When the Dust Settles

by Mary Calmes

  “Sometimes,” he answered. “And other times I can’t sleep, so I drive over by the resort and I see you running after midnight, or riding your horse.”

  Strange that he would know it was me in the dark, but he was right: I ran when I could. I knew I’d dropped a lot of heavy muscle for a leaner frame, but I was still strong and not at all wasting away. It was simply that he and Zach didn’t see me often enough to realize it had been a gradual change, not an overnight one.

  “I—”

  “That ain’t good to be workin’ that horse at night; you’ll screw him all up.”

  I was so stupid. For a split second I’d been about to speak to him like he was a normal human being, not a complete asshole, full of nothing but judgment, like my cousin. “She,” I emphasized, “is fine. But thanks for your concern.”

  He shook his head and still didn’t let go.

  “And I promise I ain’t sick or nothin’,” I told him. “I used to work real hard to be as big as my dad and Zach, and even Rand.” The steroids I’d injected bulked me up as well, but I stopped all of that when I left my father’s ranch. I was healthier now because I ran and swam, which was more natural for me and burned off my nervous energy. Plus the steroids had made me kind of a dick, and with them out of my system for more than twenty-four months, I saw a change in my temperament as well, where most people were concerned. Most people being those who didn’t treat me like a five-year-old.

  He nodded slowly.

  “Never mind,” I grumbled, trying to pull loose. “I don’t know why I even—but I ain’t sick, so you can just not worry, all right?”

  “Say thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Keeping you from falling.”

  “Oh yes,” I bit off. “Thank you so much.”

  He shoved me away, and I stumbled before I got my footing. Of course I turned and flipped him off and then headed back to the truck. I settled in, survived a few more taunts about my wet pants, flipped them all off, and went back to sleep.

  I had read somewhere that if you could sit for fewer than five minutes and nod off, then you might be sleep-deprived. I wondered what less than a minute meant.

  Chapter 3

  GREEN LEAF was, in my opinion, not a good name for a ranch. Tea? Sure. A nursery? Yeah. But not a ranch. So when we finally rolled up on it, I was thinking we were stopping someplace to eat again or visiting a health food store or something. But no, it was a dude ranch, which made a little more sense, but still, I was amazed.

  On a real cattle drive, you started before dawn. On a fake one, apparently middle of the day was normal. I was again cursing Stef and the fuckin’ payback until I saw the man who crossed the porch of the house everyone had come from. Beautiful did not do him justice. He was shorter than me, slender and loose-hipped with a fluid stride that was a pleasure to watch. His smile lit his big cornflower-blue eyes, and when he walked over to Rand with a woman and another man, I understood they, along with many others, were coming with us.

  Of course, once everyone was mounted up, the pretty man and I were nowhere near each other. Apparently he was not too experienced, so instead of riding at the back with me, he was at the front with Rand and Mac and Zach. Being separated by two hundred head of cattle from a guy I wanted to get to know was not my idea of fortuitous. But at least when we stopped for the day, I could go talk to him.

  I was ready to find someone, and not simply for a one-night stand. In the past two years, I really tried to go to bed with someone to see what being a gay man was all about. But every bar I went to in Lubbock, and the couple I visited the last time I was in Dallas for a convention, were not what I expected. The men there moved faster than I was used to. And no, fucking in a bathroom was not what I wanted for my first time. The bar scene really made no sense because none of those men lived where I did. And how was I supposed to have the conversation about the topping I saw myself doing and how careful I would need to be with the guy who was bottoming if they were bent over a sink or shoved into a stall? I wanted to talk things out with someone, because even though I knew I would top—of course I would, without question, because that would need to happen so I could still be me—but… I had questions. So many questions. Starting with how they felt about it, bottoming, being under me, having my weight on them, pressing them down into the bed and feeling me move inside them. I needed that. I wanted to hear about the readiness in another, I needed to be someone else’s desire.

  The craving in me could be traced back to Rand. I blamed him. I wanted what he and Stef had. I wanted the monogamous, go to bed at night and wake up in the morning with deal. A guy who would look at me like I wasn’t stupid, who thought I had a lot to offer, who would actually just see me…. That’s what I craved. But so far, all the boys I saw at bars or my restaurant or around the hotel were just passing through. I had lots of offers for steamy sex with no strings attached, but since all I’d ever wanted was to belong to someone, I had, as of yet, not gone to bed with a man. I wanted at least the potential for permanence.

  When we stopped for lunch, I went to find Rand and tell him the pace was too fast for the new mothers and calves toward the back. He was showing some of the kids how to make a lasso, boys and girls clustered around him, and I saw the looks on the faces of the mothers. He made quite the picture there, and when I glanced over at the guy I wanted to get to know and saw his parted lips, yearning all over him, I got that I was right about him. No man who wasn’t gay looked at another guy like that. Now all I had to do was get him to see me.

  I was about to cross to him when Mac moved from behind Rand over toward where the food was. At that moment I understood my guy was not lusting after the boss man, but instead the foreman of the Red Diamond. He moved really fast to get into line behind Mac for chow and then slid a hand over his forearm to get his attention. When Mac turned, he furrowed his brow as he regarded the guy, who was either oblivious or didn’t care, too intent on what he wanted. And I got it: the small, pretty man was interested in big, strong, and gorgeous, and he’d found it in Mac. Whatever the foreman of the Red Diamond’s faults were, he was still stunning. He and pretty boy would have made a beautiful couple if he was gay. I would have given the object of my latest fantasy the heads-up that he was barking up the wrong tree, but since he didn’t see me at all, I doubted he could hear me either.

  “Glenn!”

  My eyes flicked to Mac, who had yelled.

  “You need to eat!”

  But I had a granola bar in my pack, so I was fine. I turned and left to go back to where Juju was standing with the dogs. She wasn’t tied, she never needed to be, Juju stayed where she was put unless I called her.

  Walking by Zach and some of the others, I heard him telling the story of the last time I went bull riding. It had not been one of my finer moments. Since my name was still on the list for my father’s ranch, when we had to compete in the annual rodeo, I had to go.

  The year before, Stef had been at the rodeo with me and I’d broken my wrist, but the year after, I broke the same wrist, three ribs, and my nose. It was sheer luck that my legs hadn’t been smashed when I was trampled, but the enormous heavy hooves had missed me by inches. No one mentioned that, of course, not even Zach, and hearing everyone laugh, again, like they all hadn’t done it enough the first time once they knew I would live, was another reminder that I didn’t belong in their company anymore. As if I ever did.

  “Don’t tease ole Glenn, y’all,” Zach cackled. “He’s sensitive.”

  I picked up speed, and by the time I made it to Juju, I could have spit nails. The look I got from her, though, like where the hell was her treat, made me even more pissed that I forgot to grab her an apple.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Of course, she did what she always did and turned her back on me.

  “Oh, come on,” I whined.

  When I walked around in front of her, she turned her head until I ripped open the granola bar and she heard the foil go. Then she bumped me w
ith her head, doing the whole bitey grabby give-it-to-me-now thing and I chuckled as she delicately took the entire thing, chewed a couple times, and swallowed it down. She was lucky I had one more, or I would’ve been really annoyed about going hungry.

  “Can I eat this one?” I asked.

  It was like she shrugged, and I realized how tired I was. My horse was basically talking to me.

  Good lord.

  I pet her, hung on her neck, and she let me like she always did before, blowing air softly into my face. It was gentle, the way she was with me, always, and I wasn’t surprised when she nuzzled my chest with her nose for a moment, ending with her head resting on my shoulder. The affection she showed me, along with her possessiveness, like the way she tried to take a bite out of me if I ever rode another horse, were just some of the many reasons why when I left the White Ash, I took her with me.

  She was beautiful, all black except for a white pattern on her forehead that was cataloged as a star but to me always looked more like a skull. When she was born, for whatever reason, her mother had taken an immediate dislike to her and, in fact, tried to kill her by biting and kicking at her with her back legs. We separated them immediately, and I was tasked with keeping the foal alive.

  Her mother, Voodoo, was pure Arabian and was purchased to breed with my father’s Arabian stallion, Hamza, whom he’d traded land for three years earlier. Rayland Holloway loved Arabians, but there were so many top breeders in Texas already that it was hard for him to find a good mare. When he finally did, unfortunately, Voodoo wouldn’t have any part of Hamza, and the artificial insemination route had been unsuccessful. The first time didn’t take and the second, she miscarried because the vet said she was overly stressed by the whole process. The third time they were ready to try, one of the new hands put her in the wrong stall, and instead of running into Hamza’s corral, she went in with Medallion, my father’s Foundation Quarter Horse. From what happened after that, it was clear that Voodoo did not dislike stallions as everyone had assumed; she just had no interest in Hamza. Medallion she liked just fine, and so my father ended up with Juju, who was a mix and not pure anything. No one was all that worried about Juju when she was born. If she didn’t make it, it was okay; he was going to try again with the two purebred horses anyway. But when her mama didn’t want her and I was the first one in the stall, picking her up, cuddling her and carrying her away, I got attached good and hard.

  I slept beside her, fed her, walked with her, finally ran beside her, and by the time she was a filly named Juju—’cause it was bad juju what happened to her—and not a foal anymore, we were bonded heart and soul.

  She was mean to everyone but me, crazy smart, like diabolically clever about getting out of a stall, corral, or anywhere she didn’t want to be, and did not ever allow anyone else to ride her. She didn’t buck; that would have been way too much trouble. Instead she would just lie down. First she’d go down with her front and back legs folded under her, but if that didn’t work, she’d start to tip over until you moved because she was so damn heavy and no one wanted their leg trapped under her. My father could not believe it the first time she did it, or the second, or third, but finally he threw up his hands in defeat. He’d never seen a horse that stubborn. If she’d bucked, he could have broken her, but her whole passive resistance routine, he had no idea what to do with. When I got on and she stood right up, ready to go do whatever I had in mind, he announced she was mine. As if there was ever any question.

  Now, as I stood beside her, she bumped me, moving me until I got off her so she could munch a bit more grass in the cool shade. She was grazing, not really chowing down since she was so picky that where we were standing would never do as actual sustenance.

  It was good that I was in the back, so no one had to talk to me. The dogs were spread out in the shade and I went over and sat with them. One after another I was greeted, with Beau, Rand’s lead canine, putting his head in my lap. Petting him, talking to the others with Juju there close, keeping an eye on me, I finally felt some of the irritation dissipate.

  Had I been at home, at my restaurant when the guys teased me, I bantered right along with them. In my place I was considered a pretty damn good sport. But my family and the men who worked with them brought out the very worst of me. And since petulance wasn’t sexy, I put the pretty man out of my head. I just needed to concentrate on living through the drive. I promised myself I would never, ever again put myself in the position to owe Stefan Joss anything.

  Live and learn.

  THE RIVER we came upon late in the afternoon wasn’t that deep, but that didn’t mean the calves could move through the water without drowning. Most of the others drove the cattle across, but I dismounted, left Juju drinking, and started the process of carrying the babies. Once they were in the water, it was fine; it was just getting them to edge. I got kicked a lot and went under more times than I could count, and it took forever to get all twenty of them from one side to the other. The mothers followed dutifully behind once they saw me carrying their babies.

  I was sitting on the other side, pouring water out of my boots, when Rand came riding up along with Mac and Zach.

  “What the fuck is taking you so long back… here… and where the hell are Pierce and Tom?” Rand asked like I should know.

  I looked up at him, squinted, and waited for him to figure it out as I wrung out my shirttails.

  “You’re supposed to have two more guys with you,” he insisted, scanning both sides of the river, turning around in the saddle to check the area before returning his attention to me. “Did you send them away?”

  “Like anyone would listen to me,” I groused.

  “Well, then where the hell are they?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine, boss man,” I replied, clipping my words.

  Zach moved his horse up beside Rand’s stallion and glowered down at me. “Why the hell are you wet and… oh.” He groaned, turning in this saddle to look at the calves prancing around their mothers fifty feet from us. “Jesus, Glenn.”

  I got up. “Dead cattle would’ve made a helluva good impression on them kids, Zach.”

  “Where the hell are Pierce and Tom?” Rand demanded, for once his annoyance directed at someone besides me.

  “I thought you told me they were supposed to ride lead to help watch over the parents and kids,” Zach explained, glancing at me and then back to Rand, meeting his glare.

  “No,” Rand replied brusquely, gesturing at me. “They were supposed to help Glenn.”

  “Why didn’t you just call us on back?” Zach growled. I knew why he was angry. Rand was pissed at him and he had to take it out on someone.

  “I dunno,” I said flippantly, “y’all ain’t been all that concerned up to now.”

  “Did you once say the pace was too fast?” Zach berated me.

  I hadn’t. I’d meant to, but got diverted with my quarry and Mac. “No.”

  “Well, then, how the fuck were we—oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re bleedin’.”

  I had a scrape over the swell of my right hip, but I would live. “It’s fine.”

  “You’re gonna be black and blue tomorrow.”

  “The fuck do you care,” I snarled. “Just get on back up to the front and lead.”

  He spurred his horse toward me and his look was murderous. “You—”

  “Quit,” Rand ordered harshly, his tone brooking no protest. “Go get the guys who’re supposed to be riding drag back here with him.”

  “Rand, I—”

  “Now,” he bit off curtly, turning back to me, not giving Zach a chance to defend himself.

  Zach shot me a murderous glance and was gone seconds later, leaving Rand sitting tall in his saddle, frowning at me.

  “What?”

  “We’ll have some guys back here to help you.”

  “Don’t do me any favors.”

  “You’re such a dick,” Rand barked. “Why ya gotta be such an asshole all the time?”

  “It’s a g
ift.” I smirked up at him.

  He left me then, but Mac dismounted.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, what?”

  “Unlike Rand, I will deck you,” he warned, his voice hoarse and low. “Now lemme look at your side.”

  “It’s nothing,” I told him, taking off my hat and raking my fingers through my shoulder-length wet hair to get it out of my face before I put my hat back on.

  “Just lemme see.”

  I yanked my flannel and undershirt up and shoved my waistband down so he could see the wound. “There, see, it’s fine.”

  “Are you serious?” He was using that tone, the one filled with disdain. “Jesus, Glenn.” He touched the reddening skin. “You need stitches.”

  “It’s a scrape,” I argued.

  “It’s a gouge,” he corrected me. “And it needs to be closed up.”

  “You are out of your mind if you think—”

  “Shut up,” he said gruffly, hand on my hip, holding tight. “God, you’re a pain in the ass.”

  “Then don’t worry about it.” I squirmed out of his hands, stalking away and shoving my shirts back down.

  He moved much faster than I thought he could and had me spun around and facing him, only inches separating us. “You will let me take care of this,” he said, then paused, his gaze meeting mine, and the pleading I saw there was unexpected. “Please.”

  It was strange, but his hands on my arms, holding tight, the way he was staring down into my eyes, the fixed regard, it was very settling. “Okay,” I agreed, taken off guard, not minding so much the fact that he’d just manhandled me, finding that the dominance—because he could simply lift me and throw me over his shoulder if he wanted, he was that much bigger and stronger than me—was doing warm, fluttery things to my stomach.

  He’d been holding his breath, and the glower I got that made his gray eyes darken to charcoal was really something. “Good. Follow me back to the wagon.”