Page 4 of Wilder Heart

One of the old storage rooms had been expanded, and now it was an office. The room smelled faintly of sawdust and wood polish. Lain sat down behind the big metal desk and gestured for Wilder to sit. He did slowly, lowering himself into one of the chairs and setting his bag in the other. Lain’s eyes studied the bag for a moment before he turned away, lifting a file folder from one of the drawers and opening it.

“This is your employment agreement, including your wages. You’ll get health insurance and dental. Cards for those will come in the mail.”

Wilder signed his name to page after page. Liability agreements, tax information, safety information. When he looked up, he realized Lain was staring at his hands. The tattoos on his left knuckles, the five dots on the webbing between his right forefinger and thumb. All things that had given him his place in prison and set him apart outside of it.

Lain cleared his throat. “I’ve got a copy of your parole paperwork here. I assume you have that, too?”

“Mm-hm.” Wilder sat back, discomfited. He’d expected… something more than this. Lain was treating him like any other employee.

“Then you know you have to call once a week and go in for a visit once a month?—”

“For the first three months, yes,” Wilder said, “and then we’ll reevaluate. They told me.”

Lain nodded absently. “Good, good. The foreman, Cash Arden, will be your supervisor. He’s a good man, and he’s been in the business a long time. If you have any concerns, you can go to him. It’s very important that all the hands can work well together. They spend a lot of long hours together during the day, working the cattle and the land. As long as you keep your head down and do your part, everything will be fine. But if you slack off, get violent, cause any problems, Cash has been given leave to let you go. And if that happens, you’ll be on your own.”

Don’t step out of line, Wilder heard,or you’re out of here. Maybe it was a fair warning. He’d just hoped for a little more grace than that. Lain had never known him to be violent, but he supposed all bets were off after that night. And he’d certainly been violent in the years since. He had to be if he wanted to survive.

“Fair enough,” he said gruffly. Lain obviously didn’t want him here, so he’d keep his head down and do the work, as he said. And the minute his parole was up, he could disappear from the perfect life Lain had built and make his own way.

Lain was silent a moment, watching him with an unreadable expression. Wilder had mastered shielding his emotions in prison, but it was with a prickly exterior, meant to warn people away. He didn’t want to use that here, and it left him floundering, desperately trying to cobble a blank façade over his thoughts and feelings.

“Come on,” Lain finally said, standing. “I’ll show you to your room.”

“My room?” Wilder repeated, snagging his backpack and following Lain out of the barn.

“Yeah. This is the bunkhouse,” he said, gesturing to the building with all the doors.

“This is… Oh.”

Lain glanced back at him. “You expected something else?”

“Communal space, I guess.” Most bunkhouses were more utilitarian than this, with everyone sleeping in the same space.

“There’s some of that.” He gestured to the door on the left end. “That’s the living and kitchen area. It’s communal. You’ve got a small fridge in your room and your own bathroom, but meals are shared in the communal room. A lot of the guys hang out there in their off hours, but I thought it was important to let everybody have their own space to retreat to at the end of the day.”

Yes, Lain and Wilder both knew all about retreating to a quiet space. They used to have hiding spots all over the property to go to when Dad’s outbursts were at their worst.

The third door down from the communal room was Wilder’s. Lain unlocked it and gestured for him to step inside. The floor was laminate wood. A full-sized bed sat on the left wall with a bedside table, which had a silver key on top. On the right wall, there was a wardrobe, a dresser with a mirror, and a mini fridge. Across the room, there was a window and a door that hung open, revealing the dark bathroom within. Under the window was a small table with two chairs. It reminded him very much of a motel room.

“You might recognize some of the other hands,” Lain said, calling Wilder’s attention back to him. He was leaning in the doorway. “Roselake’s a small town, you know how it is.”

“Sure, yeah.” He peeled the straps of his backpack off and laid it on the foot of the bed. The black fabric looked out of place against the colorful quilt.

“Do you have any other clothes? You’ll need work clothes, jeans, boots. Probably a hat.”

“No, nothing. Spare shirt, socks, and boxers in the bag. The paperwork they gave me when they released me. I saw a few stores in town. I can buy some stuff with my first check.”

Lain shook his head. “You can’t work horses and cattle in slip-ons and sweatpants.”

Wilder waved a useless hand. He didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t like they gave him a wad of cash when they opened the cage and ushered him out.

Lain stroked his jaw in thought. “I’ll let Cash know. He can take you into town in the morning and get you whatever you need. We’ll take it out of your paychecks in two or three increments. That way you’re still earning and not spending it all before you get it.”

“Don’t go to any trouble,” Wilder said. “I can make do.”

“I’d do the same for anyone else who came to work for me.”

Wilder looked away. Right. They were just boss and employee now. They stopped being brothers the moment Dad’s heart stopped. “All right, then.”

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