Chapter Text
It was hard loving someone from a distance. And Rip Wheeler certainly didn't make it any easier, either.
In mid-July, the sweltering heat turned everything and everyone on the ranch sluggish and sleepy. But that didn't mean the work stopped. The south hay field had flooded last spring, wiping out the crop. It needed to be drained, with a better irrigation system put in to prevent any more flooding, which meant digging miles and miles of trench.
My clothes were soaked through, clinging to my skin, as I drove my shovel into the ground again and again, chipping away at the dirt with the other wranglers. Exposed as we were in the wide-open field, there was no escape from the sun and I could feel it burning into my shoulders, searing the back of my neck.
"Heads up!" Ryan called.
As he made his way along beside the trench, he tossed out bottles of water from a cooler tucked under his arm.
I caught a bottle and plopped onto the ground, unscrewing the cap. Teeter dropped beside me, pouring the water over her head and down her neck.
"I'd kill to go skinnydippin' right 'bout now," she said. "Buck naked in the breeze, just floatin' along."
Standing only a few feet away on my right was Colby. He coughed, spluttering on his water.
"Teeter," he choked. "You gotta warn me when you're about to say shit like that."
Teeter grinned. "Aw, come on now, that ain't no fun, baby."
Colby glanced over his shoulder, but Rip was further down the line. He had barely stopped for his water break and continued shoveling away.
"I doubt he can hear us," I said in an attempt to alleviate Colby's concern.
"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Colby replied.
Teeter leaned back on one hand, looked directly and Colby, and tipped the remaining contents of her water bottle down the scoop neck of her tank top. Smiling the whole time.
"Fuck," Colby muttered, shaking his head.
Teeter cackled.
I took off my hat, fanning myself with it in an attempt to cool off. The trench wasn't even halfway done and the sun had only reached high noon. By the looks of it, we would be at this for days still.
Teeter nudged me with her elbow.
"Should we strip down and make a run for it to the nearest creek?" she said.
Before I could reply, Rip barked my name. My head snapped up.
Shovel clenched in one hand, Rip strode over to where Teeter and I were seated. With his sleeves rolled up to the elbows and his shirt collar unbuttoned, revealing a flushed, sweaty expanse of throat and chest, it took me a few seconds to catch up with what he was spouting.
"…get off your asses and get back to work! You think this trench will dig itself?"
"No, sir," Teeter mumbled as she snatched up her shovel and returned to digging.
But Rip wasn't done with me.
"And you, still sittin' there like you're on the beach with your feet propped up, drink in hand. This ain't a vacation. Keep slackin' off the way you're goin' and you'll be diggin' all three miles of this trench by yourself, you hear me?"
Silence descended over the field. Everyone had stopped working to stare as Rip bawled me out. I couldn't deny the sting of his words, even though I knew he was only doing his job.
For several long, painfully quiet moments, I held his gaze and didn't move. Then, slowly, I rose to my feet, set aside my water bottle, and picked up my shovel.
"Yes, sir," I said, with the slightest edge of sarcasm in my voice.
We were definitely not done with this conversation.
***
When Rip returned to the foreman's house at the end of the day, he found me waiting in the kitchen for him. It was risky for me to be here so early in the evening. I usually waited until well after midnight when the wranglers were all fast asleep in their bunks.
But tonight, I had distracted the ranch hands with a fast 'n' loose game of poker. By the time I had purposefully lost all of my earnings for the week, I begged off while they were still eager for more. After that, it was easy to slip out unnoticed.
I leaned against the sink now, arms crossed, Rip's kitchen dark around me as I listened to him in the entry way. The scuff of his boots. His tired, heavy sigh.
Then he stopped at the sight of my shadowed figure in his house.
"You were real enthusiastic about lightin' into me today," I said.
Rip flicked on the light and removed his hat, setting it on the kitchen table.
"It's my job, baby," he said, not a trace of heat in his voice. "You know it's nothin’ personal."
"Still. You could ease up on me once in a while."
Rip shook his head as he set his hands on the back of a chair and fixed me with a look.
"I can't do that. As soon as someone suspects I'm givin' you special treatment, you've got a target on your back."
"I'm a big girl, Rip. I can handle myself."
"That's not the point," he replied.
I grumbled and looked away. How many times had we retraced the same steps of this argument, again and again?
We were both aware of the risks a relationship between foreman and ranch hand brought with it, especially for a female wrangler. It was tough enough to deal with a bunkhouse full of men. But if any of them thought I had slept with the foreman to get my job, they would never respect me, no matter how many times I'd proven myself worthy to ride alongside them.
"Then make it up to me," I said.
Rip sighed. "What are you talkin' about?"
I pushed away from the counter with my hip and crossed the kitchen to stand in front of him. I plucked at the lapel of his coat, dragging my gaze up to his face.
"Figure it out, cowboy," I said, sliding his jacket off of one shoulder, then the other. "It's not complicated."
A slow smile spread across Rip's face. He shook his head.
"You should get back to the bunkhouse, baby. Before someone misses you and wonders where the hell you went."
"In a minute."
"No," Rip replied, his voice a low, soft reprimand. "Now."
I slid my hands down his chest and around his waist, sidling closer. I nuzzled my face into his neck with teasing little kisses.
"Honey," he said, attempting a warning tone and failing miserably. "Don't even think about it."
I grinned as I pressed the flat of my tongue against his pulse. Then pinched his skin between my teeth.
"Fuck," Rip growled, a deep, sinful rumble through his chest.
I hummed a laugh against his neck. I definitely had him now.
Rip pushed the chair out of the way, hooked his hands behind my knees and in one smooth movement, lifted me onto the table. I squeaked in surprise, laughing as he kissed me.
"You play dirty, baby," Rip said.
"I haven't even started yet."
***
By the end of the week, the trench was finished. Everyone was sore, sunburned, and tired. Then Rip waved us off.
"Get outta here," he said. "You've earned a few beers on me."
Teeter whooped and made a run for the horses, the rest of us hurrying to catch up.
We didn't even bother hitting the showers and headed straight for the bar. Ryan found an empty table in the corner and Colby rounded up a few extra chairs. When Rip took a seat beside me, I couldn't resist nudging my knee against his.
Sometimes, I wished I could tell the world how much I loved this man. I hated the fact that I couldn't hold his hand in public. Or rest my head against his shoulder. Or kiss him. So, every now and then, I stole every tiny opportunity I could to sate that hunger to touch him. Just a little.
A punch to the arm.
A playful kick to his boot under the table.
Rip shifted, moving his leg away from mine, serving as a silent reminder that we couldn't afford to be reckless.
Then a deck of cards was tossed onto the table and a rowdy game of poker began. After a few hands, I found myself losing horribly, bleeding my earnings onto the table. I folded and pushed my chair back.
"Count me out for the next round," I said. "I'm pretty sure you all cheat anyway."
Ryan booed. "Sore loser."
I patted my nearly-empty pockets. "Poor loser. I'm getting a beer. Anybody else want one?"
All hands went up at the table. I shoved Ryan's hand down.
"Except for you."
I could hear Colby laughing as I headed for the bar. After gesturing to the bartender for a round of beers, a biker stepped in beside me. He was all brawn with tattooed knuckles and a thick, heavy chain for a belt.
"Hey," he said, propping one hand on the bar. "You new around here?"
I barely managed to stop myself from rolling my eyes.
"Nope," I replied, hoping my one-word response would deter him.
But no such luck.
"I'm Gunner by the way,” he continued.
Using the excuse to scratch my ear, I turned my head to look at my table. Ryan spread his hands and tapped his wrist in the universal sign for, what's taking so long?
Rip was deadly still as he watched me from his seat. His eyes were shadowed by the brim of his hat but I could tell by the clench of his jaw that he was not happy.
"I didn't catch your name," Gunner pressed. He really couldn't take a hint.
"Didn't give it," I said, taking the more direct approach to running him off.
Gunner inched closer with a greedy look in his eye, bringing with him a stale cloud of cigarette smoke and sweat.
"Well, that don't matter to me. I'll still call you kitten. 'Cause I'm gonna make you purr all night long, sweetheart."
I turned to squarely face Gunner.
"You do that," I said, "and I'll stab you in the neck. Now get the fuck out of my face."
Gunner held up his hands in surrender and backed away. A moment later, the beers arrived and I scooped them up, retreating to the table.
"What was that about?" Ryan said.
"Nothing," I replied.
"Didn't look like nothing," Colby put in.
"Yeah, you were pissed," Ryan added.
I shook my head, hoping they would drop the subject. I was keenly aware of Rip's presence beside me. Seething and silent and dark. But the whole table was looking right at me and they weren't going to let me just sweep it under the rug. So I tried to laugh it off.
"Just some asshole who doesn't know how to flirt," I said.
Teeter leaned in. "We heard you threaten to stab him in the neck. That was so damn hot."
"Seriously," Ryan said. "What did he say?"
I stifled a groan. These were my friends, my coworkers. They'd seen I was uneasy and they wanted to make sure I was okay. Better to get it over with.
"He wanted to know my name," I replied. "And when I wouldn't tell him, he said he'd call me kitten. Promised to make me purr all night long. Which I highly doubt."
Rip shoved his chair away from the table as he stood. I made a grab for his arm but he was already on the move across the bar, headed straight for Gunner.
"Rip, no – "
Too late.
Just as Gunner turned toward him, Rip cocked his fist back and swung. Gunner's head snapped to the side in a flash of blood. Rip kept swinging, taking Gunner to the ground.
A few men tried to jump in and pull Rip off of Gunner. But Rip knocked them aside as easily as swatting away pesky flies.
I scrambled out of my chair and caught the back of Rip's shirt.
"Rip, stop!"
Another swing. A sickening crunch of bone. The wet thud of fist against mangled flesh. I caught a glimpse of Gunner's face – bruised and bloodied.
When Rip hauled back for another hit, I shoved him with all my weight. He lost his balance, stumbling off of Gunner. I used the momentum to plant my hands in the middle of his chest and push him out the back door.
Rip tried to forge past me but I shoved back.
"No!" I said. "You have to stop."
I stepped up close to him, nose to nose. Rip was breathing hard, fury written all over his face.
"I'll kill the son of a bitch for talkin' to you that way," he said, his voice deadly low.
"No, you won't," I said.
Rip opened his mouth to protest but I jabbed him in the chest and pitched my voice low enough for his ears alone.
"If you don't stop right now, you'll blow our cover. People will wonder why you got so fired up to defend me."
"Everyone knows you work at the Yellowstone. We defend our own."
"Yeah, I get it. Someone breaks our bones, you break twice as many of their bones back. But the guy didn't touch me, Rip. Didn't even lay a finger on me."
Rip pointed at the bar. "What he said – "
"I know what the fuck he said. It was disgusting. But you can't pulverize every guy who hits on me. I'm your ranch hand. A grunt. Easy to replace. Remember?"
Rip let his hand drop to his side with a frustrated exhale. I knew without turning around that we had an audience. Ryan had been on my heels when I dragged Rip outside. Colby and Teeter probably hadn't been far behind.
The buzz of adrenaline still burned through my blood and left me shaking. I wanted nothing more than to wrap my arms around Rip and tell him I was okay, I was fine. To reassure myself by the solid, warm strength of Rip that I was safe.
But I couldn't do that. Not now. Not in front of everyone.
Judging by the way Rip's gaze softened when he looked at me, he felt the same way. His hand flexed open and closed at his side. I itched to reach out, to touch him and intertwine our fingers together.
Instead, I curled my fingers into fists until my nails bit into my palms.
"You cannot get into trouble because of me, Rip," I whispered. "You can't."
Rip pressed his lips into a thin line and bowed his head. I could tell it was eating away at him. At last, he nodded.
"You're right," he said, his voice a quiet rasp.
"I know." But I didn't want to be. "Let's go home. I'll get the others."
When I turned back to the bar, Gunner had been helped to his feet by two other bikers. Blood dripped down his chin. His left eye was swollen shut and his jaw didn't look like it was working right.
"This ain't over, bitch," he growled.