by Brandon Witt
“Your truck. Don’t all cowboys name their trucks?”
Travis let out a dismissive puff of air. “No. No name. I love my truck. It’s great. But no names, and it definitely doesn’t have gender. Though I’ve thought about getting those big balls to hang off the rear hitch. Wendy says that’s not appropriate when you’re driving around a six-year-old girl.” He shrugged. “And I agree actually. I don’t need Avery asking those kind of questions.” Travis peered over at Wesley again. “And I’m not a cowboy.”
“Really? You look like one. The boots, the Wranglers, the big cowboy belt buckle. You own a feedstore, you have livestock. You take care of buffalo.”
“Nope. Too many people call themselves cowboys. It’s disrespectful and lessens the real thing. Cowboys herd up their cattle on horseback, do rodeos, all that shit. I’ve never done any of it.”
“So you’re a farmer?”
“Not the kind you’re thinking. Don’t have a field or crops or anything.”
“Rancher?”
Travis paused as he turned right onto Carman Road, then inspected the vet momentarily. “Why you trying to put a label on me, Wesley?”
Wesley felt heat rise to his cheeks. Surely Travis was aware of the double meaning of that question. “I wasn’t trying to. Just making conversation. And sometimes labels help. I’m a veterinarian. Pretty easy.”
“Well, I’m Travis Bennett. That’s my only label. I’m a Missouri boy who owns a feedstore and tends Mr. Walker’s buffalo. That’s it.”
Again that horrid silence. It lasted until Travis pulled into the clinic’s parking lot. Travis backed up the truck to the front door, turned off the ignition, left the keys hanging, and stepped out of the truck. He patted the edge of the seat. “Come here, Dunk.”
With a groan, Dunkyn stood, taking his time to stretch before closing the short distance between him and his master.
“Always a production with you, isn’t it?” Travis swept him into his arms and placed him on the ground, then rubbed the top of the dog’s head affectionately.
Wesley had the clinic’s doors open and lights turned on in less than a minute, and then he returned to help Travis unload the twenty-five bags of pet food out of the back of the truck.
They worked in silence, each lifting one or two of the heavy bags onto his shoulder and carrying them into the clinic. Dunkyn paced back and forth, always two steps behind Travis. Wesley watched Travis, though he tried to be discreet, which was fairly easy with the bags over his shoulders. The man truly was a bear, all muscle and girth as he lifted a new bag of feed onto his massive shoulders. Wesley couldn’t remember ever seeing a porn that was set in a veterinary clinic, but would he ever love to change that.
He had to quit thinking of Travis that way. He had to. It wasn’t why he was here. It was the exact opposite of why he was here. And the man was straight—well, obviously not completely, but straight enough it would be nothing but drama to think otherwise, no matter what Kinsey number Travis Bennett fell on.
Despite the tense silence in the truck, the silence that settled on them as they moved the feed was comfortable and easy, maybe because they were working together, no matter how mundane or small the task. If only Wesley could keep his mind from drifting to places it shouldn’t. But still, Travis had kissed him. Wesley hadn’t started anything.
All too soon they were done. The truck was empty. The pet food display was refilled, and the extra bags were placed in storage. The silence in the front office once again grew palpable.
Dunkyn began rummaging through a basket of large rawhide bones by the front door. He rooted through them with his nose, searching for one that met his approval. Wesley had been meaning to move them. He wasn’t sure why Dr. Fisher had placed them there within easy access of all the dogs that came through the door.
“Dunk, knock it off.” Travis nudged the dog with the side of his foot, scooting him away from the snacks.
Dunkyn huffed in exasperation and grabbed the nearest rawhide between his teeth, whirled quickly, and waddled off to lie at Wesley’s feet. With a satisfied exhale, he began to chew.
Travis glared at the dog. “Sorry. I’ll pay for that one.”
Well, that answered his question. Smart woman, that Dr. Fisher. The treats would stay where they were. “No, it’s okay. Just consider it payment for having to deliver the feed. Not sure why I thought I could get all that in the Miata.” Wesley bent down to scratch Dunkyn’s ear but then stood up quickly. “Oh crap. The Miata. I wasn’t even thinking. We loaded up your truck, and you said to hop in and I did.” Was his heartbeat increasing because he was nervous or excited? “Do you mind driving me back out to the feedstore so I can pick up my car?”
Travis pulled his phone from his pocket and peered down at it before looking at Wesley. “It’s nearly eleven. Do you have anyone coming in soon?”
“No. Slow day. The only appointment I have is at two.”
“Good. Let me text Jason and let him know I’m bringing him a hickory burger. You ever had Simone’s?”
“Not since I was a kid.”
“Well, then, it’s settled. We’re getting lunch. Miata and purple shirt aside, you’re never gonna be a true El Doradian if you’re not eating at Simone’s.”
“Travis, you don’t have to do that. We can just get my car.” Shut up! Why was he trying to get out of eating with Travis? The insta-sweat that ran down his spine might be the reason.
“Consider it payment for that bone.” Travis gestured toward Dunkyn chewing happily at Wesley’s feet.
“I thought that was the delivery fee.”
Travis shrugged, his expression unreadable. “Well, I want Simone’s, and there’s never a day Jason doesn’t want a hickory burger, and it’s kinda on the way back to the lot, so if you wanna get something too, great. Just warning you, though; if you’re gonna sit there and watch me eat, I’m not sharing.”
Wesley hesitated, though he wasn’t sure why he did. Actually he was completely sure why he hesitated. “Well, okay. I guess anything that will help me get grafted into this town will help the clinic.” He grabbed the keys off the counter. “And this shirt is plum, not purple.”
Travis cocked an eyebrow at him. “Seriously?”
Chapter Twelve
AT THE rear of a rectangular lot of potholed, thin cement, Simone’s was nothing more than a twenty-by-twenty whitewashed cinderblock square, half of which consisted of windows. A thirty-foot-long carport stretched out in front of it, turning it into a makeshift Sonic wannabe. A narrow red strip of paint wrapped around the perimeter. If you weren’t a local, you’d take a quick glance at the shabby building on Highway 54—if you noticed it at all—and then keep going another half mile until you came to the actual Sonic.
The carhop brought the food-laden red plastic tray and slipped it over the F-350’s partially rolled-down driver’s window.
“Here ya go, Mr. Bennett.”
“Thanks, Krissy.” Travis handed her two twenties over the pile of food. “Hey, wait a minute. Why are you here this time of day? I only see you in the evenings.”
Krissy’s sallow cheeks flushed. “I had to drop out.”
“Why? Your mom sick?” Travis chided himself—not every kid’s mother got cancer. Still, Krissy’s mom, Paula, had been in Shannon’s class. Krissy was the second-oldest of five, most with different fathers. If Paula got sick….
“No, Mr. Bennett. Mom’s fine.”
Travis felt like he was intruding, but he couldn’t help it. Krissy had worked at Simone’s since she’d been a freshman. She was there nearly every evening and all day Saturday. She was one of the hardest working kids he’d ever seen. There was something so fragile about her. “You’ve only got till May, Krissy, and then you’re done. Don’t drop out now.”
He was horrified when her eyes filled with tears. “I’m pregnant, Mr. Bennett. Gotta earn more money. Sarah’s barely four, and it’s all we can do to make ends meet now.” Sarah was the youngest of Paula’s brood.
<
br /> Travis had no idea how to respond. His heart ached for the girl, an image of Shannon at her age superimposing itself over her face, then morphing to an older Avery. Dear God.
Unaware of his inner turmoil, Krissy looked past him, eyeing Wesley on the other side of the F-350.
“Hi.” Wesley’s little wave caught Travis’s attention.
“Oh, Krissy, have you met Dr. Ryan? He’s taking over for Cheryl at the vet clinic.”
She jerked a little, like she’d gotten caught staring at something she shouldn’t. “Hi. Nice to meet you.” She glanced away quickly, a knowing look in her eye.
Wesley waved again. “Nice to meet you too, Krissy.”
Krissy dug through the pockets of her hip apron, then extended a large wad of change toward Travis.
“Keep the change, Krissy.”
She gave him a slight nod and began to walk away.
“Hey, Krissy.” Travis called out to her, without thinking through what he was getting ready to say.
She glanced back, partly turning. “Did I forget something, Mr. Bennett?”
“No. I just, ah….” Again Shannon stood before him. “Jason and I have been kinda swamped at the feedstore lately. If you get tired of serving food, hit us up. It’d be nice for someone to run the register or something so we could focus on all the other stuff we have to do. We could set you up on our insurance plan. You and the baby.”
Her tiny hand rose to settle over her flat stomach. “Really? Even without me graduating?”
“Well, we’d figure that out too. You’d need a diploma to work at Cedar County Feed. Maybe you could do some GED classes or something. Something online.”
Krissy’s face fell. “We don’t have a computer, Mr. Bennett.”
“We got one at the store. You can do it while you’re working. In between customers or something.”
She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.
“Talk to your mom. See what she thinks.”
Krissy nodded slowly, then turned away again.
Travis watched her until she entered the glass door and stepped back up to the counter. Jason was gonna ream him out. Well, fuck it. CCF was his business. He could hire who he wanted. Cedar County Feed, goddammit. He was gonna kill Jason for getting that fucking acronym stuck in his head.
The scent of grease cut through his thoughts, making his stomach rumble. He angled toward Wesley. “If you haven’t had Simone’s since you were a kid, you’re in for quite the—” The expression on the vet’s face cut him off. “What?”
A grin played at the corner of Wesley’s lips. “You need a high school diploma to run the register at the feedstore?”
“Well, I…. Ah….” He ran a hand nervously across the stubble of his jaw. “Gotta keep the place reputable.”
Wesley looked as though he was about to say something—something gushy or sweet or… something. Travis wasn’t sure he could handle that. Krissy had left him feeling a little exposed. The extra large truck cab seemed to be crushing in around him. He gestured out Wesley’s window toward a rusted metal picnic table on the edge of Simone’s property. “Why don’t we eat over there?”
After following Travis’s motion, Wesley looked back with a raised eyebrow. “Won’t Jason’s food get cold?”
“He don’t care. Jason would eat a Simone’s hickory burger if you’d left it standing out for three days.” Without waiting for more discussion, Travis opened the door, careful to not spill the suspended tray of food on the window. “Will you help Dunkyn out?”
To Travis’s surprise, when Wesley patted the seat after getting out of the truck, Dunkyn padded over to him and allowed the vet to lift him from the cab. He also noticed how Wesley checked for cars circling into Simone’s lot before placing the dog on the ground.
After settling on either side of the picnic table, Dunkyn contentedly gnawing on his rawhide bone beneath them, Travis began to divvy up the food. He left Jason’s portion in the bag but pulled out his and Wesley’s burgers and bags of wavy french fries.
No words were spoken as greasy parchment was folded back, revealing the burgers, thin grilled onions, and melted cheese dripping down the sides.
Travis watched as Wesley sank his teeth into his burger and let out a long, contented groan. He was a strange mix of a man. Though much leaner than Travis, Wesley was long and solid—he looked sturdy. The cut and angles of his face were masculine, yet Travis wasn’t sure of the correct label…. Refined, maybe? Even the cut of his dark blond hair, just starting to gray at the temples, was a similar blend of masculine but moneyed. That was it. Wesley Ryan looked moneyed. Kinda fancy, with his clothes and well-groomed brows. At first glance, the vet almost came off feminine, but Travis decided Wesley just looked citified. Then the image of Wesley jogging past his house flitted through his mind. Well, maybe he was a little feminine, with the pink shoelaces and all. He was handsome, though. He was attractive.
Handsome. Attractive. Travis didn’t want to be thinking these things. He hadn’t until that night in the barn when Wesley made his son laugh. He could still hear that voice, warm and soft and low. He could still see the horizon of stars lighting up behind him. Travis had gotten carried away. He’d lost his mind. He’d touched a man in a way he hadn’t in nearly two decades.
It had rocked him. The feel of Wesley’s lips. The firmness of his body. So different from anything he’d felt for so long.
The warmth, though…. That was the same. That he recognized.
After that, he’d gone through two days of inner turmoil and barely contained guilt and terror. Even Wendy hadn’t asked questions, which was unheard of. She was never afraid of Travis’s moods.
He’d told himself he was going to stay away from Wesley. Nothing good could come of it. The kiss had been a mistake. A stupid, reckless mistake. One that had kept him up the past couple of nights. One that kept him returning to the cold shower. One that kept him away from Shannon’s grave, and that had never happened.
“Are you okay?”
The world suddenly returned into focus—a pinpoint focus that narrowed in on the brown eyes inspecting him with concern.
Travis steadied himself with a hand on the edge of the table. Fuck.
“Travis? Are you all right?” Wesley leaned across the table toward him, one of his hands cautiously stretching out to touch Travis’s arm.
At the contact, Travis flinched away. “Yeah. I’m fine. Sorry.” He glanced down. There were several bites missing from Wesley’s burger. “How is it?”
Wesley’s brows knitted in confusion, and then he followed Travis’s gaze. “Oh. Amazing, actually. Takes me back to eating these with my grandparents. I don’t know how I’d forgotten.” He motioned toward Travis’s burger. “You haven’t even tasted yours.”
Travis lifted the burger and took a huge bite, then looked away from Wesley’s inquisitive eyes. As he did, he noticed Krissy watching them through the wall of windows. Behind her, the old cook peered at them as well.
He forced the bite down his throat, the unchewed lump nearly getting stuck. He took a swig from the large Styrofoam cup. “I guess we should probably get back. You’re probably right. Jason would want his burger to be at least partially warm.”
Wesley’s eyes flicked from him to where their observers continued to stare at them. “Oh.” He lowered his burger to the paper he’d been using as a placemat and began to wrap it up. “Probably a good idea.”
Goddammit. “Wesley, listen. I’m sorry.”
“No. Don’t be. It was nice of you to, ah, deliver the feed and get me lunch. I really appreciate it.” Wesley’s voice was cool, a tone Travis hadn’t heard from him before. Not that he’d heard all that much. Still, he didn’t like it.
“Wesley, really… never mind. Let’s finish eating here, and then we can go. Jason will be fine.”
Wesley eyed him for a moment, then let out a long breath, a determined posture squaring his shoulders. “Listen, Travis. It’s okay. Not my first rodeo. There’s no re
ason to say anything else. I’ll rent a little trailer or something every month to pick up the feed, and we’re good. I’ll even call Mr. Wallace and let him know you and Jason had nothing to do with the report. I’m not sure he’ll believe me, but I’ll do my best.” Wesley looked away. “Everything else will be… forgotten. No big deal.”
John Wallace. That fucker. He’d nearly forgotten the events of the past couple of hours.
Travis had decided he was going to do what Wesley was now suggesting—forget all of it. The kiss hadn’t really happened. He hadn’t really felt any attraction to Wesley. He hadn’t desired the feel of the man’s body pressed against him again. He hadn’t actually felt the hint of passion in their kiss.
It was a blip. Nothing more. Just a small, meaningless blip.
The kiss was nothing to him. Meaningless. After a while, he’d even forget the vet’s name.
Then… John Wallace.
The fear had spiked through him as he’d rounded the storeroom door and seen John Wallace tearing toward Wesley. The fury. He’d known he wasn’t going to be fast enough to intercept John before he hit Wesley. He’d also been certain he was going to kill the man, until Jason had stopped Wallace cold.
Then John Wallace had called Wesley that word. That word that sounded so different from the vile man’s mouth than from his own.
There hadn’t been time to understand where that need to protect had come from. There certainly wasn’t time to name it. All he knew was that the man had threatened something important. Something that was his.
“Don’t you dare call that fucker.”
Wesley flinched at the sound of Travis’s voice, looking back at him in surprise. “What?”
Travis felt the muscle of his shoulders and arms tense as he leaned forward, like they were ready to rip someone apart. “Don’t you contact John Wallace. He’s nothing but a fucked-up piece of shit. You stay away from him.”
A range of emotions warred over Wesley’s face, but Travis didn’t attempt to identify them. “I can take care of myself, Travis. And it’s obvious tying your name up with mine isn’t going to help you any.” He glanced meaningfully toward their audience at the drive-in’s window, then back.
