Home for a Cowboy (Windsor, Wyoming Book 1)

by Amy Aislin

  From inside the barn, one of the ranch hands gave them a wave.

  Cal slid off the fence and handed Austin the nearly empty bag of Twizzlers. “I’ve got to get to work.”

  “And I’ve got to get going,” Austin said, following Cal’s lead.

  They tipped their hats at Las and Marco before disappearing around the side of the barn.

  Closing his eyes, Marco inhaled deeply. Horse, cow, and sweat. His or Las’s, it was impossible to tell. Regardless, the morning was peaceful and beautiful and quiet.

  Las was studying him when he opened his eyes, head tilted, lips pursed.

  “What?”

  Las shook his head and jumped off the fence. “What do you want to do today?”

  “Shower,” Marco said, running his fingers through his filthy hair. “And then I was thinking we could go for a horseback ride, but…” He shifted so that most of his weight was on the other butt cheek. “Maybe not today.”

  Las was much too smug.

  “Want to go for a hike? Not a Windsor Ranch one, something new. Yellowstone? And then we can hang out at your tent for the rest of the day?”

  He’d surprised Las—his eyes blinked wide, jaw going slack. Then he smiled, big and sunny, and squeezed Marco’s knee. “That sounds perfect.”

  STANDING AT THE WINDOW OF his mom’s office, Las peered out into the distance. Nestled in a corner of the first floor of their family home, the office was all stacked books and magazines about cattle ranching, new technologies, and growing a successful business; ribbons and trophies haphazardly placed on shelves; an ancient afghan thrown over the back of the couch pushed against the wall across from the desk; a cabinet holding framed family photos; and a sturdy desk on which sat a laptop, several file folders, a printed journal article with passages highlighted in yellow, and a bottle of hand lotion.

  The window faced north, over a hilly pasture dotted with cows. If he stuck his cheek up to the window and turned his head at a certain angle, he could barely see the trail that led down to where he and Marco had spent more than one night stargazing from the back of his dad’s truck. It wasn’t every night; in fact, it wasn’t every week. More often than not, evenings found them at Las’s tent, but every once in a while, they lay down on a pile of blankets, watched the stars, and talked. About nothing—like which one of the Weasley twins was funnier—and everything—like how he and Ben had first gotten together or how Marco texted his sisters almost every day so they could all remain part of each other’s lives despite the miles between them. It was soothing just to chat with Marco. No wonder Las hadn’t been able to keep his distance. Marco had snuck into his life, crept under his defenses, built himself a perch, and hadn’t left. Las wasn’t sure he wanted him to.

  No, he knew he didn’t want him to. It’d been two months since Marco had arrived. Two months since Las had started showing him the best that Windsor and Wyoming had to offer, and still, Marco hadn’t said a word about possibly wanting to stay once his contract was up. Not that two months was a long time to convince someone to uproot their entire life.

  Although, in his dad’s case, it had only taken two weeks. The way his parents told the story, Derek March had been on a family summer vacation at Windsor Ranch with his parents and younger sister, their last one before his sister left for college in Chicago. He and Las’s mom had taken one look at each other at one of the dance parties and spent the next two weeks living out of each other’s pockets. A month after Derek and his family had returned to St. Louis, Derek had quit his job at a marketing firm and moved to Windsor. He and Las’s mom were married by Christmas.

  But Marco wasn’t Derek March. Marco was thoughtful and careful. He had a family out east that he was close to. Parents who depended on him. Sisters he missed and who no doubt missed him. If Las’s mountains and trails and stars couldn’t convince Marco to stay, he wasn’t sure anything could. In the meantime, Las would keep seizing the day and losing tiny parts of himself to Marco until he didn’t have anything left to give.

  It would be worth it, in the end. It would hurt, but it would be worth it. Marco was worth much more than a broken heart.

  “Tell me something.”

  Las jolted at his mother’s voice and turned. He’d finally presented his USNC proposal to her, carefully going through it with her and answering any questions, explaining his charts and graphs and cost analyses, the long-term financial, environmental, and reputational benefits to the ranch. Then he’d given her time to flip through it, mull it over, let the idea germinate while he stared out the window and thought too much.

  Sitting behind her desk, she closed the presentation folder and rested her hands atop it. “Why do you want this so bad?”

  “In the long run,” Las started to explain, taking a seat in the armchair in front of her desk, “it’ll help us understand more about grazing practices and determine if there are ways to—” He broke off when she held up a hand.

  “You said all of that already. I want to know why you want to partner with these guys on this research project. Not how it will benefit the ranch or is a great subject for your thesis project.” She narrowed her eyes on him. “Why do you want this?”

  Feeling like he was at a job interview, Las leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “This land is amazing.” He smiled as he thought about the river by his tent, and the overlook on the expert-level trail, and the rolling hills, and the rough mountain peaks, and the nights so dark you could see the Milky Way—everything he’d shown Marco that made this his favorite place in the world. “The river that runs along the west side feeds countless animals, not to mention several communities from here to Laramie. We’ve got trees that are hundreds of years old.” He sat up and gestured toward the window. “Large animals cross through the property, and last summer I documented a sighting of the black-footed ferret.” Spreading his arms wide, he let himself remember the amazement. “That species isn’t even traditionally found in this part of Wyoming, and it’s here. We’re providing habitat for it. I know we don’t need this. Windsor Ranch is successful on both sides of the highway. But what if that changes one day? You and I both know that developers are dying to get their hands on this land. But if we were to partner with USNC, and one day we’re unable to maintain a ranch anymore for whatever reason, the land would still be protected. Forever. I guess I just…” He stared out the window at a lazy blue sky. “I really do think this project will benefit the ranch. But in the long run, I just want this place to still exist after we’re all gone.”

  “I can tell you’re excited about this.” His mom opened the report again, flipping through its pages. “And you’ve put a lot of thought and research into this. Before I make a decision, I’d like to speak to the team at USNC.” She went to the back of the report, where he’d listed the scientists who would be involved.

  Las brightened. “I can arrange that! Maybe for the second or third week of August? The professor I’ve been speaking with at UW won’t be back in the state until then.” That professor also worked for USNC and would be Las’s thesis advisor if his mom approved this project.

  If he could just make it work.

  “Sounds good,” his mom said.

  Las rose, feeling light as air.

  “How’s your apartment search going?” his mom asked as she followed him out of the office and into the kitchen.

  “Not great.” Taking the dish of leftover lasagna out of the fridge, he cut out a slice, plated it, and put it in the microwave. “I’m going back to Laramie next weekend to look some more. Marco’s coming with me.”

  His mom poured herself the rest of the coffee and leaned back against the counter. “Marco, huh? Things between you two seem good.”

  “Yeah.” Las couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him. “They are. I’m always conscious of the fact that our relationship has a deadline, but for now, it’s pretty great.”

  “Why does it have to have a deadline?”

  “He’s seasonal staff,” Las re
minded her. “He’ll be going home in September.” Or to DC if the NHL wanted him there, or to another city playing hockey for some other major or minor team, or hell, anywhere really, to wherever his next job took him.

  “Just because he’s leaving doesn’t mean your relationship has to end. I know you’re starting grad school soon, but that doesn’t mean you can’t visit each other on breaks and holidays.”

  Las rubbed his chest, over his heart. “I know that.” The microwave beeped, saving him from his mom’s narrowed and perceptive gaze while he turned to deal with his meal. “But what’s the point? This is home. Marco’s is back east.”

  “Oh, honey.”

  Las took one of the tall barstools at the counter and dug into his meal. His mom came up behind him and squeezed his shoulder on her way back to her office. “Home isn’t a place you can put a pin in on the map. It’s where your heart is. Remember that.”

  But Las’s heart was in Windsor, always had been. If Marco would take half of it with him when he left, well… That had no bearing on anything.

  July’s Windsor Ranch end of the month dance party was in full swing by the time Marco arrived with Reid after nine.

  “There’s a thousand people here,” Reid commented on their way to the snack table.

  “Las told me once that people from neighboring towns come too.”

  Already it was louder than Marco was generally comfortable with. There was the buzz of loud conversations, bursts of concentrated laughter, the beat of a country song Marco had never heard before over the speakers. The recreational building was large, probably about the size of his college hockey rink, but it felt small when it was packed body to body. There weren’t a thousand people here, but it sure felt like it.

  After nabbing snacks and drinks, they snagged one of the tables set up along the sides, waving to fellow employees and guests they’d gotten to know.

  “Did you help set up tonight too?”

  “Nah.” Marco dunked a baby carrot in dip. “I hiked the expert-level trail today.” Voluntarily—Las would be so proud. “Got some great shots. Want to see?”

  “Sure.”

  Reid hadn’t expressed an interest in Marco’s photography so far except for words of encouragement, but he nonetheless thumbed through the images on the tiny digital screen of Marco’s borrowed camera. Marco kept snacking on his party treats—veggies, mini sausage rolls, and a handful of chips—while he scanned the building in search of a familiar dark head.

  “Wow.” Reid moved his still-full plate aside and turned the camera in Marco’s direction. “Where’s this taken from?”

  “Uhh…” Shit. Was he allowed to share Las’s favorite overlook with others?

  A hand brushed against his neck, warm and callused, before Las sat next to him with his hand on Marco’s knee. “There’s an overlook on the expert-level trail,” he said. “Off the path.”

  “It’s a pain in the ass to get to,” Marco added.

  “But worth it, obviously.” Reid continued scrolling through images. “This place has a way of getting into your heart, doesn’t it?”

  Marco turned to Las, running a hand over his wrist. “Yes, it does. It’ll suck to leave.” He said it in a way that invited Las to commiserate; instead, Las went tense.

  “So don’t,” Reid said, all casual-like. “I’m not.”

  “What?”

  Las squinted at him. “You’re not?”

  “Nope. Or at least, I hope not. There are a few stores in town that are hiring, and I’ve applied for a couple of available apartments.”

  “Won’t you miss Florida?” Marco asked.

  “Fuck no.”

  Las snorted. “You’ll be singing a different tune in the dead of winter.”

  “I doubt it.” Reid handed the camera back. “I spent Christmases with my grandparents in Chicago when I was a kid. I’m no stranger to cold and snow.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Cal and Austin appeared and sat on Reid’s side of the table. Marco opened his mouth to ask Austin how his week was, where he’d traveled, if he’d gotten any good night shots, when Las took Marco’s hand in his and stood. “Come on. Let’s see if you remember the steps.”

  Marco handed the camera back to his roommate. “Keep this safe.”

  He’d forgotten the steps to most of the line dances, but it didn’t take long to refresh his memory. Didn’t help, however, that he kept getting distracted by Las’s squeezable ass in those tight jeans, or the way he moved his hips. Las’s outfit was completed by a dark blue T-shirt, cowboy boots, and a leather band around his wrist inset with a small green bead. But it was the smile on his face while he danced that made Marco’s libido sit up, distracting him until he stumbled over his own feet.

  When the dance had everyone turning left and Marco was faced with Las’s back, he would’ve bet money that Las put an extra swing in his hips, an extra shimmy in his ass, an extra bounce in his step, just for him.

  How long before they could escape to Las’s tent and Marco could put Las’s hips to better use?

  Not long, as it turned out.

  Lonestar’s “Amazed” began to play. Marco turned to head back to Reid, Austin, and Cal, but Las grabbed his hand and towed him outside and around the side of the building. The noise of the party became muted. The festive white Christmas lights strung on the roof cast spots of brightness on Las’s face. The music bled through the walls and filtered out the open doors.

  “Dance with me,” Las murmured, hands coming up to Marco’s hips, aligning their pelvises, before they climbed up Marco’s back to clutch a fistful of his T-shirt.

  Marco’s arms went around Las’s shoulders, fingers threading the hairs at the base of Las’s neck, drawing his head closer until their mouths were centimeters apart as they swayed to the music. Las’s soft breathing whispered across his jaw, making his own breathing stutter sharply.

  Which, in turn, made Las smile.

  Marco leaned into him. “You like how affected I am by you.”

  “Immensely,” Las whispered before his lips claimed Marco’s.

  Any play at dancing was forgotten after that.

  Las’s mouth was hungry and determined. His hands grabbed at Marco’s shoulders, his waist, traveled underneath his T-shirt and up his back. Marco groaned into Las’s mouth and shivered when Las pressed his nails into the skin of his back.

  Marco let his own hands wander, one up to cup the back of Las’s head to change the angle of their kiss, one down the back of his jeans to squeeze the ass Las had been taunting him with earlier. He backed Las up against the side of the building and pressed their hard dicks together, eliciting a strangled moan from Las.

  Heart pummeling his ribs, desire curling all the way into his toes, Marco ripped his mouth away and said, “I thought you wanted to dance with me.”

  Las nipped Marco’s jaw. “This is its own kind of dance.”

  That was certainly true.

  Marco held Las’s face between his hands, marveling at how the Christmas lights made little stars in Las’s dark eyes. “Can we go to your tent?”

  Disappointment hit when Las shook his head. “It’s too dark to wander in the woods. I have another idea though.”

  “Don’t say the hayloft.” Marco pressed a quick closed-mouth kiss to Las’s lips. “My knees are still bruised from the last time.”

  “We’ll put hay under the blanket this time. For padding.” Las’s smirk turned wicked. “Or you can ride me.”

  Another kiss, this one slower but somehow messier. “Well, in that case . . . lead the way.”

  “MARCO, NICE JOB ON THE bokeh here.”

  He straightened at Austin’s words as Austin clicked through a series of images. On the screen at the front of the room, Marco’s close-up shot of a shadowed street sign with out-of-focus lights in the background—otherwise known as bokeh—was replaced with someone else’s photo.

  It was nice to have his work validated by a professional, even if it was in a room of t
welve other beginner photography workshop attendees. Marco wasn’t sure how he felt about sharing his images in front of a group, especially when he still thought his photos were amateurish. He could admit, however, that he was gaining a lot of value out of the critique session. It wasn’t so different from standing in net while his teammates shot pucks at him and his goalie coach critiqued his form from the bench.

  “How about this one?” Austin said on the next image. “Does it follow the rules of composition we’ve been talking about the last few weeks?”

  “It doesn’t follow the rule of thirds,” one of Marco’s classmates said.

  “You’re right. But it still works, right?” Austin waited for nods before continuing. “That’s because photography is the same as . . . oh, I don’t know. The English language, for example. There are exceptions to every rule.”

  “So how do you know when to toss the rules out the window?” Marco asked, pen poised above his notepad.

  “For the most part, it depends on what kind of overall look you’re going for. You’ve got to take angles and shadows into consideration, the background, framing.”

  Marco wrote as Austin talked, absorbing information and committing it to memory.

  The best part of the twice-weekly workshop was the practice session at the end. Austin taught for an hour, and the second hour was reserved for practical work. If the weather cooperated, they went outside. If not, they found stuff to photograph in the community center. And Austin always left twenty minutes at the end to review everyone’s photos and offer constructive feedback.

  Tonight they’d gone out and walked the five minutes to Windsor Town Square, where they’d set up their tripods and Austin had walked them through some night photography tips.

  “Question,” Marco said when Austin concluded the workshop and everyone had left for the night. “When do we get to do . . . sky photography?”

  “Astrophotography,” Austin said with a small chuckle. “It’s not actually part of the beginner workshop.”