Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

WAYLON

Silas was scrambling my senses. Being around him made my brain feel impaired, like maybe I'd taken one too many of those pain pills I'd gotten after being thrown from my horse during a storm back in high school.

He was all-consuming, and I could hardly think when he was around.

"Go sit over there." I pointed to my small kitchen table.

Silas did as I'd asked, but he shot me a knowing grin while he was at it. "Am I getting in your way?"

"Yes." In all the ways.

"Tell me more about your siblings," he said, as if it was obvious I needed a safe topic.

I was grateful for the reprieve. While my body wanted nothing more than another naked orgasm session with the man, my heart and brain were sending out desperate alerts to slow the hell down.

"I told you ZuZu—her real name's Susan—has a pottery studio in town. She's actually pretty good, but she's having to learn the business side, too, which is slow going. Then there's Sheridan, who you met. Her husband Bo's a good guy. He's the chef at the cafe. Then there's my brother, Wynn. He's kind of quiet. Actually, he's a musician, too. Plays the piano. I thought he was going to do something with his music, but after our dad died, he really struggled. Ended up joining the army. He's stationed in Alaska right now."

I busied myself with pulling plates down and yanking off paper towels to use as napkins. Silas continued to ask me questions about my family, and I explained that my mom had taken off a year after my dad's death.

"She couldn't handle it. Honestly, she'd wanted out of Majestic for a long time, so I don't blame her for leaving."

"Even though she's not here to help on the ranch?"

"Mom was never much help with ranch work, other than cooking meals and stuff. She's petite like ZuZu. But where ZuZu is strong and determined, my mom is more… I don't know. Delicate?" I shrugged. "She just never took to being a rancher's wife. Or to Majestic, really."

"She's not from here, then?"

"No. They met in Texas when my dad was down there buying some stock. She grew up on a ranch but hated it, couldn't wait to leave and go somewhere else. Unfortunately, she fell in love with a rancher." I realized this was all way too much information. "Anyway, Mom lives in North Carolina now, and she seems happy enough."

Silas eyed me like he knew there was more to the story there. Thankfully, he didn't ask. "What did you want to be when you grew up? A rancher like your dad?"

I laughed. "No. I wanted to be a lawyer. I was halfway through my undergrad degree down in Laramie when Dad died." I leaned over to check on the pizza. "Dropped out to move home and run the ranch."

Silas was quiet while I pulled out the hot pan and set it on the stove, and I quickly realized he'd been doing some mental math.

"So, wait. If your dad died eight years ago, and your mom moved away a year after that… how old is ZuZu? I thought you said she was the youngest."

"Twenty. She was twelve when he died. She didn't want to leave the ranch, so she stayed when Mom left."

"So she left you to finish raising her?" Silas's voice didn't carry judgment or pity, but I felt myself getting prickly anyway.

"Me and Sheridan, yeah. And it turned out fine. ZuZu's great. You'll like her."

I moved the pizza to a cutting board and began attacking it with the rotary cutter. Silas stood up and moved behind me, wrapping his arms around my middle and holding me tightly in a reverse hug.

"I'm sorry." His voice was low but sincere enough to make my throat fill with emotion.

I closed my eyes and savored the comfort, but only for a moment.

"Nothing to be sorry about, Silas. That's just the way life goes sometimes. Someone had to step up and handle it, so I did." I pulled away to finish getting our dinner on plates so we could eat. "Besides, I had help. Even though Aunt Blake was busy with her family and the cafe, I knew I could call her if I needed to. And Aunt Winona's the one who taught ZuZu about pottery—she lives in California and is one of those free-spirit types, but she visits at least once a year. Then there's Aunt Mutt, who has a cattle ranch east of here with her wife. They come help with roundup sometimes when we need extra hands."

Silas nodded. Whatever he thought about all this, he kept to himself, for which I was truly grateful. Those years hadn't been easy, necessarily, but I'd never been one to stand around and ask, "Why me?" and I didn't appreciate it when other people did. Sympathy was dangerously close to pity sometimes. Besides, at least when you did a thing yourself, you knew it would get done right, to the best of your ability. When you relied too much on other folks, things got dicey.

"You keep mentioning roundup," Silas said finally. "What is that? I thought it was for cattle."

Here, now, was a topic I could talk on happily for hours without feeling the raw vulnerability I got when talking about family stuff. I set the plates on the table and took the seat opposite him.

"We board and supply horses for local dude ranches and trail ride organizations. Basically, we're the place the horses live in the off-season, and then roundup is when we move all the horses back out to where they work the summer season. It means different things depending on the horse. Some actually get rounded up and moved on foot to nearby ranches and stables, but most of them get trailered and moved that way. It's a big job for us because we've got two hundred horses, and we have to make sure the right horse goes to the right place and that they're in working shape when they get there."

Silas looked interested, which was more than I expected. He proceeded to ask a bunch of questions about the logistics and ranch operations, and we continued talking about it while we devoured the pizza.

"So, it'll be slow around here in summer?"

"We have fewer head to care for, which is good, but we always have a certain level of stock that we're breeding or training. While the ranch may be slower, summer is when Majestic swells with tourist traffic, and my job in town is more demanding."

He asked several more questions, digging into my role as mayor and the impact of summer tourism on the town.

After a while, I held up a hand with a laugh. "I feel like I'm back in the initial meetings with AdventureSmash, answering a million questions about how fit the town is to hold a big event. If you're going to keep asking questions, at least let me grab fortification first."

Silas looked a bit apologetic as he helped me clean up from dinner and waited patiently while I pulled out the cookie bars Sheridan had brought. We sat back at the table with fresh beers.

"I didn't mean to grill you," he said. "I was just surprised when you said Majestic's population swells triple the size in summer. That's incredible. It must be a logistical nightmare."

"We're used to it. It's been this way for a long time. That's one of the reasons AdventureSmash is giving us a chance. They know we can handle a sudden influx of people." I eyed him across the table. "I'm happy to tell you more, but that's hardly helping us get to know each other the way we need to. Don't think I haven't noticed we've been talking about me and mine this whole time."

Silas's expression didn't change, but I sensed some tension in him. "Ask me anything."

I bit off a piece of cookie bar and chewed it thoughtfully. "How do you take your eggs?"

He stared at me enough to almost make me laugh. "My… eggs?"

I pursed my lips. "Or don't you like eggs? Not sure I've met a guy who didn't eat eggs before."

He hesitated, like this was some kind of trick. "I usually order egg white omelettes for health reasons, but my favorite is fried eggs on toast. You?"

"Scrambled in a toast sandwich, mostly because I'm usually headed out the door and don't have time to sit and eat like a normal person. See? This is prime husband information."

Silas nodded. "Alright. What else do you want to know? I take my steak medium rare. I love sushi but dislike shrimp. My favorite food is my mother's lasagna when I can convince my sister to make it for me."

"Your mom won't make it for you?"

"No." He inhaled slowly. "I'm, ah… estranged from my parents."

I reached out to grab his hand without thinking, something I never would have done with any other guy. For some reason, it came naturally with Silas. "I'm sorry. I understand if you don't want to talk about it."

He seemed to consider the matter before speaking. "They didn't approve of some of the decisions I made a few years ago when I got out of college. Our disagreement became impossible to reconcile. I ended communication with them."

"Was it because of your… um… sexuality?"

His expression softened. "No. That part was fine. Don't forget, I grew up in the Northeast. Not Brokeback Mountain."

His wink made my stomach flip and my hand get clammy. I pulled it off his and grabbed another bite of the cookie. "What about your sister?"

He broke off a piece of his own cookie and held it. "Camille took my side. She cut them off, too. It was hard, but…" He shrugged. "It's been a while. Ten years at least. It's normal now."

While it may have been normal, it didn't seem pleasant. "I'm glad you protected yourself. Do you see Camille often? Does she live nearby?"

He popped the cookie in his mouth and chewed while nodding. "She lives in the city, too. I see her as often as I can. Usually, it's a quick lunch, or I'll come to the hospital for a coffee break. She's a workaholic. Guess it runs in the family."

His admission confirmed what I'd already sensed. "What do you do for fun?"

Silas's eyes met mine. They were filled with that same intensity that made me feel breathless. I realized belatedly I'd walked right into that one. There were a million one-word answers he could have given. Sex. Fuck. Travel. Read. Knit. Sing. Gamble. Gossip. Invest. The one he spoke was unexpected.

"Archery," he said with a straight face.

I replayed his response in my head to make sure I heard right. "Like… with a bow and arrow?"

His eyes danced, and I wondered if he was pulling my leg. "Is there another kind, cowboy?"

I huffed out a laugh. "I can't picture you learning archery while living in New York City."

"A few years ago, I read a book about focus. At the time, I was feeling overwhelmed and scattered. Too much on my plate. Too many commitments and not enough time to think. My goal was to learn how to ground myself, how to focus better. The author suggested several key elements involved in learning how to clear mental clutter. They used archery as a metaphor, but for some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about it. I discovered there was a place in the city that gave lessons, so I signed up on a whim. I fucking loved it. Still do."

I grinned at him. "Well, city boy. You've come to the right place. Our summer rodeo has an archery competition. Maybe you could try your hand at displaying your talents to the locals."

His laugh filled my little house with something it had been missing. A warmth and ease that made me want to settle in like a fox in a burrow.

"Maybe I will, cowboy." Silas's bare foot stretched out to nudge mine under the table. "What about you? I know you did junior rodeo, but what events were you good at?"

I told him about roping and barrel racing and about my mother's fears keeping me from even attempting bull riding. He told me about playing lacrosse in high school, which led to me asking a million questions about the sport since we didn't have it here in Majestic. We talked for a long time about growing up, about being responsible for our younger siblings, and about taking pride in working hard.

It was strange to me to discover just how much the two of us had in common, considering we had such different backgrounds.

"What about pets?" I asked, wondering what other common things spouses should know about each other.

"No pets. I travel too much." Silas paused. "But I did have an iguana in college."

"No shit?"

His smile was distracting. Whenever his lips turned up like that, his eyes went from intense to blindingly bright. My stomach clenched with desire for him in a way it never had for Eden or anyone else.

"His name was Chase."

My eyes moved down to his lips. It was difficult to concentrate on the conversation when all I wanted was to kiss him again. "That seems like an awfully normal name for an iguana."

His smile dropped, and his eyes went back to their usual dark intensity. "Can we stop talking now?"

I held his gaze. My stomach was a riot of writhing snakes. "Why?"

He watched me for a moment. "Practice."

My heart pounded erratically. "Practice what?"

Silas stood up. My eyes immediately dropped to the visible dick print in the front of his sweats. My head felt light and untethered while my dick selfishly demanded all the available blood supply.

Instead of answering, he reached out his hand.

I glanced over at the archway to my sleeping nook, where there was still only one bed. Visions of a naked Silas climbing in beside me, after months and months of only the company of my hand, filled my head. The idea of sharing a bed with him was both exciting and terrifying.

"Practice," I murmured.

"Mm."

I stood up slowly. My legs felt boneless and shaky. "Who said I needed practice?"

Silas's eyes roamed up and down my body in a slow, sultry pan. "It's probably best if I assess your abilities just to be sure."

Heat pooled low in my belly as I tried to put on a brave face. "Be gentle with me…" I locked eyes with him. "Husband."