3. Bishop

I feellike I'm walking in a dream. Is this really happening? Is Porter Dixon standing inside Sullivan Ranch, asking for a job? I offer it to him with little forethought, just want to be around him again for as long as he'll stay. It feels simultaneously like no time has gone by yet all the time in the world since I've been this close to him.

I want to reach out, embrace him like an old friend, but I know that's not something he'll accept from me. I'm still not sure why, and it's eaten me up all these years. But how much has only become apparent right this instant as he's standing inches away from me.

My stomach throbs as I take the brief opportunity to look him over while he's grabbing his bag from the truck. He still has that dark-brown hair, which is longer on top and fades on the sides. But the five-o'clock shadow is new, and now all I want is to feel its burn against my skin before he shaves it again. I need to put that shit out of my mind, though, because that's not what this is about after all this time. He's here to work, not take up with me again.

Porter's frame is leaner, his thighs and forearms well-defined, as if he's worked himself to the bone but didn't eat enough to satiate himself. That thought sits heavy in my gut, that maybe there were times he couldn't find work or nourishment.

Maybe that's why he's here, out of desperation. He's run out of options, and we're just the next decent job he's seen advertised. And if I know Porter like I did back then, he's also here to prove something, but I don't know what. I still have no clue why he left so abruptly back then, and it seems like I won't get my answer anytime soon, maybe ever.

"Holy cow, is that Porter Dixon?" Dad asks like he's seeing a ghost.

"Yes, sir." Porter reaches out to shake his hand.

"What brings you to our neck of the woods again?"

He clenches his jaw, something he used to do a lot around my dad. "I heard the ranch needed help."

"I already told him the job is his," I say, and Dad nods, like it's the right decision. He's no doubt heard the rumors too, but we all remember what a hard worker Porter was back then. His mom too. We cared about them like family. After he and his mom came to work for us, I could sometimes hear my parents whispering about the Dixons. I always figured it had to do with that lingering guilt about the rift between our families. "I was just about to show him the accommodations."

"Still the same quarters?" Porter asks.

"We've done a little remodeling in the bunkhouse, so I hope you'll be comfortable."

"I'm sure I will, sir. Thanks for the opportunity."

I smirk as we continue toward the free-standing structure, which is only a stone's throw away from the house and stables. "Not so cocky with my father, I see."

"Gotta mind my elders and all that," he replies dryly.

I huff out a laugh. "Not what I heard."

He gives me a pointed look. "I start every job with good intentions. I can't help that my reputation precedes me."

"Your reputation precedes you?" I parrot back. "You didn't have that problem a decade ago—maybe because your momma would've rung your bell. Sure, you were grumpy, but determined to prove your chops. Seems you've turned bitter and angry since you left."

He narrows his eyes. "Suppose that's what happens when you lose the only people you love in the whole world and the person you thought you—never mind."

"Wait." I grip his arm, my heart clanging hard against my rib cage. "What were you gonna say?"

He brushes me off. "Don't touch me."

"Oh, it's gonna be like that?" I ball my fists as my frustration skyrockets.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see some of the other hands in the paddock taking notice of us. They'll be sure to ask all sorts of questions about the tension surrounding us, but it's not any of their business.

"Yeah, it's like that." He glances over my shoulder. "Besides, your family might see and think?—"

"What? That we're old friends?" Christ, what is his problem? Is that what this is all about? Other people knowing about us? Maybe he still isn't out. I certainly never caught wind of any rumors like that. "How about you tell me why you're so angry."

Porter stares at me, a storm cloud brewing behind his eyes. "I said never mind."

"Just great." I hang my head. "I was hoping we wouldn't start off on the wrong foot."

"Why do you care?" he lobs back.

I throw up my hands. "Maybe because you left without so much as a goodbye, and it hurt like hell. I've never felt like that—" I bite off my words and pace in front of him.

"Like what?"

"You know exactly like what," I say and meet his eyes. Unlike him, I'm not going to mince words. "Like someone had stomped on my heart."

"Oh, I doubt that. You had plenty to keep you busy 'round here." He averts his eyes, but not before I see the emotion in them. Though I'm still not sure what he's getting at. "Besides, we agreed it was only casual between us. That nothing could ever come of it."

Though it's true, the words are like a cold punch to my chest. After all this time, our time together still matters to me. I can't easily lock it down like he does. But maybe if I'd lost my entire family, I'd pack it away too. Probably hurts less that way.

I get my breathing under control. "Even still…I never got any explanation from you."

"And you still won't. I'm just here to do a job and then be on my way."

His gaze catches on the thoroughbreds being exercised in the paddock, and I can see the same wonder in his expression he had when he first came to the ranch. He loves working the land, the cattle, and especially the horses. This way of life. It's what drew us together in the first place. Among other things.

"Just arrived yesterday. Dad's hoping to use a few of them in competitions."

Horse shows and rodeo can be lucrative for a ranch if you have the right mounts and riders. The grooms are all for competition, as are some of the hands. As kids, we've all had dreams of racing horses or riding bulls, and sometimes it doesn't leave you as an adult. But it takes work and practice—and trust from the horses.

His eyes don't stray from the paddock. "They'll need some work."

"Then maybe you're the man for the job."

It's the first hint of a smile I see, and it makes my stomach all wobbly. The man still has that effect on me. I wonder how many others he's charmed on any number of ranches.

"You enjoy traveling around so much?" I ask, ignoring how my stomach hardens at the thought of him with countless other men. He's still the best I've ever had.

"Might as well. It's not like I got a home."

"That's not true. You've always had a place here. You just?—"

"Sure, whatever," he mutters before his gaze latches on to mine. He can't possibly still believe the rumors about our great-grandfathers. "Now show me where I'm gonna lay my head tonight."

I nod and walk toward the bunkhouse. Once inside, I point to one of the empty beds. He immediately plops his bag down, and I have to wonder if that's all he has to his name, besides his truck.

"That you, Porter Dixon?" Wade asks, then beams as he gets a good look at him. "Well, haven't you grown into a right young man."

Porter laughs, then thumps Wade on the shoulder. "I wondered who was still around."

"Not many of us left." Wade's gaze sweeps the room, landing on a group of young hands playing a game of cards in the corner bunk. The newest crop of workers from the beginning of summer. "Lots of turnover, not like it used to be in this line of work."

"Ain't that the truth."

Wade glances toward Porter's bunk. "This mean you're back?"

He hitches a shoulder. "For the meantime. See how it goes."

I look away, wondering if this is a good idea or a mistake. Suppose we can just ignore each other unless we're forced to interact. It'll make for tense days, though.

As if he senses the stiffness between us, Wade clears his throat. "I can take it from here, boss."

Suddenly I feel ridiculous standing there. Wade's the foreman and in charge of the hands, after all.

"Sure thing." I turn toward the door, feeling out of place. Not that I've never hung out with the ranch hands on random nights for a beer or two. But they still see me as one of the bosses and the next in line to inherit this ranch, so some boundaries are never crossed. I'll need to remember that where Porter is concerned.

Not that it's ever stopped me before.

Pushing open the door, I hear Wade say, "Make sure you mind the rules."

"Aw, man, not you too," Porter replies, and I try to temper my grin.

Wade snickers. "The ranching business is small."

"Reckon it is." I glance back one more time and inhale a sharp breath when I see that Porter's removed his flannel, leaving only his undershirt. There's a tattoo on his bicep of a wild stallion rearing up, and I can't help thinking how fitting it is for him. But then the other tattoo catches my gaze. The one that's five letters across his chest. I can only see the top of the inscription, but there's no mistaking that it spells out Dixon. Maybe he put it there, close to his heart, to honor his daddy and momma.

I step into the fresh air, then head toward the house, where Mom is standing at the sink, looking out the window. She waves to me, which means she's probably seen everything that took place.

Once inside, I inhale the sweet scent I've come to associate with my mother's perfume. Like a mix of apple blossoms and roses. I reach for a glass, pour some of her sweet tea, then settle in a seat at the table.

"Porter's turned into quite a heartbreaker," Mom says, still facing the window.

I stiffen briefly, wondering if she's heading somewhere with the comment. But she's not wrong. Porter is just as gorgeous to me as always.

"I guess," I grumble, still frustrated over our conversation.

"His momma would be proud that he still enjoys working a ranch."

"She would." I set down my glass. "He'd probably like hearing that."

Though not from me. I have a feeling anything I say will be a fight. And for some reason, he seems to want it that way.

"I'll be sure to tell him." She smiles. "Suppose that means he's sticking around?"

"For now."

"I always hoped he'd grow to think of this ranch as his home."

"Why would he, after what happened between our families?"

She frowns. "I thought maybe the rift was healing with having them both on the ranch. It's such a shame what happened to Mrs. Dixon. And Porter's daddy too, for that matter."

I sigh. "Yeah, it is."

She gives me a sidelong glance. "It's enough to make a young adult mad at the whole world."

My chuckle is humorless. "Truer words might've never been spoken."

I often wondered if this entire time Porter was taking out his heartache on me because he needed a target, someone to help carry his grief. And I would've, had he let me in. Fuck, what a mess.

Mom turns suddenly as if armed with a new outlook. "Maybe you can rekindle your friendship. Be there for him. He could probably use it."

"Might be easier to tame a wild horse," I retort.

She laughs and kisses my head, then heads off to one chore or another.