Page 75 of Captivated

“I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Sol tilted his head to one side. “You were worrying about Nate, weren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you eaten yet?”

Zeeb shook his head.

“Then my advice is to have some breakfast, then catch up on your sleep. I want you rested by the time Nate returns. He’s your priority.” He paused. “You like him, don’t you?”

Zeeb blinked. “What kind of a fool question is that? Course I like him. He’s a sweet guy.” And if Sol was correct in his assumptions, Nate’s guarded stares and reluctant smiles finally made sense, offering Zeeb a glimpse of the man hiding behind the walls he’d built around himself.

I wanna be there for him when those walls come crashing down.

Sol’s knowing smile irritated the fuck out of him, and he had no idea why that should be.

“First the boss, now you,” Zeeb muttered. “What is it with you guys, statin’ the obvious? Why shouldn’t I like Nate?”

Sol bit his lip but said nothing.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna go eat. An’ I’m sure you have something better to do than stand around, talkin’ to me.”

“I do indeed.” Sol patted him on the back. “You’re a good man, Zeeb.” He smirked. “No matter what Teague says.” Then he headed toward the Leather barn.

Zeeb watched him go, his brows knitted.

Am I missing something?

His stomach growled, and he shoved the thought aside.

Food first, then a few hours’ shuteye. He had no clue when Nate would turn up, but at least eight hours lay between him and Salvation.

And by then, I’ll be ready for him.

His gut clenched, and it had nothing to do with hunger.

What did they do to you, Nate?

Not that Zeeb wanted to know.

And if Nate wants to tell you?

If that situation arose, Zeeb would suck it up and be there for him. Hell, he’d do anything to put a smile on that beautiful face, to bring light to those green eyes.

As he headed to the bunkhouse, it occurred to him thatanythingcovered a whole lotta ground.

The gravel crunched beneath the tires of Nate’s car as he pulled into the ranch’s long, winding drive. Dust rose in a lazy cloud behind him, catching the pale evening light like smoke. He parked his car next to the bunkhouse, cut the engine, and got out.

The door to the bunkhouse opened, and there was Zeeb. He didn’t wave or holler, but simply stood there.

Waiting.

What do I say to him?

It was a question that had occupied Nate’s thoughts all the way there. He’d driven in silence: Music would have been a distraction, and he wanted to think.

Zeeb didn’t speak as Nate approached him, his arms folded across his chest, his face unreadable in the fading light.

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