Hard Ride (Clean Slate Ranch)

by A. M. Arthur

  “Good. I’m rooting for us, too. And I know I’m leery about long distance but if you want to keep working at the ranch, I’ll deal. I won’t ever make you quit a job you love for me.”

  “I haven’t really decided about that. Yes, I’d feel rotten leaving a job that Judson held for me for months, but like I said before, the ranch feels different now. I don’t know if I could make a career out of selling needlepoint patterns, but I do love it.” Slater stiffened when he realized what he’d said.

  “It’s okay,” Dez said. “I told Derrick all about it. It’s not huge money yet, but it could be. You are talented.”

  “Thank you.” To Derrick, he added, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the storefront sooner. I was scared of failing in front of you.”

  “You don’t have to be scared of that ever again.” Derrick kissed his forehead. “Flaws and all, failures and all, you’re perfect in my eyes. I was jaded and you made me believe. I was lonely and you made me whole. I resisted but you broke through. I love you and I want you to stay. Please, stay.”

  “Okay.” Slater did not want to be anywhere else in the world right now. Everything wasn’t magically made perfect, and they still had a lot of things to discuss, but in this moment, he was at peace. He’d chosen to come back and stay. Derrick wanted him and loved him.

  Everything else was details.

  * * *

  Exactly three weeks later, Derrick made the bumpy drive up the long path to Clean Slate Ranch to pick up his boyfriend’s stuff. Not seeing Slater in person every day had been an exercise in restraint, but they’d had phone calls, texts and Skype to help pass the time apart. And now, Slater was coming home to stay. After some soul-searching and long conversations with Derrick and Mack, Slater had put in his two weeks’ notice.

  Today had been Slater’s last day as an employee of the ranch.

  Derrick parked near the guesthouse a little after four, and he wasn’t surprised to find a bunch of the hands lounging on its wide front porch, Slater included. Patrice was hosting a small going away party for Slater at four-thirty. Slater hadn’t wanted the fuss, but no one could say no to Patrice when she made up her mind about something.

  Mack was there, sans Wes, who was off filming a TV guest spot again. Derrick couldn’t remember the show. Reyes, Robin, Colt and Avery were there, too, as well as Hugo, Ernie and Quentin. Judson and Arthur exited the main house at almost the same time Derrick got out of his car.

  Slater trotted right down the porch stairs and kissed him soundly. “Hey, Tiger.”

  “Hey back. You excited?”

  “Yup. A little nervous, too, but this is the right decision. Besides, it’s not like we’ll never be back to visit.”

  “True.”

  Judson approached and shook Derrick’s hand. “Not sure if I should hug you for your happiness or throttle you for taking away one of my best horsemen.”

  “Does it help if I promise to take good care of him?” Derrick replied with a grin. “I promise no more falling off mountains.”

  “Hard to find a decent mountain out there in the city.”

  “Good point.”

  Their group went into the guesthouse, straight to the dining room where Patrice had a white-frosted sheet cake decorated with one of those edible photos of Mischief, the horse Slater preferred to ride on. Derrick imagined he’d already spent some time in the barn saying goodbye to the mare.

  Derrick also felt perfectly at ease here with these men, plus Patrice. Maybe it was from all those Saturday night visits this past summer, but Derrick had been folded into the group, despite not being all that great with a horse. He was part of the Clean Slate family, too, just like Slater was part of the Massey family. For someone who’d been a loner five months ago, Slater had more family than he knew what to do with.

  He met Slater’s eyes and smiled. Slater grinned right back, then winked.

  * * *

  Slater hadn’t wanted the fuss of a party, but he was mighty glad his friends here cared enough to send him off properly. Today had been bittersweet as he watched the final crop of guests load up onto the wagon for delivery to their cars. As he sorted blankets and saddles in the tack room and visited with the horses one more time. Packed up his things in the cabin. Walked the dusty trail from cabin row with his suitcase in hand for the very last time as an employee of the ranch.

  Bittersweet and also scarily exciting.

  “Well, we all know why we’re here,” Judson said, which quieted down the room. “Slater is moving on to the next stage of his life, and we’re all here to wish him well. We’ll miss you, Slater, but we’re happy that you’ve found something new and exciting for your future.”

  “Thank you,” Slater said. His throat swelled with emotion and made it hard to talk. “It’s been a true pleasure working here these last couple of years. I love this land, and I’ve loved working with everyone in this room.” He looked directly at Arthur. “Thank you for taking a chance on me when you heard my story. I can never repay that kindness.”

  “Psh.” Arthur waved a gnarled hand in the air. “You repay my kindness by living your very best life, you hear me?”

  “I will, I promise.” Starting his life over again at thirty-five wasn’t going to be easy for him, but he had a dedicated boyfriend, and he had Rachel. With them by his side, he could do anything.

  Judson led the room in a round of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,” which made Slater blush, and then Patrice started slicing up the cake.

  “So you’re really going all-in with this crafting thing, huh?” Hugo asked Slater while they stood around and ate cake.

  “Yup, going all in.” Slater had reopened his storefront and was still selling patterns. He’d worked on a few projects in his evenings, but he was excited to get back to his normal routine with his own craft spaces, and his afternoons spent with Dez. “I don’t expect to make thousands right away, but I’ve got a good amount in my savings account, so I can help with expenses. And I’m looking at some part-time work.”

  Orry had helped him out quite a bit with that, researching the kinds of jobs that gave Slater flexible hours and wouldn’t hold his record against him. Until Orry told him, Slater hadn’t realized California had strict laws about employers not asking for direct conviction information on applications. Even if Slater marked down he’d been convicted of a felony, the person interviewing him could not, by law, ask what he’d been convicted for. It was complex and kind of made Slater’s head hurt, but it made him hopeful for future employment—especially with the glowing recommendations Judson and Mack had already written for him.

  He’d been honest with the Thompson twins last weekend about his record, and while George had been briefly spooked by it, they knew the man he was today. Not the man who’d gone to prison for a crime he was very much guilty of committing.

  “I think it’s super cool,” Colt said. “Finding a new passion for something and creating your own business. Plus, someone finally took that guy off the market.” He jacked his thumb at Derrick.

  Derrick swatted at Colt’s shoulder. “Ha ha. You had your chance and you blew it.”

  “Or didn’t blow it, so to speak,” Slater joked.

  Next to Colt, Avery nearly choked on a bite of cake. Hugo saved the day by handing Avery a glass of soda to sip. “Please don’t kill my husband,” Colt said to Slater. “I’d like to at least make it to our one-year anniversary.”

  “I couldn’t help it, the joke was too perfect.”

  “So.” Colt scanned the room with an impish smile. “Who do you think’s the next one here to find true love?”

  “Not a clue, but I’m pretty sure none of us were looking for it when we found it.” Slater reached out to squeeze Derrick’s hand. “Life just put us in the right place at the right time.”

  “Like a garage gym at three in the morning?” Derrick replied.

&
nbsp; “Exactly.”

  They talked and ate for a while longer, until some of the guys headed out for their evening off and whatever plans they had. Judson, Arthur and Patrice both wished him well on their way to other duties. Mack shook his hand before heading back up to close down the ghost town. Colt and Avery returned to cabin row. Reyes and Hugo followed Derrick and Slater out to the porch. Derrick collected Slater’s suitcase and put it in the trunk.

  “You were a great roommate,” Hugo said, his eyes bright, and if the kid started to cry, Slater would, too. “I’m glad we got to be friends, Slater.”

  “Same on both counts, kid.” Slater allowed a brief hug, then ruffled Hugo’s hair. “You take good care of Mischief for me, yeah?”

  “I will.” Hugo wiped his eyes and headed for the barn.

  With a lump in his throat, Slater turned to Reyes. While they weren’t the best of friends, their experiences at the summit this spring had bonded them, and Slater would genuinely miss the man. “You keep this place running, or you’ll answer to me.”

  Reyes nodded. “Don’t be a stranger. You’ll always have a place to stay here at Clean Slate. You’re family.”

  “Thank you.” He hugged Reyes tight. “Brother.”

  “Yeah.”

  Slater wiped at his own eyes as he walked to Derrick’s car, which was already running for the AC, emotions pinballing all over the place. He was stoked for this new chapter of his life to begin, even while he was sad for the old life he was leaving behind. But he’d be back to see his friends. And they’d likely show up in the city for beer and darts.

  It had been a long, hard ride to get here, and Slater had overcome some huge obstacles, but this was the right decision. This was the life he was meant to live. He was happy, he had his daughter back, and he was in love.

  And with Derrick by his side, nothing was impossible.

  * * *

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  For more information about A.M. Arthur’s books, please visit her website here: amarthur.blogspot.com.

  Or like her on Facebook:

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  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost, a huge thank-you to my long-time editor Alissa Davis. It’s hard to believe this is book number fourteen! I have been so blessed to work with you over the years. I have learned so much and grown as a writer because of you. *heart eyes*

  Another big thank-you to all the readers who’ve enjoyed the Clean Slate Ranch books and have asked for more. Your dedication to these characters is why this book exists. Thanks to the entire Carina Press team for your support and constant professionalism. And special thanks to Brandilyn and Erin for answering my bazillion questions about broken ankles, casts and walking boots (Slater thanks you, too).

  About the Author

  A.M. Arthur was born and raised in the same kind of small town that she likes to write about, a stone’s throw from both beach resorts and generational farmland. She’s been creating stories in her head since she was a child and scribbling them down nearly as long, in a losing battle to make the fictional voices stop. She credits an early fascination with male friendships (bromance hadn’t been coined yet back then) with her later discovery of and subsequent love affair with m/m romance stories. A.M. Arthur’s work is available from Carina Press, SMP Swerve and Briggs-King Books.

  When not exorcising the voices in her head, she toils away in a retail job that tests her patience and gives her lots of story fodder. She can also be found in her kitchen, pretending she’s an amateur chef and trying to not poison herself or others with her cuisine experiments.

  Contact her at am_arthur@yahoo.com with your cooking tips (or book comments). For updates, info and the occasional freebie, sign up for her free newsletter: vr2.verticalresponse.com/s/signupformynewsletter16492674416904.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from

  Come What May by A.M. Arthur,

  now available at all participating e-retailers.

  Now available from Carina Press and

  A.M. Arthur!

  Jonas needs Tate. He just doesn’t know it yet.

  Or at least, he doesn’t want to admit it.

  Read on for an excerpt from Come What May.

  Chapter One

  The last time Jonas Ashcroft had taken money from someone and made change had been during a drunken game of Monopoly at the Delta Theta house sophomore year. Everyone was wasted enough that they didn’t care Jonas was probably giving the wrong bills back half the time, and eventually they’d abandoned the game in favor of beer pong and more tequila shots.

  Staring down the ancient cash register behind the main counter at All Saints Thrift Store was like facing off against an old enemy. Jonas and math did not get along. Never had.

  The teenage girl with spiky hair who’d handed him a ten-dollar bill to pay for three T-shirts glared at him over the top of her cell phone, waiting for him to make change. The register told him that three shirts at two-fifty each was seven dollars and fifty cents. It didn’t tell him what to give her back.

  He knew this. He wasn’t a total idiot, no matter what his father seemed to think. Two quarters made it eight. Two dollars made ten. Right?

  The girl took the change he offered without remark, then fled the store with her bag, the overhead bell announcing her departure.

  Jonas slammed the register drawer shut with clammy hands. First transaction down. He could survive a few more, until Aunt Doris got back and took over running the till. She’d shown him how to use it yesterday, and while it seemed pretty simple, he flat out sucked at math. Thank God his father hadn’t insisted Jonas go for a business degree, because he’d have flunked out the first semester.

  Not that it mattered. Junior year was less than a month old and instead of living it up with his frat buddies and getting the Communication Arts degree he desperately needed so he could get a real job and be independent, he was stuck working at his aunt and uncle’s thrift store on a run-down side of Wilmington, Delaware. A shitty fate, and exactly what he deserved.

  “I can’t have your recklessness interfere with my chances at Congress,” his father had said last week. “You need to learn some responsibility for once in your life.” Angry words lobbed at him from behind his father’s walnut desk, moments before Jonas was stuffed in a car and stranded here for the next nine months.

  Jonas poked at the cash register. He had another hour until Aunt Doris returned. She and Uncle Raymond had driven out to some person’s house to pick up a load of shit for the shop.

  Or something. She might have mentioned books.

  He had no idea how people made an actual living running a thrift store, much less one that donated some of its money to charity, but they’d been at it all Jonas’s life. Probably why Jonas’s own parents had little to do with them.

  Appearances and all that crap.

  The store itself was clean and organized and smelled like some kind of floral incense. The merchandise was sectioned into departments. A pretty typical thrift store.

  Like you know what a typical thrift store looks like. Yesterday was your first time in one, asshole.

  His mother hadn’t come from money, but his father had, and Jonas had never worked a day in his life until today.

  They’d opened twenty minutes ago and so far he’d had one customer. Good thing he had his iPhone.

  He pulled his earbuds out of his pocket and was about to turn up some music when a shadow fell over the front door. It opened with the ding of a metal bell, and his second ever customer stepped inside.

  “Good morning—” The guy faltered, eyes going wide behind a pair of round, black-framed glasses. “Um,
hi, person I don’t know.”

  Jonas grunted a greeting, then decided Aunt Doris would give him that sad puppy look if she found out he was being rude to her customers. “Hi.”

  About Jonas’s age and a few inches shorter, the maybe-customer let the door fall shut and slid his hands into the pockets of very loose, very worn jeans that hung low on narrow hips. “Doris isn’t in this morning?”

  Does it look like she’s here? “No, she’s out picking something up.”

  “Oh, okay. Did she happen to mention a basket of sheets for Tate?”

  Jonas had no idea what any of that meant. “No.”

  “Okay, let’s try this again. Hi, I’m Tate Dawson.” He held out a hand.

  “Jonas Ashcroft.” Jonas took the guy’s hand briefly. “I’m Doris’s nephew.”

  “Oh, hey, cool. I’ve never seen you around before.”

  “That’s because I’ve never been here before.”

  Tate opened and closed his mouth a few times, probably unsure how to proceed. Yeah, Jonas was kind of being a dick. He wanted the guy to do whatever he needed to do and leave so Jonas could turn on his music and hope this day ended as quickly as possible.

  “Yeah, okay,” Tate said. “Listen, I help run the homeless shelter across the street, and Doris was supposed to bring in a basket of sheets for me today.”

  Jonas stared.

  Tate’s hands went from his pockets to his hips. A line creased his forehead, and his cheeks pinked up. “Could you check the back room, maybe? Or should I look myself?”

  “I’ll check. Jesus.”

  “Tate, not Jesus, and thank you.”

  Jonas resisted rolling his eyes. He took his time strolling to the back of the shop, and then ducked through a beaded curtain doorway. The back room was neatly organized with dated shelves for new stock, empty hangers for clothes, cleaning supplies and a recycle bin for things they simply couldn’t sell. He found a plastic laundry basket of folded sheets on one of the shelves with a piece of paper taped to it that said “Tate” in Aunt Doris’s careful handwriting.