by A. M. Arthur
“Never,” Wes teased. “He’s too picky.”
“It’s not my fault I have high standards,” Derrick retorted. He and Wes had gotten along immediately the first time they met, and Derrick considered the high-strung flirt every bit as much a brother to him as Conrad.
A nurse finally said they could see the new parents, and Derrick tried not to bounce on his toes. Mrs. Bentley hung back a bit because she’d seen the baby, but the rest of their group swarmed the bed where Sophie sat with Conrad beside her, cradling the swaddled bundle.
“Everyone,” Conrad said with a huge grin, “meet Mia Ebony Massey.”
Wes squealed and kissed Sophie’s temple. “I love the name Mia, oh, my God. She’s gorgeous.”
Derrick was tall enough that he could peek over Mr. Bentley’s shoulder and get a look at the baby. She had amber skin and a button nose and the thickest eyelashes he’d ever seen. She wore a little cap over her head and her eyes were closed, and she was just the most precious thing ever.
“She came out with a full head of hair, too,” Conrad preened. “Just like I did.”
Mom laughed. “Yes, you did. Your brother was practically bald until he was two.”
“How did I not know that?” Wes asked.
Derrick swatted his shoulder. “Who cares how much hair I had? This is about little Mia and who gets to hold her next.”
Conrad stood and offered the baby to Mr. Bentley—she was his first grandchild after all, so Derrick wasn’t too jealous—and the free space on the bed gave Wes room to properly hug his sister. They whispered a bit, and Wes kissed her cheek again. “You did good, sis.”
All the grandparents got to hold Mia first, and finally it was Derrick’s turn. Mia was awake and her big, dark eyes adorably cross-eyed. Derrick’s heart turned over hard, and he silently vowed he’d protect this precious angel with his life. “Hello there, Miss Mia. You are going to be so spoiled by your Uncle Derrick.”
She spit bubbles at him.
Derrick reluctantly turned Mia over to Wes, who was so nervous he had to sit in one of the visitor chairs first. Mack crouched next to him and they both admired the baby. Conrad returned to sit with Sophie. Mom and Dad held each other, just like the Bentleys. And Derrick...stood there. The only person in the room without someone by their side to share in this beautiful moment.
And it really sucked.
He pushed the dour thoughts away and concentrated on his family until a nurse said it was time for Sophie to try breastfeeding, so everyone except Conrad cleared out. In the waiting room, their group discussed how long to stay, versus going home. The Bentleys needed to get their and Conrad/Sophie’s stuff from Mack’s cabin, and Derrick’s bag was still back at the ranch. In the end, they agreed Sophie needed to rest, and there would be plenty of time to dote over Mia once they got her home.
Mr. Bentley drove Derrick, Mack and Wes back to the main ranch and dropped Derrick off so he could get his bag and say goodbye to Valentine. Derrick would drive Mack’s pickup to the cabin in a bit.
Derrick collected his overnight bag first, which had been stored in the kitchen, then chatted with Patrice for a few minutes. Derrick showed her some photos of Mia on his phone. “Such a precious little thing,” Patrice cooed. “You tell her parents I said congratulations, all right?”
“I will, thank you, ma’am.” Derrick accepted a quick hug from the older lady and then went outside to store his bag in the car trunk. Since Derrick had ridden into the town of Garrett with Conrad and Sophie yesterday, he’d probably hitch a ride home with his parents. Even though he’d moved out of his hometown and closer to San Francisco, they still lived somewhat nearby so it wouldn’t be totally out of their way.
He’d parked near the main house, which gave him a good view of the barn’s entrance, and he spotted a familiar backside disappearing into it. Slater was probably getting horses ready for this afternoon’s riding demo and Derrick hated interrupting his workday. But he had to say something to the man.
It was important to him to at least say goodbye, even if he didn’t understand why.
Derrick strolled casually toward the barn and entered its cool gloom. Hay and horse and dung assaulted his nose, and he sneezed twice, unused to the strong odors.
A deep chuckle prickled across his skin. “Now there’s a city boy for you,” Slater said from a few stalls down. “Sneezing over some straw.”
“I only work in the city. I grew up in a small town. I’m just not used to barns.” He had no need to defend his body’s reactions but he didn’t like the idea of Slater assuming he was some soft city boy. “Came in to say goodbye to Valentine. She’s the horse I rode when I was on vacation here two years ago.”
Slater leaned his hip against a stall door and folded his arms, his expression difficult to discern. The barn wasn’t dark, exactly, but the dim bulbs every couple of yards didn’t produce much artificial light. “I’d say I remember, except I was on vacation myself that week and off the ranch.”
“Yeah.” Oh, yeah, Derrick would have remembered the guy from that week, and he’d only gotten a brief glimpse of Slater at Sophie and Conrad’s wedding. “Do anything fun on your vacation?” Or anyone?
Slater quirked an eyebrow. “Got to spend time with someone I don’t get to see very often.” He jacked the thumb over his shoulder. “Your horse is down there.”
“I know.” Derrick resisted the urge to growl as he strode past Slater to Valentine’s stall. He rubbed her forehead and nose, wishing he had a treat for her.
“Here.” Slater handed him a sugar cube. “Guess you don’t have time for a ride, seeing as you’ve got a new baby to spoil rotten.”
Unsure what sort of ride Slater had in mind, Derrick shook his head. “No time. I have to pick Mr. Bentley up soon so we can get back to the hospital.” He let Valentine take the cube off his palm, then chanced meeting Slater’s eyes. Those bright blue depths simmered with a familiar mix of interest and wariness. “Don’t suppose you ever make it into San Francisco on Saturday nights?”
“Clubbing hasn’t been for me in a very long time.”
“Not a dancer?”
“Not a lot of things.” A kind of sadness flickered across Slater’s face, and Derrick didn’t like that.
He wanted to get things back to light and flirty. “Maybe I’ll book myself for another week here as a guest this summer. We can go on...another hard ride?”
Slater smirked. “Maybe.” That was it.
“Well, uh, I guess I should be heading out. It was nice working out with you last night, Slater.”
“Same. You take care of your niece, you hear me? Babies are precious gifts.” On that odd choice of words, Slater pretended to tip a hat at him and strode away.
Derrick watched him walk toward the corral at the other end of the barn, uncertain about leaving their conversation like that. But Slater hadn’t offered to exchange numbers, so even if he was interested in another booty call, he obviously wasn’t interested in being friends.
Oh, well. They’d had great sex and that was exactly what Derrick had been looking for. A smoking-hot one-off. Time to put the broody cowboy out of his mind and get on with his life.
* * *
Slater sat on his bunk long after his roommate, Hugo, had gone to sleep Sunday night, unable to find enough peace to do the same. He’d been upset and running on so many negative emotions since getting his mail yesterday, and the offending envelope lay on his lap. Opened. The card tucked back inside. He fingered the rough edge where he’d torn the paper, then traced his finger over the name printed carefully over the Clean Slate Ranch address.
Kendall Stamos.
He barely remembered who Kendall was most days, because that part of his life was so long ago. Slater was a nickname given to him in prison, because some guy thought he looked like the dude from Saved by the Bell. Slater never saw the resemblance, but it
had stuck long after. Become almost a character he played, unsure who he truly was anymore. But once in a while, he got a letter that reminded him he’d been Kendall once, and he still had people who knew and loved that guy.
The guy he’d been before prison.
The return address simply said “R. Stamos.”
Rachel. God, I miss you, baby.
He hadn’t seen her in two months, not since his last vacation week rotation. His boss, Arthur Garrett, made sure all his horsemen got a reasonable amount of vacation time during the work year by rotating them out, so one guy was always on vacation for a week while everyone else worked the ranch. And that didn’t count the week of Thanksgiving, and the month or so around Christmas and New Year’s when the ranch was closed to guests. Sometimes hands traded weeks, especially if they had specific plans. Slater rarely had plans, and he coveted every week he got to spend with his little girl.
Although little girl was relative since the envelope in his lap contained an invitation to her high school graduation. Rachel was now the same age he’d been when he and her mom got pregnant. How had so much time passed? Somehow, he was thirty-five with a graduating seventeen-year-old, and it was such a mind-fuck he didn’t know what to do. Hell, his roommate was only a few years older than his own kid.
A kid I barely know, and that’s my own fault.
His thoughts swirled back to today’s early morning news of Sophie Massey giving birth to a little girl of her own. Derrick’s first niece. Slater didn’t know the Masseys or Bentleys at all, but he sent frequent, silent prayers to the deities above for Derrick’s niece to have a long, safe life. He’d said as much to Derrick in the barn a few hours ago, and Slater had almost said too much.
The only person at Clean Slate who knew about Rachel was Arthur, because Rachel was Kendall’s daughter. Here, he was Slater. And Slater was tired. Bone tired. Yes, he liked his job, and he liked his coworkers, but he was stuck. Mired down in familiarity and routines. Sometimes he fantasized about packing a bag, getting on his motorcycle and just...riding. Leaving California, maybe going east.
He had, after all, completely met the terms of his parole and was now a free man. He could go anywhere in the damned world he wanted. Except Rachel was up north in Sacramento County, and he couldn’t imagine leaving her behind completely. Especially not when she would be eighteen in July and able to see him whenever she wanted, no longer bound by the court’s visitation order. He silently cursed his ex again for how she’d manipulated the court into reducing his role in Rachel’s life to supervised visitation. At least his own father and stepmother had full legal custody, and Rachel wasn’t living with her hot mess of a mother.
Although, in some ways, that had also been Slater’s own damned fault for getting his dumb ass sent to prison in the first place.
In his bunk, Hugo let out a rough snore and twisted around in bed. Slater watched the kid until he settled. Hugo could talk at length about horses, farming and ranching, but he hated talking about his own personal life—which was fine by Slater, because he wasn’t much for sharing, either. But Slater suspected the kid had nightmares once in a while, like just now. But Hugo also seemed friendly with Shawn Mathews and Miles Arlington, two guys closer to Hugo’s age who worked up at Mack’s ghost town. Maybe he talked to them about his shit.
Slater tucked the graduation invitation into a small box he kept under his bunk, where he stored the infrequent card or letter he got from Rachel. Then he stretched out and tried to sleep. But sleep didn’t come, and he gave up after an hour. Headed to the garage and the workout room.
He eyeballed the mats he hadn’t put away, and the used condom still laying in a dried-out heap on the floor. Sundays were usually too hectic with arriving guests and the weekly welcome barbecue for folks to use the room. He grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser over the utility sink in the corner and scraped up the mess. Put the mats back where they belonged.
Fuck, but Derrick has a fine, fine ass.
A fine ass, a great body, and hot damn, he’d been responsive to getting fucked. Slater liked to be rough when he knew the guy could handle it, and Derrick had definitely handled it. Almost seemed to crave it. Too bad they’d both agreed it was a one-off. He wouldn’t have minded another go at Derrick’s ass.
Oh, well. Slater shoved all thoughts of Derrick out of his mind, got the tape and boxing gloves, and took his inability to sleep out on the heavy bag.
* * *
Two weeks passed, nudging April closer to May. Slater found a few hours of sleep most nights after a good workout, then woke with the rising sun, dressed and out of the cabin before Hugo even stirred. He liked going on morning walks before breakfast was served up at the guesthouse, so he headed east toward the guest trails. Patrice’s terrifying rooster call would go off any moment and wake the guests, so he was unlikely to run into any of them this morning. A long walk alone was something he’d taken for granted before going to prison. Now, he didn’t take the outdoors for granted, ever. It was part of the reason he enjoyed doing the overnight camping trips with the guests. Sleeping outside, under the stars in open country?
Heaven, after five years in hell.
He was scheduled to go out with tonight’s guests, so after breakfast he headed to the main office to check for signups. It was only nine and guests had until ten to sign up, but there were four names on it already. Cool. They offered the trips Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings, so it was rare that all the guests decided to sign up on one night. The last time Slater recalled that happening was a few years ago when an eighteen-person wedding party booked the entire guesthouse for the week.
Slater had been somewhat new to Clean Slate at the time, and that experience had been...interesting.
He and Reyes were leading tonight’s trip, and by ten they had three additional campers. The guests practiced riding in the corral, and after lunch they got on their way. Reyes rode lead on Mischief, a palomino with a scar on her forehead from an infected insect bite that made her look like she was always quirking an eyebrow at you and planning something. Slater rode on the chuck wagon, which was being led by Hot Coffee. Hot Coffee was Reyes’s personal horse, but she was great with the chuck wagon, and with being ridden bareback for part of the trip.
They could store extra saddle equipment in the chuck wagon, but Slater had learned to ride bareback a few months ago, and he enjoyed how much freer he felt than riding on a saddle. And Hot Coffee seemed to like him.
The chuck wagon followed behind all the riders so he could keep an eye on them. They had two kids on this trip, both about five or six, and they each wore a safety helmet because they were on a horse solo. Their parents watched them like hawks. The other guests along were a young gay couple named Zack and Pike, who’d heard about how inclusive Clean Slate was and had decided to check it out with Pike’s mom for her birthday.
They took a break halfway to the campsite to give riders a chance to stretch. The horses drank in a nearby creek. Then they kept going to the site, which had a dedicated fire pit and a rail for the horses. After getting the animals un-tacked and settled with feed bags, Slater unpacked the wagon while Reyes helped the campers rustle up firewood. They ate beef stew and biscuits and bullshitted for a while. Played poker for toothpicks. Gazed at the stars.
They had a good group, and Slater found himself envious of both happy couples. When everyone turned in, Slater took first watch, and when Reyes relieved him halfway through the night, he actually fell into a deep sleep. He always slept better out under the stars. In the morning, they left the chuck wagon behind and took a short trip up to the mountain summit. It had an amazing view of the vast valley below, where they often saw herds of deer in the distance and all kinds of birds swooping in the sky.
The gorgeous sight was slightly marred by orange safety flags pushed into the ground about three feet from the edge of the cliff. They’d had a lot of rain back in February and early Mar
ch, and some flash flooding had ripped through the valley, making some of the cliffs soft and unstable. The flags were simply a reminder not to get too close to what could be dangerous ground.
Everyone dismounted. Reyes told the “legend” of Wes’s horse spooking while on vacation and discovering Bentley Ghost Town to the north—free publicity for his husband’s saloon and all that. Afterward the guests were free to wander for a bit. Slater had a little too much coffee at breakfast, and he wandered into a copse of scrub trees to take a whiz.
As he returned, a small figure too close to the edge of the cliff caught his eye. One of the boys. Sam? Where the hell were his parents? Slater started to look for them, but Sam’s entire body wobbled. One of his feet had sunk into the ground, and the little boy was panicking.
Shit.
“Don’t move!” Slater bolted toward the boy. Less than twenty feet had never felt more like a mile, and no one else was closer. The ground started to give way, and Sam lunged in his direction with a wail. Slater grabbed the outstretched hand and yanked Sam forward, away from the crumbling cliff edge.
The momentum sent Sam rolling to safety, but it left Slater off-balance. His feet gave out as the ground was suddenly not there, and he flailed as his body started sliding. Reyes screamed his name, and a strong hand clasped his wrist. Kept Slater from falling any farther down the rocky, pitted slope. But Slater couldn’t find purchase with his feet on the soft, soaked land, and Reyes was starting to lose ground, too.
“Hold my ankles but don’t come closer,” Reyes shouted. “The entire edge could go.”
Slater stared into his friend’s terrified eyes, and a strange kind of peace washed over him. He’d saved Sam’s life, and he was okay with that. He wouldn’t take Reyes down, too. Couldn’t make Miles a widower after being married only two weeks.
The ground shifted again. Slater released his hold on Reyes’s wrist.
“What are you doing?” Reyes asked with a kind of desperation Slater had never heard from the man before.
