Page 95 of Then You Happened
“It’s ’bout to get busy around here.” Will laughs.
“In more ways than one,” Jack jokes. There’s a clatter of pails against the concrete floor and the sound of a hose being turned on. “If it goes the way we think it will, I might be asking you to stay a few nights up here with me in the bunkhouse. All of that’s a lot for Tate and me to manage on a normal day, but trying to pretend like we’re ten times bigger than that for these Steely guys’ sake means we need to look like it too.”
My mind tries to calculate where the money is going to come from to feed hungry cowboys for a month. I think back to the bills when we had a full staff before money started getting tight and cringe.
I’ll have to make a decision soon whether to use the money I’m saving by not having to pay Lone Star Feed toward trying to make up a mortgage payment, a show of good faith that I’m really trying, or use it for this new development.
Rob Peter to pay Paul.
Christ.
Maybe I need to lower my asking price on Ruby.
No matter what I decide, Jack’s right. We have to appear bigger than we are because no operation as huge as Steely Brothers is going to sign
on a rinky-dink operation.
“You good with that, Will?” Jack reiterates.
“With staying here a few nights? Not a problem at all. My old man’s been hitting the bottle a lot lately, so I’d gladly take the chance to be elsewhere for a bit.”
There’s a pause of silence, and I wish I could see Jack’s face because something tells me that little tidbit of information was new to him.
“Hey, Will?” Jack asks.
“Yeah?”
I peek my head out from the stall to find Will looking at Jack, his expression serious and hopeful and all things youthful.
“You’re welcome to stay up here any time you need to,” Jack offers. “You have a good future ahead of you. If you need to get away to keep your head on straight, know there’s a bunk here any time you need it.”
Will nods but averts his eyes quickly, but I catch a sniffle as he occupies himself with an already mucked stall.
Hell.
Why did I need to see that? Why did I need to know that Jack is not only kind to me but also good to others?
Why did my heart need to skip a beat?
Jack looks over to me with a somber expression. He may be standing there with a hose in his hand cleaning down the stalls, but I see the man who was standing in my studio two nights ago. The one whose jeans hung low on his hips and tugged on the desire he awakened. The lover who didn’t judge me as I told him I cheated the system, who didn’t blame me for not wanting to believe my husband committed suicide to escape.
The man who held me against his bare chest as we fell asleep on the couch after talking till the early morning hours.
“You good?” he asks, and I just nod.
But it’s the crunch of gravel that pulls my attention away from him. His eyes narrow as I walk to the stable’s opening to find Rusty’s cruiser pulling to a stop, the dust he kicked up swirling behind him.
“What is it, Knox?” Jack asks, and I’m not sure what bugs me more: knowing why Rusty is here or Jack calling me Knox.
“Nothing,” I mutter as I stalk toward the driveway.
“Tate?”
I stop and look back at him, my smile slight and my anger simmering. My name back on his lips goes hand in hand with my need for this bullshit to go away because things might finally be looking up for me. “It’s fine. I’ll take care of it.”
“Who is—Christ,” he swears when he finally sees who the visitor is. “How about you introduce me to him.”
Will glances our way, oblivious to what is about to happen, and I shake my head.
