16. Porter

I sit awkwardlyin the chair, not knowing what to do or say. It takes everything inside me not to hightail it out of the kitchen right now, my grip tight on the fork as I look down at the slice of sweet-potato pie.

My mom's recipe.

Sometimes I think there's something a little off inside me. My first reaction is almost always to be pissed, and that fire of anger licked up my spine when Mrs. Sullivan called me in here. Then burned even hotter when she showed me the pie. How dare she do this? How dare she use my momma's recipe like it's her own?

But then…then I think of Mom's smile. She would like this. She always enjoyed chatting with Mrs. Sullivan, always talked about how nice she was—told me that you'd never know it to look at her, but the woman had a wicked sense of humor. She could always make Momma laugh. She'd needed more excuses to laugh. Life had been so damn hard on her, hard on my dad too, but she always made things easier for him, and when he went through a rough spell, he made things more difficult for her. I don't want to be like him, don't want to make life more difficult for those around me, but I'm still sorting out how.

The woman standing in the kitchen with me now was my momma's friend, even if I didn't understand that when I was younger, and I know she means well right now.

"You should have a piece too. Eat with me," I say, though the words feel like glue in my mouth.

She beams. "That'd be real nice. And please, call me Martha." She cuts another chunk, plates it, and joins me.

I take a bite first, the texture nice and creamy, the way it's supposed to be. Cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger burst on my tongue, and damn if it's not almost enough to take me back in time. God, I miss her. I miss him too, but it's different with Mom. She tried to look for the good in the world, she tried to be happy, while he was so damn angry all the time. Did he have to be that bitter?Any time I think that way, the guilt seeps in.

"We wanted to help…after. I hate what happened to Nellie, and then losing you on top of it…"

My stomach twists as I shift in my seat. "Didn't know how to stay," I admit without looking at her, just down at the pie my momma loved making.

I hadn't wanted her help. I hadn't wanted Mr. Sullivan's either.

As much as I hated myself for it at the time—hell, in most ways I still do—I'd wanted Sully.

I still want Sully.

She bites off her words, then nods like she understands, but she doesn't. Not really. How can she, when her life has been nothing like mine?

"I heard you're even better with the horses than you used to be," she says, trying to make conversation, and I respond as best as I can while we finish our slices of pie. I'm not good at things like this. But I try, and I'm not sure why. For my momma, yeah, and also because Mrs. Sullivan means well and I know this comes from the heart. Maybe part of me wants to try for Sully too.

"Bishop sure did miss you when you left."

My head snaps up. At first, I wonder if she somehow knows, but I don't think she's saying it that way.

"You were a good friend to him. His best friend, I think. I'd hoped you would come back for his wedding, but…well, I'm sure you were busy. I know he wanted you here, though."

No. I'm sure that me being here when Sully got married was the last thing he'd wanted, but I can see why she would think that. Her son having a secret relationship with me wouldn't have been on her radar. I don't think she would be hateful about it, but it's not what they would want.

I change the subject. "This is good. Tastes just like my momma's." And for the second time, Mrs. Sullivan beams at me. She's too damn hard to be angry with, despite my trying. Years ago, I wouldn't have had to try to stay angry. It would have been easier than it is now. "Thank you, ma'am. I appreciate your offering me a slice."

I take my empty plate to the sink and rinse it.

"Anytime, Porter. I feel like I watched you grow up. You're always welcome in this house and on this ranch. I hope you know that."

My chest tightens, but I try to ignore it. "Yes, ma'am." With a nod, I sneak out the kitchen door. I don't go to the bunkhouse, though; not sure why I don't feel like being there.

My feet automatically carry me to the paddock instead. Storm keeps his distance from the other horses. He's close to the edge of the fencing, so I make my way there, place my foot on the bottom rung of wood, and lean over. "You don't even know the evening I just had. Sully's mom told me she wished I'd been at his wedding. What the fuck is that? And this was after she made my momma's pie. Think she'd feel the same if she knew I lost my virginity to her son?"

Storm snorts.

"My thoughts exactly." I sigh, thankful for the soft lights making it so I can see Storm, and glad he's not had enough of me yet today. "I don't know what this family does to me. I wish I could explain it. I still don't even know why I'm back or what I hope to get out of it. Can't figure out the hold Sully has on me. Horses are a whole lot easier to understand than people."

Storm turns his head and looks at me as if to say, I hear ya, man. Mind giving me some space?

I chuckle, then risk a soft, "Come'ere boy."

I hold my breath when he takes a step closer, then another and another. Storm doesn't do anything he doesn't want, and I'm not forcing him right now. If he's coming to see me, he's doing it because he wants to.

A few seconds later, his hot breath puffs against my face, his head leaning over the fence. My hands go straight to his neck, rub him, giving him love. "That's a good boy. Look at us becoming friends. You're just as skittish as me. It's why I don't ever want to push you. I know what that's like."

He lets me nuzzle him, rubs his head against the side of mine. I want to holler with joy, want to celebrate this victory with him, while also wanting to keep it to myself. No, I actually want to share it with Sully. Want him to see what I can do, that Storm is coming around, partly because of me. Hell, I spent every day at this ranch trying to show off for Bishop Sullivan, trying to show him that I'm just as good as he is. I might not believe it, but it's clear I'm still trying.

Storm gives me a sigh before he backs up and walks away. A moment later I hear footsteps in the grass and know without looking who it is.

"Sorry. I hope I didn't scare him away. I thought you'd be out here with him, but when I saw the two of you, I stayed back, not wanting to interrupt. Looks like I did that anyway."

I nod but don't turn toward him. "I think he was done with me anyway. He was ornery earlier, and so I guess he wanted a little bit of love before he went back to being a brat again."

Sully joins me, standing close enough that I feel his flannel brush against mine. Warmth floods my gut, and I wish we didn't have the fabric between us, that I could feel him skin to skin.

"That sounds familiar." There's a smile in his voice that makes the heat inside me rise.

"Are you calling me ornery and a brat?"

"If the shoe fits…"

I chuckle in a way that he seems to make me do, even when I wish that wasn't the case.

"I'm sorry about my momma. She was trying to extend an olive branch."

"Yeah, I know. Did you hear what she said?"

He shakes his head, and relief floods me. Still, I tell him, "She said she wished I'd been at your wedding."

"Ugh!" Sully lets out a long groan and rubs a hand over his face. "Her trying hard often ends in her saying the worst possible thing."

This time we laugh together, the sound dancing along a mostly silent ranch. When we settle down, I give him a little more. "Pie was good."

"I'm glad."

"She said you missed me. Wanted to tell her I missed you getting down on your knees for me."

Sully moans, deep and needy. He knows that's not all I missed about him, but also understands I can't say the rest.

"If you told me to do it right now, I would," he admits, making blood rush to my groin.

"Right here? What if someone comes out and sees? What if they find out you like sucking dick, and even more importantly, that you love sucking mine."

We're playing with fire again, but I don't think we have it in ourselves not to be around each other and risk the burn. That's the thing about Sully. He's a good son, a good man. Always does the right thing, does what's expected of him, but something about me makes him want to be bad, I think, and damn, do I love the feeling I get from it.

"Jesus, Porter. You're making my dick hard just talking to me like this."

"Would you do it, then? Duck back into the shadows and get on your knees for me? I can push you down to them if you'd like, boss."

The last word is a reminder of our roles, that he is my boss, but when we're like this, I get to be on equal ground, and hell, he loves it when I'm the one in charge. Always has.

"Fuck." He reaches out, grabs hold of my hip, and tugs me closer. "I don't know why I'm like this with you."

"Because you can be," I admit softly, take his hand, and pull him out of the light and toward a darker corner of the ranch. There's no point in holding back. While I'm here, there's no way I'll be able to keep my hands off him.