Page 97 of Tempting Wyatt

He climbs in beside me, and I help him balance the boxes.

“Not much to see. Probably not very clean either.”

I head toward the cowboy camp. “That’s okay. If you saw some of the places where I’d lived growing up, you’d know that not much bothers me.”

He eyes me speculatively, like I gave him the missing piece to a puzzle that had stumped him. It makes me nervous, so I start asking questions.

I start with, “How many ranch hands live in the bunkhouse?”

According to Antonio, there are seven ranch hands, two of which are wranglers, as of today. But two hands recently quit, just up and left without telling anyone, as often happens when they learn the true depths of the work. Drifters working for cash, then bailing suddenly is a common occurrence, he says. One was seasonal and never stayed through the winter, but would likely reappear next spring. And one was let go for misconduct involving the Logan sisters.

I don’t know exactly what that means, but the ominoustone the foreman uses makes me wonder. By the time we reach the bunkhouse, my writer brain has come up with half a dozen nefarious possibilities.

The grandfatherly man has an edge, one that suggests military or prison time in his past. I want to ask, but that would be impolite, and I don’t want to get my bunkhouse invitation revoked.

There are so many stories here. So much to learn, to experience. And I am running out of time.

“What’s the difference between a ranch hand and a wrangler?” I ask, for research purposes.

Antonio looks thoughtful for a moment. “Ego, mostly,” he jokes, then says more seriously, “All wranglers are ranch hands but not all ranch hands are wranglers.”

“Sounds like a riddle I don’t know how to solve.”

He chuffs out a laugh. “Ranch hands do a little of everything, wranglers are more focused on the horses. In other words, the hands work for Wyatt and the wranglers work for Isaac, for the most part.”

“Makes sense.”

As I shut the engine off, two young men in cowboy hats hurry over and relieve Antonio of the boxes.

“Get these inside,” he commands. “And we have a guest. So, anything that wouldn’t be appropriate for her to see had better disappear. Quickly.”

One of the ranch hands smirks. “You finally giving me permission to make Judd disappear?”

Antonio frowns. “Don’t be a smart-ass. Get inside.”

They amble inside toward the bunkhouse with their arms full of pizza boxes.

When I move to follow, Antonio holds a hand up, indicating I should wait.

“Let’s just give them a minute to tidy up.” He sighs heavily. “Some of these guys I love like sons, and some. . . “ He glances toward the horizon even though the sun set an hour ago. “Desperate times,” he says quietly.

I nod. “I didn’t go to college, but I’ve been in a few frat houses in my day. I promise I can handle it.”

One corner of his mouth lifts. “I’m sure you could. Question is, how will the boss handle you being here?”

The boss being Wyatt Logan. I imagine he isn’t going to love it—if he finds out.

“Maybe we don’t mention it to him,” I offer.

He arches a brow at my answer.

“I’m guessing there’s a reason he hasn’t brought me down here,” I admit.

He chuckles lightly. “There’s seven reasons.”

“Is that your way of telling me I’m not welcome here?”

He sighs heavily, reminding me of Wyatt. “You like pizza?”