St. Nacho's 4: The Book of Daniel

by Z. A. Maxfield

  “I kind of grew to enjoy control rather than sex itself. I get off on giving my partner the mindless oblivion you only get when all your senses are overwhelmed. I knew I could take Bree out of herself, and she needed that. Of course, then she fell in love with someone else, and now she’s like…some kind of porn queen. I found videotaped evidence that it was just me she couldn’t stand.”

  “Aw, shit, Dan.” Cam’s brows drew together. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s over. Who cares.” Maybe I thought if I said that enough, I’d believe it. It still hurt though, damn it, if only because I didn’t see myself as some kind of freak show. “That was all Bree. No one likes to be treated like they’re repugnant, but I’d always figured she’d be like that with everyone. It was kind of a shock when I realized she didn’t have the same aversion to another man.”

  “That sucks. Overwhelming the senses is very nice, though.” Cam shivered a little. “You’ve got that going like nobody ever.”

  I raised myself up on one arm so I could face him. “You like?”

  “Yeah. Does that mean I’m your new princess?”

  “Maybe. It means I want to treat you right. I want to give you everything I have to give and make you fly. Does that bother you?”

  “Won’t you get tired of having another princess? You’re divorcing her.”

  I hooked my leg over his and pulled him toward me with it until our hips touched, until we were cock to cock, and I could feel his dick filling lazily. “We’re not divorcing because she’s a princess. We’re divorcing because she’s a cheating bitch.”

  Cam snorted.

  “And despite even that, I’d have stayed except she fell in love and wanted to move on. I’m loyal. When I make a commitment, I keep it.”

  “The spirit if not the letter of it anyway,” he reminded me.

  For honesty’s sake, I answered, “Yes.”

  I was probably going to have to do something about that. As things stood, Bree believed she was the only person to violate our prenup. I had done that early and often as well. If I wanted to live a life free of lies, that was another thing I had to come clean about and that would cost me money.

  Well, shit.

  Cam’s cock nudged mine, and I forgot my troubles almost immediately. Moments later we were kissing. He rolled me over onto my back and—this time without any hint of competition—he ground against me. We rocked and kissed and came. No fireworks. Just comfort and quality friction.

  I never thought I’d be able to have that, and it struck me how simple it could be to misinterpret it—to choke it off by squeezing it too tight or to lose it by not holding on tightly enough.

  For the first time, I had to walk the line in a relationship with a man I could really care about, and it scared me.

  We showered off quickly again and shaved in silence, then got ready to check out. I hung back a little. I didn’t want to leave the quiet intimacy of that room.

  “Hungry?” I asked after he picked up both our bags again. I got my briefcase and we exited our room. He caught my hand in his and led me down the hall.

  “I could go for steak and eggs. I’m starved.”

  I handed him my keys again. “You can drive. I’m still half-asleep.”

  Cam laughed as we got on the elevator. “What you are my friend, is fucked out. That is a condition of total satisfaction, which follows getting laid by me. It’s characterized by lack of focus and loss of muscle tone. Poor reaction time.”

  “It’s also characterized by irritability and the constant sound of bragging in one’s ears.” I argued. “I’ve heard of this, yes.”

  “Shut up or no more free rides.”

  “Oh, yeah, the much vaunted Camshaft.”

  “Are you complaining?” Cam nuzzled me with his nose again. I was pretty sure he knew I was kidding.

  “Nope. It was far better than advertised. Here,” I pushed the button for the lobby.

  We emerged with lips swollen from elevator kisses, and if anyone thought anything about that, I didn’t care.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Al’s wife Ellie’s laughter was infectious. Cam was anxious to greet the horses, so they headed off to the stables with Al’s girls, Katie and Jana, first thing. All three ladies sported jeans and cowboy boots, decorated denim jackets, and cream cowboy hats. Next to those girls, Cam looked like a city slicker in his jeans, T-shirt, and baseball cap. They had dark hair and laughing brown eyes and each one of them had eyelashes like long sooty brooms, they were so thick. I’d held both the girls when they were born, and at the time they’d looked like squashed grapefruits. I should have known based on Ellie’s beauty they would turn out just fine. In reality, they’d turned out better than fine; it always took a moment to adjust to them. They were far more gorgeous than you’d imagine if you’d only seen Al, and every time I saw them it almost took my breath away. They could certainly have been little pageant girls if their mother didn’t have their feet firmly planted on the ground.

  Cam was an instant hit with Katie and Jana—no surprise there. They took one look at him and burst into fits of hysterical, pink giggling. They fairly sizzled with excitement, but as soon as they saw the horses a reverent hush fell over them. Horses made those two weak in the knees, and as the unofficial uncle who spoiled them, I was marginally laudable too, for bringing them there.

  I originally planned to sit out the guided trail ride on the beach with Al, who refused to ride, but Cam and the girls were so disappointed, I let our guide, Taylor, provide an unflappable, broad-backed mare named Buttercup for me.

  I mounted Buttercup with some trepidation, but it felt more like heading up the gangway to a cruise ship than actually riding a horse. It’s not that I couldn’t ride. Bree was an accomplished horsewoman, and I’d learned because—in that odd, hit-and-miss way she had with her phobias—she lit up around horses like nothing else. I wasn’t incapable of riding even a spirited horse like Cam’s; I was simply still too afraid of falling off and being injured worse, of having to go through the surgeries and the early, terrifying physical therapy all over again. I think Taylor might have misunderstood, and I didn’t set her straight. No way was I going to fall off a big hairball like that horse, so I kept my mouth shut. Buttercup’s tail switched away flies occasionally while we waited for Cam and the ladies to mount up, or I might have thought she’d been stuffed.

  Al informed us all loftily that he’d be getting coffee in one of the restaurants that dot the beach, and we could call him when we were done. He waved at us from his car and took off.

  Cam’s gelding danced beneath him, and they seemed delighted to have found one another. The damned horse was big; it had to be to carry Cam. And it looked like it was smiling. I’d never seen a horse do that.

  “He’s exuberant,” I remarked.

  Taylor lightly mounted her own horse, a gray mare named Shadow—what else?—and acknowledged that the horse was indeed a happy camper. “Blue Boy there loves a rider that knows what he’s doing.”

  I snorted. Who wouldn’t? “Blue Boy?”

  Taylor blushed. “The boss’s daughter named him. We mostly call him Blue.”

  Cam patted Blue Boy’s neck. “I love blue roans. He’s a handsome boy, and he feels like he likes to run.”

  “He does. He’ll get away from you if you let him. I don’t put anyone on him who’s not an experienced rider.”

  “I’ve got experience.”

  Taylor’s look was appraising and flirtatious. “I knew that the moment I laid eyes on you.”

  I looked away but not before I saw Cam soak up her admiration and return her interest with a little harmless flirtation of his own.

  I asked, “Buttercup here isn’t asleep, is she?”

  “No, but you can hardly tell, can you? She’ll follow along wherever we go at her own pace, so just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  “Great.”

  Taylor took off, and I watched as first Ellie, then Katie and Jana nudged their horses into a walk
after her. Blue followed and even though I gave Buttercup a squeeze with my knees, it took her a minute to realize what she was expected to do, and after that, it took a while longer for her to sally forth. I barely felt her placid, even footsteps. It was more that she sashayed ahead, swaying from side to side like she was on ice skates. She was the perfect nag for a three-year-old. I tried to cover my shame with interest in my surroundings.

  “Not too much for you, is she?” Cam’s blue eyes sparked with mischief.

  “I believe I’ve let her know who’s boss.” The easy way he sat his horse caused my jeans to tighten.

  Katie turned back to me and stuck her tongue out. “Uncle Dan, my horse is way better than yours.”

  I mock-frowned at her. “It’s not nice to point out old people’s shortcomings, Katydid.”

  “The girls are sure cute. How old are they?” asked Cam.

  “Jana’s in second grade. Katie’s two years younger.”

  “Nice family.”

  I nodded. They were a nice family, and they’d let me be an unofficial part of it since it began. “I’ve been working with Al since we got our MBAs. He’s got a level head on his shoulders and Ellie…she’s the only kind of woman he could be with. She’s as driven as he is, only in a different way. She’s lively and smart and runs a business out of her house.”

  “What does she do?”

  “It’s one of those multilevel marketing things. She gets awards every year, and they end up taking free trips together. Cookware, I think. She has an army of underlings, and she’s damned good at it.”

  “I see.” Cam’s horse danced beneath him.

  “It’s okay if you want to take off and enjoy your ride. You don’t have to poke along with me.”

  “I’m fine where I am.”

  “Uncle Dan.” Katie waved her little cowboy hat. “Look at me!”

  “I see you, princess. You look like a cowgirl. Cam here is a real cowboy. He was raised on an honest-to-Pete ranch.”

  Cam flushed, and I realized he might not have wanted me to share that.

  “I’m sorry if you meant to tell me that in confidence.”

  “It’s not a secret or anything.” Cam pulled his cap down to shade his eyes better.

  I peered at him because he’d stopped smiling. “But it makes you sad?”

  “I guess. I don’t think about it too much.” We ambled along in silence for a bit, but Blue was dancing sideways trying to tamp down his frustration.

  “Look, I know it’s none of my business, but sometimes a man can go along with a preconceived notion that’s wrong.”

  Cam looked blank.

  “If you have any doubts about how your brothers and sisters feel about you, you need to ask. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that they don’t want you in their lives without checking with them first. Do you know what I mean?”

  Cam’s expression didn’t change but he said, “I guess.”

  “I know it takes balls to do that. To give someone you care about the chance to reject you. It can be easier and safer to make assumptions. I’ve done both. If I really care, it’s worth the risk.”

  “That’s what I admire about you.”

  His words surprised me. “What?”

  “You know how to put your heart on the line. For all you twist the truth, you have the guts to step up when it counts. I’ve seen you stand by your brother, even when he makes mistakes. You push him to take chances that will help him grow.”

  “You make me sound—”

  “A little heroic. Yeah. That’s kind of how I see you, Daniel. Deal with it.” He flashed me a grin and turned away, kneeing his horse forward. He and Blue caught up with everyone else who had left us behind by about two city blocks. If I’d wanted to catch them I’d have had to jump off Buttercup and jog. I hated even thinking about making Buttercup try.

  Did horses cry?

  Did Cam just call me heroic?

  I’d like to say I had some kind of personal epiphany while Buttercup and I moseyed along over the sand, seemingly by ourselves because everyone else was light-years ahead. That would make the story so much more fun to tell, and at the time I really could have used a moment or two of clarity. As it was, mostly we just provided a much-needed bit of comic relief to the many Frisbee throwers, volleyball players, and those hardy individuals who still scoffed at skin cancer.

  I watched Cam from a distance and discovered that the mere sight of him made my heart do funny little twists in my chest. It was pretty easy to see how men in power, men with money, men of intelligence at a pinnacle in their professional lives could still lose their shit and fuck up everything over love.

  My mother used to sing a nonsense song about the lovebug. “Oh, the lovebug’ll bite you if you don’t watch out…”

  No shit.

  Ouch.

  I tried to cut myself some slack. Cam—my bona fide firefighter and cowboy for fuck’s sake—was riding a horse on the beach. If my heart sort of soared at the near-perfect picture he made there, with the sun limning his skin and happiness bubbling from every pore, I shouldn’t be blamed for it. I never stood a chance of keeping my heart in the first place, and if I had to lose my head, there were worse things to lose it over. I didn’t catch up to them until they met me going back the way we came.

  By that time, I was feeling so silly I was singing Sancho Panza’s song from the musical, Man of La Mancha, out loud. I called Buttercup Rucio, my dappled darling from that point on, and even though the girls had no clue what I meant by that, it made them laugh.

  When we got back to the stable, I was all kinds of out of sorts. I’d been bobbing along in a lazy stream of attraction and before I realized what was happening, I’d gotten caught up in the rapids of full-on emotional involvement and gone over love fucking falls.

  Cam dismounted first and in a show of misguided solicitude, he stood by my round little horsey and held up his arms to help me down. What the hell? Did he imagine I couldn’t get off a damned barge like Buttercup without his help? It took all my concentration not to slap his hands away. I must have hurt him when I rejected his help, because I glimpsed his eyebrows draw together before I turned away.

  I needed time with my thoughts, though. I needed to reevaluate what was happening to me.

  In the first place, I’d been surprised and not a little angry that my attraction to him cut my much-anticipated wild and indiscriminate bachelor days short, and now… Now I’d begun to imagine a future with him in it. Now I couldn’t imagine a future without him, unless it was written by Aldous Huxley.

  And how could a future between us even happen? Unless I was willing to settle in St. Nacho’s—a town that made me itchy and tense—for good.

  Cam and I were silent on the ride to a local diner to meet Al. We had Ellie and the girls wedged into the backseat anyway, and that didn’t allow for any kind of private conversation between us. When we got there, we got caught up in Katie and Jana’s delight that breakfast could be served all day, and chaos reigned until they had their little mouths full of chocolate chip pancakes and milk.

  I ordered a Denver egg-white omelet with a side of turkey sausage and oven-roasted O’Brien potatoes, billed as a healthier alternative to hash browns. It came with a pancake the size of a pickup truck hubcap, which I handed over to Al’s bottomless pits. Cam had a ranch style breakfast—he seemed to be taking the whole cowboy thing to heart—consisting of a mass of eggs and meat and potatoes with a side of whole wheat toast on which he slathered an awful lot of those single-serving-sized packages of strawberry jam. He seemed subdued but content.

  As always, Al had a yellow legal tablet with a checklist of things he wanted to tell me, and a number of papers for me to sign. I didn’t even think anything of it when he opened his briefcase and handed me a thick, spiral-bound and laminated presentation booklet of the project he was calling St. Nacho’s Resort and Card Club until Cam’s gaze met mine.

  Too late, I realized what it must look like to Cam. He would take on
e look at that prospectus and assume we were a lot further along in the process than we were. Al was very good at his job. He’d designed a mockup of what he imagined the facility would look like, and created a splashy sign and logo for it. He had no doubt filled the booklet with numbers and charts and graphs and persuasive arguments in favor of building that particular type of project on that particular site.

  We produced project pitches like that all the time, but not every project got a green light, and fewer actually made it through the rest of the process of acquisition and building.

  But Cam couldn’t know that. All he could see was a splashy little gimmick intended to persuade investors that his hometown should become a gambling mecca. I knew as soon as I saw how he looked at me—as soon as he took into consideration the many lies I’d admitted to telling, my self-serving relationships, and my inability to perceive St. Nacho’s the way everyone else did—I knew he’d put two and two together to come up with the wrong answer.

  After that, he shut me out so completely I might as well have been on Mars.

  We said good-bye to Al and his family, and then we were finally alone. On the way back to St. Nacho’s, he drove my car.

  I tried to tell him the way things work. “So…you see, anyone is free to propose a project. They prepare their ideas and make a presentation. Al and I do the math and the research and we present all of the possible projects that have crossed our desks to our other investors. Then a larger pool of people consider each idea and more time is required while they do their own research. It takes a long time before we green-light something like that, but it’s not unheard of to work for months, sometimes even over a year, deciding whether an idea will actually fly.”

  In response, Cam only gripped the steering wheel tighter.

  “Seriously, Cam, just because he had the prospectus doesn’t mean he has my support.”

  “Then let me ask, so there’s no misunderstanding. Does he have your support?”

  I hesitated to give an answer one way or the other, mostly because I wasn’t about to let either my business partner or my lover tell me what to do. I admit it wasn’t the wisest choice. Of course I should have said, No. He does not have my support. Because he didn’t. I’d already told Al I didn’t like the idea.