Wild Trail (Clean Slate Ranch #1)(17)
Something about the way the girls exchanged intense looks suggested there was more to it, but no one was required to speak up, much less tell their entire life story.
The bridal party was last. Sophie poked at Wes, who shook his head, so she stood on one of the picnic table benches and beamed at everyone. “Hi, all!” She introduced the group, all familiar names and faces to Mack. He was more interested in their jobs. Sophie and Derrick both worked for the same nonprofit, which is how she’d met Conrad. Miles tried to melt into the table when she described how he’d met her brother Wes through the dinner theater where Miles cooked and Wes acted.
Actor. Of course, he’s a damned actor.
No more actors.
Mack had expected someone with a dramatic background to leap onto the table and begin some kind of speech about his family, but Wes waved from his seat at the table.
“Thank y’all for speaking up,” Arthur said when everyone had been introduced. “It’s a right pleasure to get to know everyone a little better. I know by now your stomach’s gotta be growling from the mouthwatering scent of this here meat. So I think it’s about time we all line up and eat!”
Some weeks the guests swarmed the food all at once like a cattle stampede. This group moved more like rolling waves, a few getting up at a time and lining up with a mix of the ranch hands. Wes’s crew got up, led by Conrad, and Mack didn’t realize he’d done it until he was in line behind Wes.
“You get bit by the quiet bug out on your hike?” Mack asked.
Wes startled, then glared over his shoulder. “I’m a little tired. All actors aren’t hyperactive attention whores, you know.”
The acidic reply surprised Mack less than the implication of the words. Mack glanced behind him at Reyes, whose face was completely blank. Someone had told Wes about Mack’s history, and it was more likely Colt and his big mouth.
Wes requested a medium-rare steak off the grill, then walked to the table with all the side dishes. Mack went for the messier ribs, because they were the best ribs in the county—dry rub, sauced before serving. Melt-in-your-mouth meat that fell right off the bone. Sweet, smoky and just about perfection.
Mack could eat his weight in ribs, and Arthur always made plenty, so he added a single scoop of Patrice’s baked beans to his plate, then debated where to sit. Colt and some of the other hands were sitting with the three girlfriends, and the table was pretty full. Wes had Miles on one side of him and an empty seat on the other.
I’m insane. I shouldn’t do this.
Mack took his plate and plunked down at the table next to Wes.
*
Wes hadn’t thought much of Mack approaching him in the food line, or about the harmless question. Okay, so it was more like a tease. Bitten by the quiet bug? Really? And maybe he’d been a little sharp in his reply, but Wes was still muddled by the past and kind of tired. So it shocked the hell out of him when Mack sat down next to him to eat his dinner.
The benches were long enough to accommodate four people, but Wes hadn’t given Mack much room on the end. Their shoulders brushed, and an odd little thrill shot through Wes’s gut. The big man smelled like sweat and horses and sunshine, and for some ungodly reason, Wes found those things hella appealing. Beneath it all, too, was an underlying woodsy scent, probably from his deodorant or shampoo.
His jeans got tight, and Wes gripped his fork hard so he didn’t adjust himself.
“How’re you folks enjoying the food?” Mack asked.
“It’s amazing,” Conrad said. “Real deal barbecue. Not too many places in San Francisco do it right.”
“Arthur’s spent a lifetime perfecting the seasonings.”
Wes cut into his steak, impressed that it was, in fact, perfectly medium-rare. That couldn’t be easy to manage, cooking multiple pieces of meat to various temperatures. He popped a piece into his mouth. Spices popped against his tongue, too many to name, and holy damn that was good. The fat was nice and crispy, the outside perfectly seared.
“It’s really good,” Miles said on his left. “Better than the chefs at work.”
“Glad you’re enjoying it,” a new voice said. Wes startled at the sight of Reyes sitting on the other side of Miles. He hadn’t noticed the other cowboy had joined them, too focused on Mack and his own food. “You’re a cook, right?”
“Line cook,” Miles told his plate.
“Pretend I know nothing about restaurant kitchens and explain that term to me.”
Miles finally turned his head and started talking to Reyes in a low voice. Wes gaped at the back of Miles’s head, then looked across the table at Sophie. Her eyebrows were in her hairline. In their circle of friends, Miles hardly ever engaged in real conversation, especially about his job. Seeing him open up to a stranger was...kinda cool.
An elbow nudged his ribs. Wes turned to look into Mack’s deliciously dark brown eyes. Like a proper espresso. His lips were also quirked into what was probably the closest thing Mack got to a smile. “Reyes doesn’t usually talk much, either,” Mack whispered.
“Maybe severe introverts have a radar that helps them find their people,” Wes whispered back.
“Could be.”
This was probably the part where Wes apologized for snapping at Mack in the food line, but he didn’t. After all, Wes wasn’t the guy with the actor issue, so until Mack explained that, he left his comments as is and kept eating. All of the food was great, even the single bite of baked beans he allowed himself. He was sharing a small-ish room with four other dudes tonight; judging by the other plates, they’d be sleeping with the window open.