Page 28 of Swift and Saddled

I padded across the house to the kitchen, planning to just grab a yogurt from the fridge, and was immediately hit with the smell of butter and bacon. It wasn’t often that I could actually feel myself start to salivate, but the smells coming from the Big House kitchen were delectable.

Amos was standing in front of the stove, wearing a worn-out pair of jeans and a plaid button-down. His salt-and-pepper hair was damp.

He gave me a warm smile when he saw me. Even though Wes looked more like his mom, at least from the pictures I’d seen scattered around the Big House, I thought he looked like Amos too.

“Good morning,” he said. “Sleep okay?”

I nodded. “There hasn’t been a night yet when I haven’t slept like a rock.” Again, rare for me. “Thank you for letting me stay here. It’s been amazing being so close to the job site.”

“We’re happy to have you. Have you been able to settle in?” I thought about how my clothes were no longer in my suitcase but in the once-empty dresser of my guest room, how I had my own four-wheeler that I liked to ride to the job site, and how at the end of the day, coming back to the Big House felt like coming home.

“Yes, I have. I like it here,” I said truthfully.

“Good. We like having you here—Weston especially.” My heart jumped. Oh god. I hoped Amos didn’t know anything.“He’s impressed by your work. He tells me every day that we made the right decision bringing you on.”

He talks about…my work? To his dad? And he’s impressed?

Well, that’s…nice, which is how I responded to Amos. “Where is he?” I asked. Not that I was wondering.

“Weston wakes up earlier than any of us. Probably out on a trail somewhere with Waylon.” Of course, wherever Weston went, that dog followed. “Could be cliff jumping into an ice-cold lake—you never know.” Amos chuckled. The way he talked about his kids made me wonder how my parents talked about me.

After a few beats, Amos spoke again. “He’s been waiting for this a long time. He loves that old house,” he said with a small smile as he moved an obscene amount of scrambled eggs around in his frying pan.

“It’s a beautiful house,” I said. “Is that where you grew up?”

“It is.”

“But you chose to build something new for your family?” I asked, curious about the history of Rebel Blue. I took a seat on one of the stools at the counter, settling in for a conversation with Amos.

“I did,” Amos said. “My father and I had a”—he paused, and a deep line worried his forehead—“complicated relationship.” I nodded. That was something I understood. “I wanted my marriage, my family, to be different. And I guess that started with a new house for me. We moved in here a few weeks before August was born.” I thought about something Wes told me during my first day at Rebel Blue—howhis dad used his and his siblings’ full names. I assumed August was Gus.

I had more questions, but I didn’t think it was polite to ask, so I changed the subject. “That’s a lot of food,” I said dumbly.

Amos’s smile was big this time. “Breakfast is a family affair today.” I could practically feel the pride rolling off him at the mention of his family. “Obviously, we’d love for you to join us. But I also know it’s your day off, so I can make you a plate to enjoy somewhere that won’t be as loud as this place is about to be.”

I tend not to do very well in group settings. My resting bitch face and general energy don’t usually lend well to these types of situations.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I can just grab something out of the fridge.”

“You’re not joining us?” Weston’s voice came from behind me, and Waylon’s head somehow ended up under the hand that was dangling at my side. I turned in my stool to face Wes, unable to help myself, and nothing could’ve prepared me for what I saw on this fine Sunday morning.

He had obviously been running, because his chest was still heaving slightly. His long-sleeved white T-shirt was wet with sweat in all the right places and clung to his body in a way that wouldn’t be out of place in one of those hot-man calendars.

I made a mental note to google “cowboy calendars” later, and tried to convince myself that Rebel Blue Ranch had awakened in me a thing for cowboys in general, not just one specific cowboy.

My eyes tracked back up Weston’s frame, and I was met with a smirk. I’d just been caught, and as if getting caught openly ogling my boss wasn’t enough, he chose that moment towinkat me.

A really good wink. One of those winks that makes your jaw drop and sends a heat wave down your spine.

Damn him.

He was still waiting for my answer to his question.

“Not today” was what I settled on.

“And you’re not joining us either unless you shower,” Amos chimed in. Wes rolled his eyes. He looked at me again as he grabbed the hem of his T-shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead. This man knew exactly what he was doing, and I had to consciously try not to keep staring. “You stink.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Weston responded to his dad. He turned to walk out of the kitchen and called back, “But convince Ada to stay for breakfast.”

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