13. Bishop

I geton the road for the two-hour drive back to the ranch. Christ, I thought the cattle auction would never end. Bargaining is not a part of the job I love, not like Dad does. But I know what he expects of me, and I was able to outbid other ranches for some steer calves. The bull calves aren't castrated, and we already have our fair share, plus heading into the winter they need to be fed differently. The grasses the stock normally feeds on will grow dormant in the colder months, so we make a concerted effort to provide them the right supplements. It's all hands on deck during the harvest, which will be here before we know it, and our wheat supply will need to last us through the worst of winter. These are the things ranchers worry about, but it just goes with the territory.

After the steers are placed in the chute and I pay the fee, I help get them into the holding pen for transport tomorrow. I call my parents to tell them about the sale and the plans for transfer to the ranch midmorning.

As I get closer to Laurel Springs, I have that familiar itch under my skin, thinking about what Porter might be up to tonight with the other men. Since that night with Pixie, I'm seeing him in a new light. He comes across as someone who doesn't care about others, but that can't be further from the truth. He shields himself from getting hurt, and unfortunately, I'm someone he thinks has done him wrong. Christ, what a mess.

I was nervous about what might happen between him and Randy after that episode, but it seems the other hands are none the wiser. Or if they are, they won't bring it up for fear of repercussions from Porter or Randy. Randy has been on his best behavior around me, though I have no doubt he doesn't have any love toward Porter. He keeps his distance when trying his hand in the paddock, choosing times when Porter isn't working Storm. And it's the same when steering the cattle and doing other chores from the board. Maybe it's better this way. It keeps the peace, so the work gets done. But I'm also afraid it may come to a head, and I have a feeling Wade does too because I notice how he keeps a close eye on them when he thinks no one's looking.

Finally inside the town limits, I breathe out in relief. I'm exhausted but also feel like I need to take a load off.

When I see the sign for Buck's, I pull into the parking lot, just wanting to chill for a bit with a cold brew in front of me. The place is full, and I park in one of the last spots available behind the building. Once inside, I'm lucky enough to squeeze onto a barstool just as someone's leaving.

I lift my hand to get the bartender's attention, surprised to see it's someone I know. Winston Jones from high school. Shit, I forgot he works here, and now I want to melt into the seat because catching up with Mr. Talkative is the last thing I want after a long day.

But I want a beer more, so I plaster on a smile as he approaches. "What can I get you?"

He seems distracted, so maybe it's my lucky night. "Whatever's on tap."

The conversation going on beside me is so loud, I can barely make out the music being played on the small stage across the room. I lift my hat to brush back my bangs just as Winston returns with my beer. I waste no time taking a long sip.

"Here to see your old friend?" Winston asks, and I stifle a groan.

"No offense, but I see you plenty," I reply tongue-in-cheek.

He motions toward the stage. "I'm talking about the Sullivan Ranch's returning employee."

I lift out of my seat to see, and my throat goes dry. Porter is sitting onstage, plucking away at his guitar. And fuck if my heart doesn't stutter seeing him with those boots, the damp hair from his sweaty forehead curling up against his hat. That might be the only clue that being under the spotlight is nerve-racking for him.

I know Winston is waiting for a response, and the gossip in this town is rampant, so I feign disinterest and simply nod.

"Wonder what brings him back to town."

I hitch a shoulder. "Everybody's gotta earn a living."

Thankfully, a customer shouts his order to get Winston's attention, and he turns away.

I settle back on the stool and listen to Porter play the slow, sappy ballad, since I don't have a direct view of him. Every now and again the crowd parts and I lay eyes on him. But he doesn't see me, likely because he has his lids shut most of the time, as if he's in sync with the melody in his head.

It's just as well. I don't want him to think this wasn't totally accidental. Besides, it gives me time to catch my breath and unpack how I feel seeing him in this setting, let alone seeing him at all tonight. I can't help being drawn to the man as it is, but being able to view him like this, so open and vulnerable in front of a live audience, is almost too much to bear.

He's beautiful, and it reminds me of the times we'd make our escape on the ranch to be alone. I'd lay my head on his knee and listen to him play. Sometimes his fingers would reach out to finger my hair, and I'd sigh from pure happiness. My chest would feel so full, I was sure it would burst open. My emotions were so confusing back then, but with some distance, likely what I was feeling for Porter was some form of love. Maybe it was immature adoration or just a deep crush. I don't know.

I stay for his entire set, and obviously way too long because before I know it, the crowd is thinning and Porter is standing with his back to me, packing away his guitar.

I throw money on the counter while Winston is busy serving another customer, and spot the exit to the back parking lot. If I walk around the long table of rowdy cowpokes, I can skirt by him successfully and he'll be none the wiser.

Throwing open the door, I step outside to the mostly empty lot. I take two steps before I hear him behind me. "What the hell, Bishop?"

Fuck. I screw my eyes shut for a moment before turning and facing him.

There's wariness in his gaze. "What the hell are you doing here?"

I step closer. "It's a coincidence, I promise."

"Then why are you creeping out the back door without so much as a greeting?"

"I didn't want you to think I followed you or was checking up on you." I aim the key fob at my truck to open the door. "And that's exactly what happened. My bad."

"You've been gone all day," he lobs at me just as I get to my car.

"Should I be flattered you noticed?" I throw over my shoulder.

"Of course I noticed. You're my boss."

The back door flies open, and the group of cowpokes steps outside. We grow silent as they make their way to their cars in groups of three and four. Porter steps closer and sets his guitar case near my front bumper as we wait.

I'm standing by the driver's side door, wondering if I recognize any of them, but they pay us no mind. It helps that the only light illuminating the lot is the one above the back door.

They say their goodbyes and get in their trucks. As they make their exit, I breathe out in relief. The back lot is empty now, save for one other car.

"Had quite a crowd in there," I say, gripping the door handle. "You sounded good. I was enjoying myself but should've left earlier. Hope I didn't spoil the mood."

"Wait." He steps toward me. "You look tired. Long day?"

"I was at a cattle auction. You know how those things go."

He nods. "Your dad's been sending you to do the ranch's bidding?"

"Couple of years now. He's slowly handing over responsibility."

"Congrats." He spits out the words. "Bet that feels good, knowing you have a future waiting for you."

"Damn you, Porter. You know that's not how it is."

He presses a finger into my chest. "That's exactly how it is, boss."

"Here you go with the fucking boss shit again. Okay, fine, I'll play along." I push him against the truck. "What happens if the boss wants his employee so bad, he aches for him?"

He blinks in shock, then quickly recovers. "How about if the employee wants to kiss his boss hard to shut him up, despite knowing it shouldn't happen?"

I'm panting now as my heart lodges in my throat. "Why shouldn't it happen?"

He leans toward me as if taunting me with those full lips. "Obviously because there's an imbalance there."

"Oh, I doubt there's an imbalance, not where Porter Dixon is concerned."

His eyes blaze. "The other employees could find out and think there's preferential treatment."

I give his body a once-over and notice how stiff he is behind his zipper. "There's definitely a preference. Can't be helped."

"Fucking hell," he rasps out. "Why do you always draw me in like a moth to a flame?"

"Pretty sure it's mutual, but damn, I love hearing it." I grip his chin. "Careful, I'm gonna think you want me as much as I want you."

"I shouldn't want you, boss…" He hesitates only a moment before he says, "But I do."

And then my lips are crushing his, and we're both groaning into the kiss. And damn, having him again in this way, when I never thought it possible, is overwhelming. Like everything clicking into place and unsettling all at once.

His hands wind around my shirt, and he's tugging me closer as our mouths crash together. We're all hands and lips and tongues, and when our stiff cocks rub together, I feel like I might shoot right there in my pants.

I break away to catch my breath, and glance over his shoulder. The parking lot is still empty, and we're all alone.

"Porter," I murmur before taking his mouth again.