Hudson.
The name landed solidly in my chest, like something that was gonna matter. Like something I’d remember.
“Don’t worry, Dad. In a couple of weeks, we’ll be off to Denver. I’m sure we can keep him busy so he’s not humping your ranch hands.”
“It’s not like that,” I said too fast, too defensive, but my face burned. You got caught bending a ranch hand over a bale, and suddenly everyone thought you were into hay-assisted hookups and barnyard exhibitionism.
The man in question had been a lot older. Most dads might’ve looked the other way or handed out a congratulatory fist bump, but not mine. He’d been furious. Fired the ranch hand on the spot for sleeping with his seventeen-year-old son. Didn’t matter to him who’d been doing the bending.
Wrong was wrong.
After seeing the way he reacted to me hooking up with his foreman, I knew I could never tell him about my firsttime. Hell, he thought the foreman was the first time, and I didn’t bother to correct him.
Carter smirked. “Sure, it’s not. I predict it’ll take forty-eight hours for you to hit on him.”
Ignoring him, I watched Hudson disappear into the barn and tried not to let Carter see how much the new guy had caught my attention.
“All right, let’s get your bags inside the house, then.” Dad killed the engine and climbed out of the Jeep with the practiced ease of a man who’d worked this land all his life.
I slid out to help unload the bags.
“Most of these are Carter’s.” I grabbed my one duffel while Carter stood there like a prince waiting for bell service. “He can’t spend a night without his skincare routine, and he brought a full lineup of colognes with names no one can pronounce.”
Who had a cologne for each day of the week?
“What are you talking about? I brought the essential ones, and believe me, it was difficult.” Carter sniffed, reaching in and pulling out his roller suitcase—matte black, wheels smooth as sin, definitely not built for gravel.
Dad grabbed two more bags like they weighed nothing. “Your brother packs like a reality TV star on tour.”
“Thank you,” Carter said proudly. “Just manifesting the life I see for myself in the future.”
Welp! There goes Dad’s money.
We started toward the house, the gravel crunching under our boots. Well, underourboots. Carter’s designer loafers already looked offended by the dust and were too cool to make a sound.
Dad paused, one hand settling firmly on my shoulder, holding me back just before the porch steps.
Carter kept walking, oblivious, humming to himself as he dragged his suitcase up the steps and vanished inside.
Dad looked at me, his expression shifting, still calm, still Dad, but different. Serious.
“Hey, can we talk for a bit?”
Fuck. Was this about me not wanting to go to the city to spend two weeks with Mom?
“Dad, I already said I would go.”
“No, it’s not about that,” he said. “You’re not a teenager anymore, Matty. Not just some kid fooling around behind the barn with the foreman.”
I cringed on the inside. “That was years ago.”
“I’m just staying. You’re the boss’s son. The one who’s gonna inherit all this someday. That means something.”
I nodded slowly, already sensing where this was going.
Dad dropped his voice. “So we’re clear, you need to be careful where you put your dick.”
My stomach dropped a little, not in embarrassment, but in the way only a father can cut through every ounce of your pride with one sentence.
