“Yeah?” he calls out, resting his forehead against mine.
“Your next patient is in room three, all ready for you,” Tasha calls out through the door.
“Alright, perfect. I’m finishing up my lunch, and I’ll be out in just a minute. Thanks, Tasha.”
Whit sits back, looking frazzled all over again, and I can’t help but laugh. “Close call,” I say, and he rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, I’ll say.”
“Glad you seemed to enjoy your…lunch, though.”
He smiles, breathing out a laugh. “I did, and I’ll enjoy eating my other lunch after this patient. Thank you again for bringing this to me.”
“You’re welcome.” Standing up, we both tuck ourselves back in. “It’s supposed to start snowing again soon. They’re predicting quite the storm, so be careful driving home, and let me know if you need me to come get you.”
He shakes his head. “I’ll be okay. My last patient will be done by four, so I won’t be late.”
“Okay, well, let me know.”
Peering up at me, he smiles, biting down on his bottom lip. “I will.”
After I lean in and steal one last kiss, we leave his office, and I head out to my truck. Once I’m shut inside, I can’t help but grin wider than I have in a long time. That didn’t go at all how I expected it to.
Maybe there’s hope for me, after all.
23
Conrad Strauss
Age Thirty-Three
“My gosh, it’s so damn hot today,” Whit complains as he stands to his full height, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.
The summer sun beats down on us as we work on getting this fence fixed. Something came through last night—probably a coyote—and fucked it all up. It’s not an ideal day to be out here with no shade in sight, but it’s gotta get done.
It’s been a couple of weeks since I found Whit pacing in the barn in the middle of the night. Since I pulled him into my arms and danced with him. I still don’t know what came over me, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. It doesn’t help that we’ve been working side by side almost every day since.
Something’s changing between us; I can feel it, but I don’t understand it.
He’s struggling; that much is clear, but he also acts like he’s fine. The morning after he swayed in my arms, clinging to my chest for song after song, he pretended it never happened. Which was fine for me, since the whole encounter left me more confused than anything. But I’m worried about him. He’s been through a lot—more than he’s probably even admitted. I find myself constantly itching to ask him questions, but feeling like it’s not my place.
Whit scoffs, glaring up at the sky. “It has no business being this hot.”
“You sure complain a lot,” I say with a chuckle as he turns that scowl onto me.
Whit’s so different from I thought he would be. I remember when he first started working at the ranch, I figured he’d come and go quickly like most teenage workers do around here. His hard-working nature took me by surprise. He’s kind—not a mean bone in his body—and soft-spoken, unless you get him talking about something he’s passionate about.
I chuckle to myself, remembering the spiel he got into last week with my father and I about bison. The three of us had to drive about two hours north to pick up some cattle, and we drove past a bison farm. I’ve never seen him light up like that. He knew all these facts even I’ve never heard of, and he didn’t shut up the entire drive there and half of the drive home. Had it been anybody else, I would’ve gotten annoyed with the constant chatter, but for some reason, I didn’t mind it. In fact, I enjoyed listening to him. Seeing his face light up with excitement, the way he animatedly spoke with his hands.
“You coming over for dinner tonight?” I ask, remembering my mom asking me to find out. There’s a kitchenette in the loft above the barn where Whit lives. Most nights, he stays up there, but usually at least once a week, my mom will insist he come over to eat with us in the house.
Glancing over at me, Whit rolls his lips from side to side. “Um, I don’t know.”
“My mom’s making Reubens; it’ll be good.”
Face scrunching up, Whit shakes his head. “Oh, yeah, I can’t. But thank you for the invite.”
I cock my head to the side. “Why can’t you?”