CHAPTER 07

west

C old water never felt so fucking good in my life. I didn’t care that it came from the stable hose or that I stood buck ass naked in my fucking boots. All I cared about was how damn good it felt to wash the grime and shit off my skin.

My muscles ached. I couldn’t remember the last time I worked so fucking hard in my life. After fighting with Jackson, I prioritized the ranch hand horses. That took way longer than needed because I couldn’t figure out who belonged to who. I damn near contemplated murder as I tried to sort the horses. Luckily, they seemed to know their stalls, and the stalls were labeled. I was fairly certain the small lot of them were tended to properly and ready to be saddled tomorrow.

I’d do the rest of the herd tomorrow. Still pissed me off that I even had to. They deserved better. They never did anything to anyone other than exist, and they weren’t being cared for right.

Unfortunately, as I tried to settle down for the night, my head wouldn’t stop buzzing, and my skin kept crawling. Clothes scraped uncomfortably on my skin, and every fucking noise made me jump. Horses moving, grass rustling, an engine turning over somewhere. Everything .

There was no way in hell I’d get any sleep until I soothed my demons. Which was why I ended up unpacking my motorcycle from the bed of my truck and driving into town after dark. I took the long way, knowing the roads like the back of my hand. It was funny how some things were just fucking muscle memory, even after seventeen years. I liked the quiet and the dark that a night ride had to offer.

Wood Springs was the big kind of small town. The population was small, but it was all ranchers and farmers. Lots of land spread out between them. The downtown was a single road. That was it. One fucking road with the essentials needed to survive. Lots of residents made the big trek up to Eugene once a month to stock up on the things they couldn’t find in Wood Springs.

Thankfully, the only bar, Lucky Lenny , was still considered a town staple. It was small, dingy, and probably full of health code violations. But it’d do. That was all I fucking cared about as I walked in the door.

Of the five tables, one was occupied by two older guys talking and a party of three sat at another table. Two men also sat at the long bar, chatting with Lenny. When I walked in, all chatter stopped and eight heads turned in my direction. Fuck.

“They said you came back to town,” Lenny commented from the bar. I knew Lenny going way back. There’d been a few too many nights I’d illegally driven out here to peel my old man off the bar floor. I would’ve gone to a different bar if that was even a fucking option.

“They weren’t wrong. Beer, please. I don’t give a fuck what,” I said as I picked a lone spot at the bar that gave me a good view of the door and put no one at my back.

“Your father had a lot to say about you,” he continued without moving.

“I’m sure he fucking did,” I replied tightly. “Harrison McNamara always did have an opinion about everyone and everything.”

A loud fucking opinion.

“He had a lot to say about the kind of man you are,” Lenny snapped. “About the kinds of things you like to do and the people you do them with. ”

Ah, there it was. Good ol’ Wood Springs, where the people are welcoming as long as you look like them, think like them, and fuck like them.

“Do you like making money, Lenny?” I demanded, refusing to acknowledge the not-so-subtle homophobia. “You’re looking a little scarce in the patron department tonight. It’s a handful of regulars nursing a beer or two, am I right? Now, I got money to spend and I want a beer. Am I drinking here or going down to Merrillville instead?”

The idea of going there made my skin crawl. Merrillville had a lively population with heavily trafficked tourist attractions. I’d buy cheap gas station beer before I picked a bar in Merrillville. He didn’t need to know that though. He needed the money just like anyone else in Wood Springs did.

“You pay upfront,” he grumbled as he poured a cheap beer. “I ain’t opening no tab for the likes of you, you hear me? And I’m charging you double. Your father died with an open tab.”

“Of course he did,” I muttered under my breath but put down the money nonetheless. I just wanted my fucking drink, even if it meant paying off Harrison’s debt in the process. Lenny set down the drink, making me reach for it as if he couldn’t handle the thought of getting too close to me. Fucking idiot.

The beer was warm and crappy, but it did the job. By the time I reached the bottom of the glass, the demons in my head were beginning to settle down. That buzz began to fade while my skin didn’t bother me as much. The ache and discomfort were there, but after a few more drinks, I wouldn’t notice that either.

Without a word, I put more money down—extra to pay Harrison’s fucking tab too—and Lenny handed me another drink. At least the world went on like I didn’t exist, making it easy to lose myself in the comfort of my drink.

“Evening, Mickey,” Lenny greeted with a genuine smile. My daze faded, and I stiffened. I had no desire to talk to Mickey. I’d managed to avoid him on the fucking ranch—not very well but still. I didn’t want to talk to him while I tried to keep the demons at bay.

“Evenin’, Lenny,” Mickey replied, taking his hat off. “Good night?”

“Some unwanted vermin but the money pays,” he said, and I scoffed into my beer .

“That ain’t no way to talk about the Wilson brothers over there.” He used his hat to gesture to the two men in the corner. “They got just as much right to be here as the rest of us. Their next beer is on me.”

Lenny let out a disgruntled sound but let the matter go. Looking pleased with himself, Mickey walked his way to the bar and sat two stools down.

“Some folks never learn,” he muttered. “You’re lookin’ good, West. Never did get the chance to say howdy.”

I eyed him for a long moment, trying to decide just how fucking sincere he was. That sad look on his face told me everything I needed to know.

“I told you then and I’ll tell you now,” I began, my tone dark, “go home, Mickey.”

I didn’t want Mickey’s help and I sure as hell didn’t want his pity. He was the only one I was sure knew the shit I’d gone through after leaving the ranch. But considering how close he was with my boss , I had no doubt Jackson knew too. I’d rather Mickey be a grade-A asshole to me than be nice. I knew what to do with assholes. I didn’t trust a nice gesture. The hit always came after and hurt so much more.

“Now, look, son, I—”

“I ain’t your son,” I snapped over him. “I ain’t your boy, I ain’t your responsibility, and I sure as hell don’t want your pity, Mick. You want to pity someone? Find someone else who fucking needs it because that ain’t me. I’m just fine the way I am.”

“No, you ain’t fine.” Mickey sighed, but to his credit, he did ease back off the barstool and swiped up his hat. He paused, staring at my profile for a long minute, but I refused to turn. Instead, I focused on my drink.

Tension clawed at my chest. I didn’t want to fight Mickey, but I would if it made him leave me the fuck alone. To my relief, though, he only stood there an extra minute before walking away, his boots loud in the bar.

“Another,” I said quietly to Lenny after I gulped down the last of my beer.

Mickey was right about one thing: I wasn’t fine. I hadn’t been in seventeen years.