Page 12 of Wilder Heart

“I ain’t giving him hell for shit,” Wayne added. “He’s a scary motherfucker.”

“I went to high school with him and Lain,” Billy said dismissively. “He ain’t all that.”

“Tell that to his daddy,” someone murmured, but Cash wasn’t sure who.

“Enough,” Cash drawled.

“What were they like back then?” Darryl asked. Barely older than Lain, he’d moved to Roselake a year ago and had been working at the ranch for about eight months.

Billy shrugged. “We didn’t talk much. They were a couple of years older than me. I was on the football team, and they were… hell, nothing. They didn’t do anything but go to school and go home.”

“You were hot shit and they were losers, is that what you’re saying?” Wayne asked, brushing his shaggy hair back from his face. Much longer and he’d need a hair tie.

“I’m saying we ran in different circles,” Billy said, in a way that sounded more like ‘yes, that’s exactly what I mean.’ “They mostly kept to themselves. I couldn’t tell ‘em apart back then. They were pretty much interchangeable. The Blackwood boys, that’s what people called them. Everybody knew their daddy was a shithead. Guess nobody expected one of the boys to turn out so much worse than him.”

“I saidenough,” Cash said. If, by some chance, Wilder was dozing lightly enough to be registering all of this, he didn’t wantit causing tensions between the hands. “None of you were there. None of you know what happened. I won’t hear speculation or judgments from any of you. Am I clear?”

A chorus of “yes, boss” filled the air, though some of them—like Billy—sounded more begrudging than others.

At long last, Clyde announced, “Food’s ready. Come and get it, nice and orderly like.”

While the others rushed to be the first in line, Cash set his e-reader aside and stood with a long stretch. Waking Wilder was probably going to be a little unsafe. Inching closer, he gently laid a hand on Wilder’s shin and gave it a little shake.

“Wilder, time to eat. Wake up.”

He moved like a striking snake, kicking hard as he fumbled his hat off to see who was touching him. Cash was lucky he was expecting it and caught Wilder’s boot in his hands, just shy of his stomach. When their eyes met, Wilder’s were wide.

“Sorry,” he said, and Cash tried not to notice the way his legs were splayed apart like this.

Cash released him, and Wilder straightened. “It’s fine. No harm done.” He jerked his thumb toward the kitchen, where a couple of the guys were watching them now. “Food’s done. Hungry?”

“Yeah, I could eat.” He left his hat on the chair and stood. There was still a dirt stain on the front of his shirt from Persimmon’s nose earlier, and Cash bit back a smile at the sight. He looked good like this, fresh off a day’s work. Like he was more settled in his skin than he had been this morning.

Cash doubted it was a coincidence that one of the only open chairs left after everyone got their food just so happened to be beside Wilder. He cast a judgmental glare on the rest of the table as he took the seat. Clyde made some kind of meat and potato casserole, and for a while, the table was quiet as everyone dug in,broken only by the clatter of silverware and the occasional hum of enjoyment.

Idly, he watched Wilder from the corner of his eye. The man was fascinating, an enigma wrapped in danger wrapped in an incredibly attractive package. He was bent over his plate, one elbow on the table with his arm curling behind his head, like he could shield himself from the curious gazes of the other hands.

“We ought to make a trip into town soon,” Darryl said, glancing around at everyone. “Hit up a couple of the bars.”

“Bars?” Wilder repeated, raising his head—and looking like he regretted it when all eyes turned toward him. “There’s more than one now?”

A couple of the guys chuckled. “Yeah,” Darryl replied. “The town gets quite a bit of tourism these days. All of Rose County does, really. Boss has even been thinking about doing something to attract people here to the ranch.”

“What would tourists want with a cattle ranch?” Wilder asked, a weary rasp to his voice.

“You saw it,” Cash replied. “It’s beautiful out here. Nature lovers could come and camp, pretend like they’re roughing it. We could take them on horseback riding trails to a private section of the lake.”

“Glamping, ain’t that what they call it these days?” Wayne said, grinning. “Folks’ll pay a pretty penny to pretend they’re living rough.”

A furrow appeared between Wilder’s brows, like it was the strangest thing he’d ever heard. Cash chuckled, transferring his fork to his other hand so he could clap him on the back. That confused gaze turned toward him, like Cash touching him was equally bewildering.

“Anyway,” Darryl said, getting them back on track, “we should hit one of the bars soon. I could go for a drink or five.”

“You’ve got a three drink limit after last time,” Clyde said.

“What? No way!” Darryl exclaimed. “Look, it wasn’t my fault that dude thought I was trying to pick a fight! All’s I did was bump into him!”

“You grabbed his ass!” Billy said.

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