Break-Away Strength

by Charlie Richards

  Life can offer unexpected blessings at the most unusual times.

  Reginald Reggie Herrera has been feeling out of sorts for a while. Helping an old friend build a barn for a gay couple causes him to wonder what if, creating a resurgence of needs he’d thought buried decades ago. Filled with guilt, as if he is somehow betraying the memory of his late wife, Reggie heads to his fishing cabin for a few weeks alone, hoping to clear his head. While Reggie is out fly-fishing, he sees a man in a float tube flip in the river and hit his head. Reggie pulls the unconscious guy from the water, but when the young man wakes, he has amnesia. As Reggie helps the stranger regain his strength and piece together his past, his feelings turn from fatherly concern to something more. Just as Reggie begins to give into his desires, he learns that his young lover is Miguel Swanson, and he’s wanted in connection with the death of his female roommate. Can Reggie believe Miguel, who doesn’t truly remember, that he didn’t actually murder his best friend? Not to mention, if Miguel didn’t do it... who did?

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Break-Away Strength

  Copyright © 2016 Charlie Richards

  ISBN: 978-1-4874-0558-8

  Cover art by Carmen Waters

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by eXtasy Books Inc or

  Devine Destinies, an imprint of eXtasy Books Inc

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  www.eXtasybooks.com or www.devinedestinies.com

  Break-Away Strength

  Carry Me: Book Five

  By

  Charlie Richards

  Dedication

  To the animals in our lives and the love they bring us.

  Chapter One

  Squinting through his bifocals, Reginald Herrera carefully tied the fake fly to his line. He cut off the tag end with the clippers he hung from a piece of twine attached to his fishing vest. Releasing both, he lifted the rod from where he’d propped it in the crook of his elbow and gripped the handle.

  Reggie swept his gaze over the river, searching for the best place to cast his line. Once he confirmed where he wanted the hook to go in the hopes of avoiding any rocks jutting above the water, he used his left hand to draw up his line. He focused on the smooth motion of snapping his rod and letting out his line, sending his fly skipping across the water in a parody of what a real bug would do.

  Losing himself in the simple action, Reggie enjoyed the sights and sounds around him. He heard the rushing of the water where it swirled around rocks and broke over wedged branches. Breathing deeply, he enjoyed the smell of the fresh air. The stream-cooled breeze on his face combined with the warmth of the sun to create the perfect temperature.

  “This is the life,” Reggie mumbled to himself. He smiled absently as he felt the muscles in his arms and back relax and contract as he cast over and over. Hell, even his abs tightened. “Need to work on that more,” he added to himself. “You’re letting yourself get soft.”

  Reggie had always worked damn hard to maintain his physical condition. Working for thirty years as an electrician, he’d had plenty of physical labor daily. He regularly pulled wires, balanced on ladders, and crawled into small spaces. He jogged almost daily and several times a week he also lifted weights.

  Now that he was nearing his fifty-fifth birthday, it grew harder each year to keep his stomach mostly flat. Still, his arms and legs had great definition, even if he no longer sported six-pack abs. Between his physique and his six foot two height, even his now bald head didn’t keep him from attracting the attention of the occasional lady.

  That thought led to another... namely his deceased wife. Catherine had been a special woman. He’d met her during his second year as a journeyman, and they’d just clicked. She’d just had a special way about her that calmed the restless urges he hadn’t been able to scratch.

  After dating only three months, Reggie had proposed. His friends had thought he was nuts, and he’d eventually learned that they’d put together a betting pool on how long their marriage would last. Reggie’s buddy Sam had won, since he’d said Reggie and Catherine would last ’til death do you part, as their vows stated.

  Nine years before, Catherine had been diagnosed with a tumor in her brain. She’d gone quickly after that, only living another two months. While Reggie knew it had been merciful for her, he’d been devastated. He’d thrown himself into work and exercise, doing little else day in and day out.

  Finally, his children had conspired with a couple of his friends to get him out of the house. One small barbeque at a time, Reggie had rejoined the land of the living. His children sitting down and reminding him that Catherine wouldn’t have wanted him to hide away had been the greatest motivator.

  The tug on his pole jerked Reggie out of his thoughts. He yanked his rod as he reeled in his line a couple of inches, hoping to set his hook. Feeling the continued tension, he began slowly working in the line. He searched for where his line disappeared into the water, hoping to catch a glimpse of a fish.

  When a sleek green head broke the water only to disappear back beneath the surface, Reggie barked a laugh. “Ha ha!” He grinned widely as he continued to work the fish toward him. “What are you, hmm?” he asked the fish.

  As if answering him, the fish leaped from the water. It twisted and fought against the line tugging it ever closer toward Reggie. The animal’s silver and red scales glittered in the sun.

  “Oh, hell, yeah,” Reggie continued, talking to himself as well as the fish. “You’re a good looking rainbow trout, aren’t you? What are you? Five pounds? Six? You’re gonna be good eating.”

  Reggie felt a sense of pride as he walked slowly backward toward the shore, making sure of each step. When the trout was close enough, he grabbed the net attached to his belt and used it to scoop up the fish. After setting his pole on the bank, with quick, confident movements that he’d used many times before, Reggie unhooked the fish and attached it to the stringer he’d left on the bank.

  Picking up the metal spike he’d left beside the stringer, he sank it deep into the soft dirt. Finally, he placed the fish in the stream. That way, it would stay alive and caught, tethered to the bank, until Reggie was done fishing and ready to gut it.

  “You’ll be good eating,” Reggie repeated, anticipation filling him. “Grilled fish is on my menu tonight.”

  While Reggie brought a number of staples to the cabin—a bag of rice, some bread, as well as a jar of peanut butter plus a number of cans of beans, new potatoes, and corn—he ate what he caught in the stream. Most of his meals while out here consisted of fish. Only once had he had such a string of bad luck that it forced him to drive the forty minutes into town to get a meal from the diner.

  “Not this time.”

  Reggie picked up his pole and began making his way back to his spot in the river. Once knee deep in water, he checked that his fly was still in place and cast again
. He appreciated the thick tread on his hip-high waders.

  “Gonna have to remember to thank Susan for these new waders,” he mumbled to himself. “These don’t slip at all.”

  His last pair had somehow managed to get a couple of small tears in them. Reggie suspected Susan’s daughter, Paige—four years old as of three months ago. While he’d never tell his elder daughter, he had found the little girl playing dress up in the garage.

  Somehow, in the matter of what was probably only the ten minutes she’d been unsupervised, she’d managed to pull out his fishing stuff. She’d placed his hat on her head and had the waders half on, scuffing the bottom half of the pants behind her as she shuffled around the garage in them.

  His granddaughter had looked so damn cute he couldn’t get her in trouble for it. Instead, he’d told his kids that he’d caught a couple of hooks on them while fishing. At least something good came out of dealing with birthdays at his age... he received better stuff than what was ruined.

  Reggie had only been working his line for around fifteen minutes or so when he felt another strike. Chortling excitedly, he began reeling the fish in. Just as he swooped his net under the rainbow trout, he spotted movement from the corner of his eyes.

  Looking toward the left, Reggie watched as a man on a tube rounded the stream’s bend. He straightened as his brows shot up. It wasn’t often that someone used this tributary to float into the Rogue River. Mostly only the locals floated on it, but Reggie didn’t recognize the young man in the blue tube... which, now that he thought about it, appeared to be a rental tube. Maybe he was new to the area.

  He sure is a pretty boy.

  Grimacing at his wayward thought, Reggie shook his head at himself. This was why he was up here alone at the cabin. To get his head on straight.

  While his thoughts on himself might be muddy, Reggie still politely nodded at the guy. Then he moved toward shore and added his recent rainbow trout acquisition to his stringer. He noted that the man lifted a hand and waved back. Just as he dropped the caught fish into the water, Reggie heard a splash.

  Turning to look toward the sound, Reggie’s brows furrowed when all he saw was a sideways blue tube and an arm. “Shit,” he hissed, tossing his rod to the bank and turning to face the guy. “You okay?” he called as he took a couple of steps toward the sound of splashes.

  “Y-Yeah, oh shit!” The sound of gurgles reached him, then, “Help! Hel—”

  When the sound cut off, Reggie cussed a blue streak and waded as swiftly as he could toward where he’d seen the tube flip. He quickly searched the area, trying to follow the eddies in the river. They changed every year in accordance with how the currents had shifted the rocks.

  Reggie spotted a flash of yellow and strode toward it as fast as he could. Seeing the life vest lodged under a tree branch, combined with white-churning water that could possibly be flailing limbs, he grabbed it and tugged. The slick plastic slid through his fingers twice before he managed to get a good grip on it.

  Hauling backward, Reggie used his weight to flip the male’s prone body. He peered down at the now face-up man. The guy appeared to be in his mid to late twenties, judging by the smooth lines on his lightly tanned face. His eyes were closed, but to Reggie’s relief, he coughed twice before moaning and lapsing into unconsciousness.

  Reggie once again mentally thanked his daughter for her gift and the boots’ great traction. Otherwise, dragging the dark-blond man’s body through the water would have been an exceptionally dangerous task. He did his best to ignore the unconscious male’s well-muscled naked torso and ripped swimming-trunk clad waist, pulling him closer and closer to the bank. Finally, he heaved the wet body up and onto the damp bank.

  Glancing at the setting sun, Reggie grimaced. He knew he wouldn’t be able to determine much in the fading light. Hell, he wondered what the man was doing tubing this late anyway.

  After Reggie climbed out of the river, he quickly shucked his fishing vest and waders. He did the same with the stranger’s life vest, then left everything beside his pole as he scooped up the stranger. Grunting, he cradled him against his chest as he strode swiftly to his cabin.

  Reggie twisted his body so he could reach the doorknob without putting down the man. He used his shoulder to push the door wider and stepped into his cabin. Crossing to the sofa, he settled the man onto it.

  Straightening, Reggie felt his back twinge, reminding him that he wasn’t as young as he used to be. He grimaced as he crossed to the bathroom, rubbing his lower back with one hand. Grabbing a clean towel, he returned to the stranger.

  Reggie rubbed the fabric over the man’s skin, briskly drying him. When he rubbed over the man’s head, trying to draw some of the water from his thick blond hair, the man moaned and his eyelids fluttered. Reggie gentled his ministrations as he realized he felt a large knot at the side of the guy’s head.

  The man’s eyes opened as he gasped.

  Peering into heavily dilated, pain-filled hazel-brown eyes, Reggie smiled. “Hey, buddy,” he murmured. “You took a hard knock on your head. How do you feel?”

  The blond glanced from Reggie’s face, to the room around him, then back to Reggie. His body tensed and he moved his head... or tried to. Fear filled his expression, causing his brows to furrow.

  “Wh-Who are you?” The stranger’s voice came out raspy, maybe from the water he’d coughed up. “Where am I?”

  Reggie realized then that he continued to gently rub the man’s scalp with the towel. Ceasing his movement, he moved his hand to the arm of the sofa. “My name is Reginald Herrera,” he told him. “My friends call me Reggie. You’re in my cabin because you fell off your tube while floating down the river and hit your head on a rock.” Seeing the confused look on the man’s face, Reggie asked, “Can you tell me your name? Is there someone I should call to let them know you’re okay?”

  “I—” The man’s brows furrowed. His gaze once again darted around the place. The fear turned to panic. “I-I don’t know. I—” he squeaked.

  Reggie felt a surge of protectiveness, a need to soothe upon hearing the surprising sound coming from the stranger. He chalked it up to fatherly concern. Having no desire to think it could be anything else, he focused on the man’s words.

  “You can’t remember your name?” Reggie confirmed. When the stranger met his gaze with wide eyes, he offered him a reassuring smile. “You just rest. Like I said, you have a big bump on your head. It’ll come back to you.”

  As Reggie leaned forward and grabbed the blanket that he’d left folded on the back of the couch, he added, “Why don’t we get you out of those wet shorts? I’ll grab some dry sweats for you to put on.” Shaking out the blanket, he continued, “We’ll get you warmed up and comfortable. I should have a can of chicken noodle soup. That always makes everything better. Then you can curl up in this blanket and—”

  Reggie stopped talking when he returned his focus to the man and saw that his eyes were closed. Lowering the blanket he held, he saw the way the man’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. His unexpected guest had fallen back to sleep. While he knew he should worry about a concussion, Reggie figured he could give him an hour. He had things to do first, including getting the man into dry clothes.

  Maybe he has a wallet in his swimming trunks.

  With that thought in mind, Reggie tossed the blanket across the man’s feet. He hurried to his bedroom and grabbed the sweatpants he’d mentioned. While the stranger would be swimming in them, having a much smaller, leaner build than Reggie’s own, at least they would be dry. Surely that would help the man be more comfortable.

  Reggie tried to be clinical about stripping his guest and drying him. Unfortunately, as he rubbed over the guy’s thighs, he found his gaze drawn to the man’s package and the small rainbow tattoo in the groove of his hip. His own prick thickened in his jeans at the sight of the soft, pale penis lying flaccid at the guy’s groin. His fingers tightened on the towel with the need to touch and his heartrate spiked. He couldn’t
ever remember being that close to another man’s cock, soft or otherwise, and he felt desires he’d long ago buried flood his body, heating him from the inside out.

  Shit!

  Shaking his head at his body’s ridiculous timing, Reggie made quick work of finishing drying the man. He patted him down, then pulled the sweats onto him. Through it all, the blond didn’t wake.

  Once Reggie had the guy covered and tucked in, he patted down the shorts. He sighed when he did not find a wallet in the zipper pocket of the swimming trunks. He did find a hard case containing a pair of stylish, gold-framed glasses, though. These he set on the coffee table, hopefully in his guest’s clear view when he woke.

  After hanging the trunks in the bathroom to dry, he headed out to collect his gear and clean his fish. All the while, he racked his brain for what to do next.

  So much for a relaxing vacation.

  Chapter Two

  His mind felt muzzy, confused. He struggled to open his eyes. Blurry images made no sense. After blinking several times, one of his eyes focused. The other did not.

  Worried, he rubbed his unfocused eye. Nothing. On instinct, he rubbed them both, wondering what he might have done to himself. When he felt something move, he froze.

  Blinking some more, he stared ahead, trying to make sense of it. Then he spotted the glasses case on the coffee table three feet in front of the couch he lay on. Right, his glasses. He must have lost a contact.

  What was I doing to lose a contact?

  He wasn’t sure. That brought him back to his surroundings. Closing his bad eye, he looked around and took in the rustic décor and cabin-like feel. A fissure of unease slithered through him.

  Where am I?