Page 18 of Wilder Heart

“That it is,” Cash agreed.

The other hands were visible out in the field, stacking square bales of hay in anticipation of their arrival. They moved aside as Cash pulled the trailer up beside them. Wilder opened the glove compartment, handed one pair of gloves to Cash and took the other for himself.

It was shaping up to be a hot, sunny day. They were lucky to be getting such an early start, before the sun had baked thelandscape. By the time Cash and Wilder had joined the others, they were already tossing hay bales onto the trailer, so the two of them climbed into the trailer to line them up in neat stacks to be tied down. Nobody spoke for a while, and Cash focused on the warmth of the morning sun and the burn of muscle in use as he picked up bale after bale and stacked them at the front of the trailer.

Every time he passed Wilder, he caught a whiff of his scent, sweat and coffee and soap. Setting a bale into place, he turned around as Wilder was grabbing one from Darryl, and Cash’s gaze lingered on the way his jeans pulled taut across his rear and hugged his thighs, the bulge of his sweat-shiny biceps and the corded strength of his forearms. He turned around, and his eyes caught Cash’s.

Shit.

Cash lurched into motion, ducking his head so the brim of his hat hid his face. Wilder passed without a word, hefting the hay bale, and Cash took his place, grabbing a bale from Billy. When he turned, this timeWilderwas looking athim.

Heat simmered under his skin that had nothing to do with the sun. He didn’t feel like he could breathe until Wilder’s gaze fell away.

No way they could go there. Wilder was an incredibly handsome man, but getting involved with him would only jeopardize everything Cash had built here. Blackwood Ranch was as much his home as it was the Blackwoods’ at this point. Lain was his boss, and things between him and Wilder were far too contentious to throw Cash’s own attraction to Wilder into the mix. And besides, as foreman of the ranch, he was technically Wilder’s boss. There were a thousand reasons why it would be a bad idea. He couldn’t risk it.

So he kept his eyes down and focused on the work.

Once the stacks were tied to the trailer, he waved the hands off and climbed back into the truck with Wilder. Neither of them spoke, both reaching wordlessly for their bottles of water while the air conditioner blasted them. They wouldn’t have the extra help unloading at the other field, so they might as well take a beat and cool off in the truck while they could.

Wilder took his hat off, leaning over to stick his sweaty head right in front of the air vents, and Cash laughed.

“So dramatic,” he said, dropping his bottle in the cup holder and putting the truck in drive.

Wilder chuckled. “Man, there’s a world of difference between slinging weights in the prison yard and doing actual manual labor in the heat.”

“I imagine so.”

It was true, Wilder was dripping sweat. It gleamed on his temples and in his hair. Cash pointedly didn’t think about how good he looked, his face flushed and his eyes bright. Physical work looked good on him.

“Where are we taking this hay?” Wilder asked as the truck trundled down the trail. Cash kept one eye on the rearview mirror to make sure none of the hay fell off the back. He thought they’d tied it down well enough, but you could never be too sure.

“To the barn.”

“Which barn?” Wilder asked. “There’s like twelve now.”

Cash chuckled. “There’s seven, actually.”

“Jesus Christ,” Wilder murmured.

“There’s one positioned between four corners of the fields behind the house. That’s where we store most of the winter feed. Easier to distribute it between those four fields there, which is where we keep the cattle during the winter months.”

“Great.”

Cash glanced at him, but there was no bitterness in his tone or demeanor. He seemed to like this work, and for all hishardship, he didn’t appear to begrudge Lain his success or hate the ranch for its unfortunate part in his history.

It made it all the harder for Cash to hold him at a distance.

After they deliveredthe hay to the feed barn, they returned the truck and trailer to the house.

“What’s next, boss?” Wilder asked. He’d drained his water, and though the sweat was fading from his skin, his face was still flushed from the exertion of unloading all the hay bales between the two of them.

“First, go take a break.” He pointed at the bunkhouse as they came to a stop in front of the truck, its engine clicking quietly as it cooled. “Twenty minutes. Drink some water. Have a banana or something. Don’t want you overheating.”

Wilder scoffed. “I’m fine.”

Cash smiled patiently. “You are—for now. I want to keep it that way. You’re in good shape, but you aren’t used to working quite this much. I don’t want you dead on your feet later.”

Movement caught his eye, and he turned to see Lain standing in the doorway of his office. He gave Cash a wave and gestured for him to come over.

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