Page 7 of The Banker and the Blue Collar Man

But I knew the more I protested, the more Lucas would try to talk me into it. So I kept my mouth shut and went up to get a slice of blueberry pie that I most certainly wasn’t going to eat. Which would be a waste, but I needed the distraction to get away from an unproductive conversation.

On my way back to the table, going along the aisle between the rows, I spotted Jake. He was sitting with another wrangler, it looked like. By the shiny ends of his dark hair and his clean t-shirt, he’d washed up before dinner, which meant he had some manners. The ratty hat was nowhere to be seen.

I managed a few bites of the blueberry pie, just to be polite, and was grateful that someone else came over to talk to Lucas. He introduced himself as Jesse Knox, the ranch’s foreman. When Lucas brought up the subject of the trail ride and how I needed to borrow some boots, Jesse was happy to help.

“What size are you?” he asked. “We’ve got some old boots around. Broken in, but solid. Better to wear them than city shoes.”

“No, I’m fine,” I said, not bringing up my fear of horses. Not because I thought he’d laugh in my face, but more because he appeared to command respect everywhere he went, and I, for some reason, didn’t want to fall short. A good boss did that to me every time.

“Suit yourself,” Jesse said. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

I nodded, although I had no intention of changing my mind. I watched Lucas’ eyes track the foreman as he walked away and wondered how long everybody here had known each other, and whether Lucas, never a man to gossip, had told anyone about me. And if he had, what?

I had a headache that had started up on the drive back from town, and it wasn’t quitting. I decided to get out of the dining hall and grab some Tylenol from my overnight bag.

By the time I’d taken my dishes and cutlery over to the busing cart, I knew the Tylenol on its own wouldn’t be enough. I needed a hot shower and lots of silence. Except when I got to the door leading outside, someone was in my way.

I looked up and up and up. It was Jake, and he was holding out a plastic bottle of water. “Headache?” he asked.

“Yeah, uh.” I stopped, feeling foolish as I rubbed my forehead. “How did you know?”

“We’re at least a thousand feet above Denver,” he said. “Higher altitudes cause dehydration. It’s a little drier up here, too. A lot of newcomers get headaches.” He held out the bottle further. The only thing for me to do was take it.

“Thank you. I’m a city boy, for sure,” I said, wanting to pass my weakness off as a joke.

“Nothing wrong with being who you are.”

“Well, thanks again.” I didn’t quite know what to do with the expression in his eyes, the spark of understanding. “I guess I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“Sure.” Then he stepped out of my way, a gentlemanly movement.

It was still light out as I made my way to bunkhouse four and pressed the code into the keypad. Inside, it was a bit stuffy, so I turned on the AC and downed the bottle of water Jake had given me. That plus Tylenol and a long hot shower seemed to do the trick, my headache easing by slow but consistent degrees.

By the time Cameron and Dillon showed up, I was in the single bed, playing solitaire on my phone. I’d already scrolled for news and weather—news bad, weather sunny and dry—so I expected that they’d shower and hop into bed, like sane human beings.

But they didn’t. Sure, they showered, and sure, they got into bed, but then, with Cameron hanging over the edge of the top bunk and Dillon below in the bottom bunk, reaching up and speaking loudly, they were clearly planning on staying up late.

Youngsters had the energy of never-ending batteries, and those two seemed to have an unlimited supply of things to laugh about. Which I supposed was better than either or both of them jacking off.

I didn’t have earplugs. I should have brought them with me, but hadn’t. And I didn’t want to yell at them, because it must have seemed like they’d arrived at summer camp, and who was I to deny them their pleasure? It was only for one night, anyway.

At least that’s what I told myself more than once as I turned on my side and, with my cheek to the mattress, held the pillow over my ear. By the time they calmed down, I sensed it was the wee hours of the morning. The next thing I knew, my pillow had fallen to the floor, and everything was still. The night outside the windows seemed pitch-black.

When I tapped my phone, its glaring display told me it was almost five a.m. Just before sunrise.

I slid the phone to the top of the mattress. Got up to pee in the small bathroom. And realized that I’d never witnessed a sunrise in the country before. In the city, sure. I’d seen plenty of sunrises and sunsets through the filter of tall trees, over rooftops, and against the silver-edged reflection of skyscrapers.

This would be my only chance out in the boonies, so maybe I should take it.

Before I could ask myself too many questions about the impulse, I slid on jeans and a t-shirt, and the flip-flops I always traveled with when I went on business trips. Stepping outside into the cool darkness, I realized that I could see a glow off in the distance, along the horizon: a pale pink ribbon. More like a smudge, really.

I walked into the open space between the barn and the bunkhouse, rubbing my bare arms with my hands, and looked up to see thousands of stars, thickly spread, brighter than jewels. The city’s night sky had nothing on this.

Along the other horizon, looking like a bright silver-yellow coin, was the moon, or most of it, sinking down into the purple-black darkness. In another half an hour, I would have missed this: the sunrise paired with the moonset, a startling sight to my city eyes.

The edges of my toes pushed into the dust, and, on another impulse, I kicked off my flip-flops and stood barefoot, the dirt cool against my skin. I imagined I could feel the energy of the earth pulsing up into me, a low, low beat, as old as the planet itself.

With a laugh, I shook off the fanciful thought. It was enough to experience all this wildness with nothing between me and it, stretching limitless up and up andup?—