Page 15 of The Outlaw and the Heir

"Damn right, you are, now get out of that tub and…what thehellare you doing?"

"What you said," he replied blithely as he took to his feet, leaving me stunned at the?—

Water ran down his body, and any idea I had that he might be some God-blessed lucky bastard rather than a survivor, or tough, was gone in an instant. His time in lockup had left him gaunt in the face, but it had drawn the skin over his body to show taut muscles, a flat stomach, and curves of strength. Thewater sluiced down his naked body, shining in the afternoon sun before dripping into the blond hair of his groin and over the long?—

My head snapped up, and I swallowed hard, glaring at him. "Good, get dressed. Get your friends ready too. You might not be workin' today, but you're going to get the tour. And keep any smart comments to yourself."

"As you say," he said in an almost tired voice, making things evenworseby turning around to hunch over the tub. Because, of course, the man's back had to be just as toned, and his ass had to be as thick and tight as?—

"Good," I growled, turning around before my thoughts tried to go even further down a path that was not...well, I didn't need to be distracted by his naked body, no matter how good it looked. "And get moving."

SAMUEL

"I've got to admit, they weren't kidding about working us hard," I grunted as I dropped onto a low bench. Only to grimace as I realized some twisted bastard had made a seat forcomfortout of solid stone. Like for the sake of the God, these people seemed to love so much you'd think they believed in comfort and rest once in a while, even if it was just on Sundays, which it was! "But this...this is a whole new level of hard work."

My grumpy friend only grunted in response as he came to rest on a chair under the awning of a nearby building. His lack of response told me I wasn't the only one suffering from the hard work they’d put us through over the past week. Well, it wasn't really them so much as Ambrose, who was apparently our taskmaster as well as our warden.

"Maybe if you didn't piss everyone off by openin' that idiot mouth of yours all the time, we wouldn't be in this mess," he growled, immediately proving me a liar about how tired he was.

"Well, and here I thought you were too tired to be a mean-spirited asshole," I said with a sigh, leaning over and wincing as my ass dug into the bench, or really, the bench dug into my ass. I'd always thought the thing was cushioned enough to withstand anything, but apparently, there were limits. Thoselimits appeared after I’d spent the past three months being worn down by assholes who didn't believe in lawordecency, being locked up in prison, and then worked to the bone.

"And apparently ain't nothin' that can stop your mouth from bein' smart," he snapped, spitting on the ground before grinding his teeth. Which was a pretty annoying sound considering the asshole did the same thing in his sleep, so it seemed I was never going to get away from it.

Honestly, I didn't have the energy or desire to stand around and trade quips back and forth. I was too exhausted to constantly find ways to throw his attitude back in his face and rile him up even further. Some parts of me didn't normally ache, which was fine, but they were all aching at the same time, which was new and not so fine.

"These assholes don't seem to be too bothered," came the next complaint, and I rolled my eyes, ignoring him. I loved tormenting people as much as the next person, driving other people crazy, but much like the durability and stamina of my ass, there was a limit to what my trouble-making tendencies could handle.

Admittedly, he did have a point. Everyone else at the ranch, while tired-looking by the end of the work day, didn't seem too worn down. That might be a source of irritation for Garrett, though I still liked to think of him as Broken Nose and Ugly, but it told me plenty. First, it told me that even out in this lawless wasteland that pretended to be the opposite, the people in charge of this ranch didn't run its people ragged even if they could get away with it. Which, in turn, told me the people who worked here probably weren't desperate for the work, or if they were, had found a place that didn't take advantage of their desperation.

It also told me that while we were being run hard, that was outside the normal operations. Which meant we were special,which grumpy asshole Garrett had already caught onto, but I was surprised he hadn't come up with the idea that it might bemethat was the cause of our misery. It didn't exactly take the most aware person on the planet to realize that while all three of us were offensive to Ambrose due to our outlaw status, I, in particular, seemed to piss the man off.

It didn't surprise me that Ambrose had a special hatred for me, but I thought it strange that Garrett hadn't picked up on it. The guy clearly hated me as much as Ambrose, probably more, and it was the perfect opportunity for him to have another reason to despise me. Frank, it turned out, wasn't all that stupid without a head injury, it was hard to tell what he did or didn't know. The only times I ever heard him talk was when someone in charge, like Ambrose, spoke to him or in quiet tones to Garrett.

"Maybe ranch life is a lot harder than...whatever you were doing before," I said with a shrug. We weren't the sharing types, so it wasn't as if we knew what the other had been up to, or at least I didn't as the odd man out. "I thought it was rough before, but this is...something else."

I couldn't make out the words, but I heard Frank say something in a low voice that made Garrett snort harshly. I rolled my neck to glance at them and saw Garrett still sitting in the chair while Frank stood behind it, leaning on the back. Neither was touching the other, but their closeness was telling. They were clearly two guys who’d come to rely on and trust one another before, and I wondered what their story was and what had brought them to this point.

I shut the thoughts down immediately before they took hold. I’d learned several times, several hard times, not to let my curiosity get involved when it came to people. All too often, it tended to mix with my desire to get to know and understand people. Or I should say myolddesire to know and care aboutthem because that was long buried. Nowadays, I only bothered to get to know people to anticipate or outmaneuver them if needed.

That was it.

"Ugh, and herehecomes," Garrett muttered, his good mood gone faster than a puddle in the heat.

That same disappearing act happened to whatever playfulness I might have briefly had. I knewexactlywho he was talking about and felt my shoulders stiffen at the sound of boots coming down roughly on the hard-packed dirt from somewhere to my right, rather than glance over and risk making someone think I gave the slightest shit abouthim.

"You boys look like you're having fun," came Ambrose's irritatingly familiar voice. If it wasn't for the fact that he was a petty, hypocritical, overly zealous asshole, I might still think he had a nice voice...and a nice face...and a nice body from what I had seen...and probably a nice?—

It didn't matter because the rest of him wasn't very enjoyable.

"Well, boys, looks like the slave master has returned, and it's back to the fields for us," I said wryly.

To my surprise, Garrett snorted at my joke and gave me a knowing look. Less surprising was the way Ambrose came to an abrupt stop, and though I couldn't see it, I could feel his glare burrowing into the side of my head, desperate to find some sign that I would recoil or shrink. Not that I had or would ever give him the satisfaction, especially not after the first day when he'd set me to shovel huge piles of animal shit baking in the afternoon sun while the other two had been chosen to wash the animals.

That smell still hadn't left my nostrils.

"We don't do slaves around here," Ambrose finally said in a tight voice that made me smile.

"Funny," I said, closing my eyes and tilting my head back so I didn't have to look him in the face. "I guess that means the three of us are free to go."

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