River Town Box Set

by Grant C. Holland

  They all three smiled and laughed in unison.

  Thank you for reading Private Hearts. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it for you.

  Don’t miss the other two books in the River Town Series, Silent Wishes and Hidden Dreams.

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  Silent Wishes

  Prologue

  Hours later, Alan’s ears were still ringing. An impossibly handsome man lay sound asleep at his side while his brain continued to rattle to the sound of gunfire. A repeating loop ran through his head. The sickening clatter of automatic weapons fire coupled with the pop and snap of shots from at least a dozen handguns filled the air just before he escaped the bullet-riddled square with a stranger at his heels.

  When Alan heard the first shot, he instinctively ducked behind the nearest car. He couldn’t remember the color or the make. If anyone pushed him to hazard a guess, he thought it was a silvery color and perhaps a Cadillac or Lincoln. Most important was the fact that it was a convenient barrier to the bone-shredding impact of errant bullets.

  Alan didn’t try to look up, over, or around the protective hulk of metal. The gunfight wasn’t his battle. He was a bystander when it erupted. Alan fought an urge to race down a side street and return to his own parked car. He peered through the windows of the shielding automobile and saw a man struck by a bullet. He fell near the fountain in the center of the square. The re-circulating water was quickly stained a sickening, pale red. It wasn’t like in the movies. It was real, and his stomach churned threatening to empty its contents.

  Alan arrived in the city early in the morning to complete a charity assignment, and he expected to return across the border before sundown. With his awareness of recent news headlines, the gunfire wasn’t unexpected, but he didn’t realize he strayed into a neighborhood raked by the violence.

  Less than thirty minutes remained to meet Alan’s goal in reaching the border. The setting sun sent brazen rays of gold, red, and orange across the sky. Soon it would be dark, and the streets of the border city would grow even more dangerous.

  While Alan revisited the dangers involved in navigating the two-and-a-half block path back to his own automobile, another figure joined him behind the car. The man wore an expensive charcoal-colored suit and spoke perfect English with a distinctive Mexican accent. He asked, “Do you live on this side of the border? If not, it’s time for the gringo to go home.”

  Another spray of bullets punctuated the end of the man’s sentence. Alan turned his head as the stranger duck-walked his way closer. They huddled together against the driver’s side door hoping the layers of steel, fabric, and plastic would provide sufficient protection. The man was close enough that Alan noticed the clean smell of soap and a light cologne mingling with the acrid smoke hanging in the air.

  “No, I have a car two-and-a-half blocks away. I’m due back in Texas by sundown. Is this your fight?”

  The man shrugged. “It’s my country. It’s all my fight, but I’m only in the city for business. I was planning to cross the border by sunset, too. I have Texas business tomorrow.”

  They both winced and ducked when they heard the ping of a single bullet hitting the opposite side of the vehicle. A second errant slug shattered the windshield. Alan asked, “Where’s your car?”

  The stranger smirked and laughed. “More than ten blocks away. It’s a beautiful walk to my car in the city in the evening. Or so they say.”

  Alan grumbled, “Nice night for a walk.” He turned in the stranger’s direction and looked him up and down. “My name’s Alan. Are you as crazy as me and willing to bolt for my car?”

  The man’s dark brown eyes blazed with fiery defiance mixed with fear. He hissed, “Let’s go!”

  The path to Alan’s car was safer than either expected. As they raced down the street, the stranger’s leather dress shoes clattered on the street. They turned a corner into an alleyway and approached the vehicle in a few short minutes. The sounds of the gunfire receded as they ran.

  The gun battle focused on the warring enemies, not two unknown bystanders seeking escape to the supposedly peaceful nation north across a shared river. When they reached Alan’s car, the scream of a police siren rang through the streets. The gunfire stopped immediately, and the sounds of car motors turning over and screeching tires filled the air.

  Alan tugged the key fob from his pocket and fumbled to push the automatic lock button as his hand shook from the fear beginning to overwhelm his body. Both men tugged their doors open and slid inside on the front seat. The car was a modest Honda Civic, and, whether true or not, the familiarity of the vehicle’s upholstery made Alan feel safe. He bought the car at his father’s favorite dealership back in Des Moines, Iowa. Sitting in the front seat, he was almost home.

  Alan turned to his companion and mumbled, “How do I get to where you parked? I’ll drop you off.”

  The stranger’s eyes blinked, and Alan focused on the bronze color of his skin. He fought back an impulse to reach out and touch the man’s face. The smooth skin was marred only by the shadow of a day’s worth of whiskers spread across his chin. The man said, “My name’s Diego. Will you take me with you?”

  “Across the border?”

  “For tonight. I can grab a hotel room and find my own way back in the morning. This city isn’t safe for the night.”

  Alan stared at him while trying to consider his options. He worried that the man seated across from him knew more information than he was letting on. Perhaps he was a target of the barrage Alan witnessed. Unfortunately, Alan couldn’t think of any particular good coming from a refusal. He was in Texas to help people. He wasn’t there to be selfish.

  Alan turned the key in the ignition and began backing onto the street. Later, he realized it was a ridiculous question, but he asked, “Do you have a passport?”

  Diego growled as he dragged the seatbelt across his chest and said, “I’m Mexican. I’m not stupid.”

  It was less than a five-minute drive to the border. The new acquaintances rode together in silence. Despite the fact that their paperwork was in order, they were detained by U.S. agents long enough to make a thorough search of the vehicle. Alan worked to avoid frowning when they were finally waved on by a sour-faced agent who said, “Have a good night, gentlemen.”

  Alan knew that he would never forget the night he met Diego.

  Alan soon realized how delicious the name Diego tasted rolling off his tongue. He whispered it into the air later while he stared at Diego’s tousled mop of raven-black hair as his head slowly moved south while kissing Alan’s slim chest and belly.

  The hotel was out of extra rooms for the night. Alan generously extended an offer to Diego. He suggested that Diego take the extra double bed, but soon he discovered it was unnecessary. Only one bed was needed.

  The hotel housed a small restaurant serving bland meals and watered down drinks, but it provided a suitably unobtrusive background to the smoldering embers slowly fanned into a flame between the two men. Diego said, “My family is wealthy. I have a brother-in-law who could be involved with something like we saw. My mother wails about his drug-infested money. She constantly worries that her grandchildren will end up lying on the street in a dark puddle of blood.”

  Alan said, “I work with an organization assisting immigrants harassed at the border. I try not to see my own country as an evil entity, but some days it’s more difficult than others.”

  Diego shook his head and took a bite of a grayish, overcooked burger. “All countries are evil. You gringos never learn that. You think yours is different. For you, it has to be either the nest of the angels or the stomping ground of Satan. You don’t unders
tand. It’s government. It’s corrupt, and it’s evil like the government of any other nation.”

  “Doesn’t that attitude destroy any suggestion of hope?” asked Alan.

  “Hope is in people, not institutions.” Diego sipped his glass of red wine while he continued to focus his eyes on Alan’s lips. “Isn’t that why you do your work?”

  “We hope that we will influence government as well, so we don’t have to rescue those who get unfairly singled out.”

  Diego shook his head. “Focus on the people. There will always be people that need help. When you are in trouble, they will save you, as you saved me today on the street.”

  Alan shrugged. “I wasn’t trying to help you. I was saving myself, and you were there. I’m a little ashamed of that. I should have been more unselfish.”

  With a resonant laugh, Diego said, “You are human. I find that pleasing. You have good instincts, and I hope I’m not out of line saying you’re very attractive, too.”

  That was the beginning of Diego’s seduction. It didn’t take a lot of effort. Alan spent the entire meal focused on Diego’s face and the structure of his narrow shoulders framing muscles that pulled his tailored dress shirt tight across his chest. Diego was slim, but he was wiry. Alan noticed the sinewy muscles at his wrist as he gripped the glass of wine.

  An hour later, Alan swallowed hard at the first glimpse of the tattoos decorating Diego’s body. He pushed the expensive shirt off the bronze shoulders and stood with his mouth open as the art unfolded across the canvas of Diego’s smooth skin.

  Diego followed Alan’s eyes and said, “Most of it is family history. I won’t ever forget. We are proud. I carry it with me wherever I go.”

  Alan felt the last of his defenses dissolve as the first soft, gentle kisses from Diego escalated into actions filled with carnal fervor. Diego led the way to the bed, and he began devouring Alan’s naked torso with a flurry of hungry licks and kisses.

  Alan’s response was a long, low, rumbling moan that escaped his mouth as his head rolled back pressing back hard into the sumptuous pillows at the head of the bed. He whispered, “I brought protection.”

  Diego laughed as he lapped at Alan’s navel. “You’re a gringo making assumptions.”

  Alan bit his lip and blushed. He whispered, “Maybe they are wishes more than assumptions. I’ll keep them silent. I’ll keep them to myself.”

  Tugging at the button at the top of Alan’s jeans, Diego asked, “And what about my wishes? I’m never quiet.”

  Struggling to hold his words together in response to the question, Alan said, “Then we’ll follow the trail of your wishes tonight.” His breath caught in his throat as he asked, “What do you want, Diego?”

  “You inside me,” moaned Diego as he pulled the boxer brief waistband forward and darted his tongue beneath until it found the smooth head of a cock. He pursed his lips and sucked at the head.

  “But…” whispered Alan before the sound disappeared into a coarse grunt.

  “Gringo assumptions,” whispered Diego as he peeled back the boxer briefs and pushed the jeans down beneath Alan’s knees. He chuckled softly adding, “I appreciate the protection.”

  Alan later found it difficult to describe the sexual experience with Diego, even to himself. Technically, Diego was a bottom, but he was in charge of the encounter. He straddled Alan’s waist and rode the hard cock alternating patterns of slow, sensual sliding up and down with the bucking intensity of riding a bull.

  Alan felt lost. He couldn’t think. He found himself drowning in a flood of sensations. He gasped for breath and reflexively arched up to meet Diego’s body. He’d never been so intimate with such a handsome man. His previous boyfriends were distinctly bland and ordinary by comparison.

  Alan’s eyes opened wide when he saw Diego wrap long, thin fingers around his own cock. Diego pumped it furiously while thrusting his chest forward, throwing his head back and continuing to ride Alan.

  “I’m so close,” whispered Alan. Diego stopped bucking, squeezed drops of precum from his own cock and stared into Alan’s green eyes as he painted Alan’s lower lip with the sticky substance.

  “Not yet,” stated Diego in a matter of fact tone. He followed the words with a wicked smile that sent chills through Alan’s bones.

  Diego began riding again. He slowed himself down. His rise upward and slide down were executed at a snail’s pace. Alan clenched his jaw and closed his eyes tight. He was confident Diego knew what he was doing. He was holding Alan on the edge of a cliff, teetering, making him wait to be pushed over.

  “Please…” whispered Alan.

  Diego repeated the words, “Not yet.”

  When the moment came, it was explosive. Both men reached orgasm nearly simultaneously. Diego bellowed like a bull, and Alan unleashed something like a beastly howl. As Diego’s sweaty body collapsed into his arms, Alan held tight, clinging to the man he knew was likely to be gone in the morning. He wanted to hold so tight that time itself would freeze and the morning would never come.

  As their breathing returned to normal, Diego said, “You fuck like a gringo.”

  “Is that an insult?”

  One corner of Diego’s mouth curled up into a smile. “I like gringos.”

  1

  A Glancing Blow

  Alan reached his hand forward for a shake. Dak rejected the offer in favor of a hug. “Much better,” whispered Alan as Dak’s powerfully structured arms wrapped around his torso.

  Sturdy, muscular Dak was one of the first people Alan met when he moved to Coldbrook Bend, Minnesota. It was a small river town, one of many that assumed a steamboat landing was the ticket to eternal riches. Then, as always seems to happen, the world changed.

  Alan and Dak stumbled upon each other at the Corner Hitch bar downtown just three blocks from the Mississippi River. It was a low moment for both. Dak was struggling in his relationship with his boyfriend, Brody, and Alan was suffering under his first real pangs of loneliness since moving into his Auntie Erin’s former house. She was a great-aunt on his mother’s side. A month later, both Alan and Dak were looking at brighter futures.

  Dak stepped to the side and gestured toward Brody who stood just behind his shoulder. “And this is most definitely my better half,” said Dak.

  Alan smiled at the tall, dark-haired man. He said, “If Dak ever has a moment of insanity and lets go of you, give me a call.”

  Brody shook his head. “I’m off the market. We both came to our senses, and it’s for good now.”

  The brief conversation was interrupted by a restaurant host with menus in her hand. She asked, “Is it three then for dinner?”

  Dak nodded in the affirmative, and she showed them to a table on the opposite side of the dining room. Elderberry Rose was the Coldbrook Bend version of fine dining. As they seated themselves at a round table, Dak touched the lace scallops decorating the edge of the white tablecloth and said, “The flowery sweetness of this place always makes me cringe, but the food makes up for it. The chef trained in Chicago and came back home to take care of relatives and open a restaurant.”

  “That sounds a little familiar,” said Alan.

  “How is your aunt?” asked Dak.

  “She’s settled in. We’ve got a visiting pattern set up. I stop by her assisted living apartment Monday, Wednesday, and Friday right after work and stay for about an hour. Maybe the two of you would like to meet Auntie Erin. She’s my great-aunt, but we always called her Auntie regardless of the generation.”

  Brody said, “We wouldn’t want to cause a lot of disruption.”

  Alan shook his head. “She still loves meeting new people. I think Auntie Erin even has her eyes on one of the men living down the hall. She’s irrepressible. Nothing will keep her down until the morning she doesn’t wake up.” The last words spilled out with a jagged edge to his voice. He blinked his eyes and fought back a single tear.

  “She’s important to you,” said Dak.

  “She’s important to the whole
family.”

  With the silent assent of his dining partners, Brody ordered appetizers for the table and continued the conversation.

  “How’s the new job going? Dak said you’re working down at Tar-Mor in Zephyr? I hope you don’t get lost in the corporate shuffle.”

  Alan shrugged. “It’s just a job. I have a long-term goal. I want to work at Tar-Mor long enough, maybe ten or fifteen years, that I have a nest egg put aside. Then I hope to set up a non-profit organization serving those who needed a little extra help here in the small towns.”

  Dak sipped at his glass of water on the table and said, “These days that’s mostly gonna be Mexican families. The white kids, unlike Brody and me, tend to move away as soon as they can.”

  “They aren’t just Mexican,” said Brody. “El Salvador, Honduras, Guatemala. They have a hard time getting here, but we’d have a hard time without them. The last person my mom hired at the public library was bilingual, and she took Spanish classes. They needed the language fluency to serve the immigrant families. It’s a new world.”

  Alan nodded. “I worked at the border for a year after college. I’m fluent in Spanish.”

  Their server set a plate in the center of the table holding golden-brown fried balls with a dish of red marina sauce on the side. Dak said, “These are awesome. We’ve had them here another time. What did you call them again, Brody?”

  “Arancini. They’re Italian fried rice balls. The ones they make here are about the best I’ve ever tasted. I heard the chef spent two years in Italy. That’s one reason everything is so good.”

  Alan followed the example of Dak and Brody taking a ball between his fingers and dipping it into the marinara before taking a bite. He closed his eyes as the smooth rice melted in his mouth bathed in the slightly spicy flavor of the sauce. “Wow, I never thought I could get food like this here in town.”