bit, and …
I can’t shake the feeling there’s something weird going on at Rocky Ridge. ”
Vern looked me dead in the eye. Then he smiled and snorted before he took another sip of his coffee. “You’re keen, huh? Well, I’ll tell you this, Wyatt: you’re not wrong.”
My heart leapt into my throat. “I knew it. What’s going on?”
Vern tapped the table and shook his head. “That ain’t my secret to tell,” he said. He took another swig of his coffee and tossed an amused look my way. Then his good humor faded. “Just be careful about getting mixed up with the Carlyle boys, okay?”
I hesitated, then said, slowly, “Why do you assume I’m getting mixed up with them?”
Vern lifted his brows as he lifted his coffee mug back to his lips. His gaze ran up and down me, almost critically. “You think I don’t know one when I see one?” he asked, and I felt my ears turn red.
“I—”
Vern shook his head. “Would’ve landed myself in a whole lot more hot water ’round these parts if I wasn’t able to recognize my own,” he said.
I blinked a couple of times as puzzle pieces fell into place. “Oh,” I said.
“Yeah, oh,” Vern chuckled.
I frowned at him. “Who—”
Vern gave me a cool look. “I told you, it ain’t any of my business who you decide to bring to bed, and please you to be doing the same with respect to my business, hm?”
I stared at him for a second or two. “Uh. Sure. Sorry.”
“No harm,” Vern said. “But it’s better that way—or maybe it’s not, but it’s the way we’ve survived in this part of the country, so it’s the way we do things.”
“Right,” I said.
Vern took a final sip of his coffee, draining the mug, then heaved himself up. “Right,” he said, “now, those cows over at the Falklands’ ain’t gonna calve themselves.”