Page 24 of Wilder Heart

Wilder chuckled, glancing over his shoulder at the little old lady to make sure she was out of earshot. “Yeah, the prison wasn’t known for its fine dining. But I haven’t really thought about it. If I see something, I’ll let you know.” He grimaced. “But I can’t let the ranch pay for it.”

“If it goes in the bunkhouse kitchen, the ranch pays for it,” Cash said.

“What if I want to keep it in my room?”

“Then the ranch pays for it, and I don’t tell them,” Cash said, biting back a smile. “This time. Can’t make it a habit, but I insist that you let me cover it this time.”

“What? No way.”

“Yes way. I’m your boss. You’re not allowed to argue with me.”

Wilder sputtered out a laugh. “I don’t think that’s the way it works.”

“Yes, it is, because I say so. And I’m the boss.”

Wilder rolled his eyes so hard his whole head moved. “Fine. Just this once, you can buy me a snack.” A snorting laugh left him as he said it, like he found the whole argument ridiculous, and Cash beamed, because this was the lighthearted Wilder he’d hoped to see.

“Perfect. Now just be sure you pick something good.”

They wandered up and down the aisles, and Cash let himself zone out for a while, grabbing things from the list when Wilder pointed them out. It took a lot of food to feed the ranch hands, and the cart steadily filled with a variety of products. When they turned down an aisle with coffee on one side and packaged cakes and snacks on the other, Wilder slowed, perusing the snack cakes while Cash picked out some coffee for his personalcoffeemaker in his room. The bunkhouse got the cheap brand, but Cash paid for the good stuff with his own money. He dropped the box in the cart and found Wilder with his hands in his back pockets, studying a box of Twinkies.

Cash’s gaze lingered on the long length of his body, the way his hands accentuated the curve of his ass and the tight hug of his jeans around his thighs.

He shook himself, walking over to him. “See something you like?”

Wilder picked up a box. “I haven’t had one of these in years. They probably don’t even taste as good as I remember.”

Cash hummed. “Why don’t you put it in the cart and find out?”

A glimmer of childlike hope shone in Wilder’s eyes. He slowly set the box in the cart, like he expected something to stop him. Cash would rip the head off anyone who tried. Wilder was so used to being denied what he wanted, and Cash was determined to give it to him.

And, he realized, he didn’t want to share this moment with the rest of the hands. He didn’t want to take the Twinkies to the bunkhouse and share it with the others.

“Tell you what,” he said as they fell into step together. “I know a really great spot where you can see the sunset. Why don’t?—”

As they came out of the aisle, the grocery store owner, Gary, was standing near the cash registers. He turned at their approach and spied Wilder, his wrinkled face morphing into one of fury.

“You!” he bellowed, startling the girl behind the cash register.

Wilder stopped dead, and Cash stopped a step ahead of him, scowling.

Gary strode over, his balding head shiny under the fluorescent lights. He jabbed a finger in Wilder’s direction, and Cash saw red, because Wilder was shrinking away, his shoulders coming up around his ears. It was the most uncharacteristic thing Cash had ever seen him do.

“I told you not to ever come back here.”

“Mister Scott,” Wilder said, crimson climbing up his throat. “I don’t mean any harm. I’m just here with?—”

“You’re a goddamn thief!” Gary hollered. “Your brother is lucky I allow him to come in this place at all, butyou.” He dug his phone out of his pocket. “I should’ve filed a police report against you years ago. The biggest mistake they ever made was letting you out. I’m calling them now, and you’ll never set foot in my store again.”

The color drained from Wilder’s face, and Cash couldn’t stand it anymore. He snatched Gary’s wrist before he could dial 911.

“Gary Scott, I’ve known you for seven years and never seen you behave this way,” Cash snarled. “You will not be calling the police on one of my ranch hands without due cause, do you understand me?”

Gary jerked his wrist, but Cash didn’t release him. “Don’t you know who this is? He’s a psychopath!”

“Of course I know who he is. He’s the twin brother of my boss, and he hasn’t done anything to warrant this behavior.”

“He robbed me!” Gary shouted, giving up on trying to yank his arm free to point an accusing finger at Wilder, who wilted further under the attention. Everyone in the store was staring now. “For months! Maybe more!”

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