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“Oh yeah?” In a flash, Aiden hooked the back of West’s knee with his ankle and gave a hard yank.

Before he could even let out a shout, West was tumbling down the embankment and into the pit. He skidded through the mud quicker than a sled on second-day snowpack, slamming into Michael and Celia from behind.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

He landed up to his neck in muck. White-hot agony shot through him, and he fell back with a groan, taking in a terrible mouthful of dark grit. He cursed and spat, cradling his injured shoulder and looking around for his lucky ballcap.

High above him on the bank, Aiden was doubled over in laughter, hooting until his face turned purple.

“You’re a jackass,” Cal announced, killing the engine on the excavator.

“It’s just West,” Aiden protested, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “He doesn't mind.”

“But I do.” Michael’s tone was grim. “You just made me drop a four-hundred-dollar wrench, Aiden. Get your ass down here and find it.”

He stood above West, fists on his hips and legs braced. From this angle, he was a giant, and West was forced to crank his neck back just to get a good look at him.

“Are you hurt?” Michael asked in a low voice.

“Naw.” West forced himself to grin, but it twisted into a grimace as he struggled onto his knees in the tarry sludge. “But that's no way to treat a man with a half-ton of grass seed in his truck."

“Well, hallelujah,” Michael drawled, cupping West’s elbow and trying to gently tug him to his feet by his good arm. It didn’t work. The mud acted like quicksand, sucking him back onto his ass with a squelch.

“I got it,” West grumbled, but every time he pried one leg out of the swamp, the other half of his body just sank deeper. He flailed, spattering mud in a wide arc until Celia let out an impatient huff and grabbed him from behind. She heaved, and something clicked in West’s shoulder.

“Damn,” he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and sucking in a few deep breaths before he puked. “Thanks, Cel.”

“You okay?” she asked worriedly, and West managed to spare her a ghost of a smile.

“Fine,” he said through clenched teeth. “Must’ve tweaked something on the way down.”

Celia returned his smile, and it was like taking a laser beam of sunshine right in the face. She was a pretty woman with sun-leathered skin and a white-blonde ponytail, and she’d won the hearts of every cowboy on the ranch when she’d insisted they stop trying to call her a forewoman.

“Just stick with foreman,” Celia had said, rolling her eyes. “I do the job of four men anyhow.”

She was close to Michael’s age, divorced, with a daughter of her own. They’d probably make a great couple.

He looked away.

Michael was watching him narrowly, and he didn’t look pleased. Beneath the sweat and grime, those blue eyes of his burned like twin stars. West turned up the wattage on his good ol’ boy smile, but Michael wasn’t buying it. He looked at West like he could peel back his layers one by one and read the truth on the faulty heart underneath.

“I’m fine,” West repeated, quieter this time, looking him straight in the eye.

A muscle flexed in Michael's jaw.

“Come on,” he said, resting a gentle hand on the back of West’s neck and steering him out of the pit. “Better hose off before this mud dries.”

“What about the leak?” Celia asked, pulling out a floral handkerchief and wiping her face. “The pump station is fucked if we can’t get the flange fixed.”

Michael hesitated, but he didn’t let go of West. He glanced at the water and then squinted up at the low sun. “Ain’t going nowhere,” he said after a pause. “Besides, we can’t do anything until I get my wrench back. We’ll pick back up in the morning.”

“I need to find my hat,” West protested.

“You’ve got dozens of ‘em,” Michael said carelessly.

“Yeah, but that was my Smarty the Steer hat. It’s my favorite.” It was the one Michael had given him for Christmas.

“Aiden!” Michael barked. “Find West’s hat.”