by L. C. Chase
And right on cue…
“Do you remember my friend Martha Reeves? She used to spend the summers here with her charming grandson, Gregory?”
Ray nodded. He hadn’t heard that name in decades, but Gregory Reeves was not someone he’d ever forget.
Martha and Gregory had come to the ranch every summer as long as Ray could remember. But it wasn’t until he’d turned fourteen that he found himself increasingly captivated by their houseguest. Gregory was two years his senior, tall and lanky with messy, surfer blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and a smile that could turn a raging Brahma bull into a gentle lamb. And he was the star of Ray’s every wet dream.
Gregory was his first. Had shown him who he really was and confirmed to him what he’d been questioning for a long time—that he was gay. It had been frightening and liberating and exciting.
He was fifteen the last time the Reeves came to visit, but those two summers with Gregory had been the best of his life.
“We’ve received an invitation to Gregory’s wedding.”
Ray almost spluttered his coffee. Wedding? The boy he remembered was most definitely gay.
Dot regarded him for an unnerving moment before she continued. “Poor boy had to move to Vermont because it isn’t legal for him to marry in Michigan.”
“What?” Ray choked. Dot had jumped too many tracks at once and lost him, sent him skidding off the embankment. “Since when is marriage illegal?”
A speculative shine glinted in her bright blue eyes as she searched his intently. “You boys seemed so close. Didn’t you know Gregory was gay?”
And there it was: the final hit. His entire body locked up, synapses shut down.
Dot may as well have tagged him with a stun gun when she sent him careening over the edge.
Had Dot known Gregory was gay back then? And by default, suspect he was too? Cold sweat broke out between his shoulder blades as his system jerkily restarted itself. He reached for his cup with a shaking hand. Slowly took another sip of the coffee to disguise his shock and corral his stampeding thoughts. But mostly, he needed the fortification. He needed the rum straight up. Better yet, a shot of whiskey. Or three. He still had a half-full bottle of Glenlivet in the liquor cabinet, didn’t he?
“I’d never suspected.” Dot’s strong voice reclaimed his scattered attention. “But that’s neither here nor there. The young man and his boyfriend of seven years are getting married. Gregory is over the moon and rightfully so. And we’ve been invited.” Her pause was calculated. “Don’t you think that’s wonderful, Raymond?”
Ray shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was a yes or no question, but even that seemed too much to process. He opened his mouth, and all that came out of it was a barely audible, husky, “Um…”
Dot smiled proudly, like she’d just figured out one of the world’s greatest mysteries. He tried to rein in his reactions, keep his outward expressions checked. But that was a difficult task around Dot—also known as the font of the universe—at the best of times.
“I think it’s so wonderful that he found his perfect match. Though it’s a shame those boys had to uproot their lives and move to another state to make it legal. What the hell right does the government have to dictate who you can marry anyway?”
Ray raised an eyebrow at Dot’s cussing. That wasn’t something heard very often, and it usually meant someone had better start running—and running fast.
“They need to wake up and let people be. Love is love. Man or woman. What business is it of anyone else’s anyway? And don’t even get me started on those damn churches. Spreading hate when they’re supposed to be spreading love. Bunch of narrow-minded, hypocritical, big—”
“Dot!”
Her back was ramrod straight, feet flat on the ground, skin flushed. Fire blazed in her eyes with an intensity that made Ray sink back into his chair. He rarely saw her riled up. Had no idea she’d thought that way, with such vehemence. And, quite frankly, it scared the hell out of him.
Dot stood up abruptly and huffed. She smoothed her shirt down, tucked a stray strand of silver hair behind her ear, and shot Ray a piercing stare.
“I’m sure you agree.”
Panic exploded in his chest.
She nodded her head in agreement with her silent deduction and gathered their mugs. She gave him a light kiss on the cheek and made her way to the door.
“I’ll send back the RSVP tomorrow for all of us.”
The first thing Travis noticed when he entered the dining room for breakfast was Ray’s empty chair—and Dot’s far too shrewd eyes on him.
Quickly diverting his attention to the table, Travis said good morning to the men and took his seat between Ross and Jesse. Sam’s glares from across the table had become par for the course, but Travis and the rest of the hands simply ignored him. Fortunately Sam had been keeping his comments and opinions to himself. At least at the table.
“Branding’s just about done,” Jesse said as Travis loaded fluffy scrambled eggs, honey-glazed ham, and crisp hash browns onto his plate. “So maybe tomorrow morning I could come over to the corrals? You could start teaching me?”
Travis couldn’t help but smile at the eagerness in Jesse’s voice. The kid had been working cattle since he was old enough to command an animal ten times his size, but what he really wanted to do was train horses. Ray had offered to teach him, but with roundup and branding always short of hands, there’d never been a good opportunity. By the time Jesse was free to start, the training was done, most of the herd sold, and the working horses they stabled over winter were already seasoned.
“Said I would, didn’t I?” Travis drawled.
Jesse hooted a quiet “sweet,” drawing a hard, flinty stare from his dad.
Travis’s attention was drawn back to the empty chair at the other end of the table almost against his will. Like passing by an accident he didn’t want to see but couldn’t stop from craning his neck to look anyway.
Voices around the table faded into the background as Travis’s mind wandered. He wanted to know where Ray was, but damn if he was going to ask. The man not being there bothered him. And why that bothered him he didn’t care to examine. Yes, he liked Ray. Yes, he wanted Ray. Who wouldn’t? The man was sexy as hell. But he wasn’t staying. Couldn’t. Anything beyond physical enjoyment didn’t matter.
Yet it did.
Travis wasn’t quite sure when it had begun to matter. It might have been after dinner the other night when he’d caught Ray’s unguarded, heartfelt smile. That smile had done something to his insides, lifted him somehow. There was warmth and promise and hope in that smile, and for the first time in a long time, Travis had felt like someone cared about him. He’d found himself suddenly wanting to do whatever it took to earn that smile again and again, to be worthy of earning it.
Or it might have happened yesterday at lunch when he’d caught Ray staring at his mouth as he ate his burrito. Ray’s gaze had been riveted to every small movement. And when he’d raised those deep brown eyes to meet Travis’s, they were dark chocolate flashing with lust and desire so intense he’d felt electricity spike between them. The hair on his arms had stood up. His cock had grown painfully hard. And he’d thought Ray was damn near going to climb over the table when he’d teased him by sucking the salsa off his thumb.
But it was for sure after lunch when emotions long since dormant had flared to life with roaring force. When Landon had silently challenged him. And that was one challenge Travis Morgan was not about to step down from.
Shit. He was becoming too attached to the sexy rancher. No. Strike that. He was already too attached.
Fear tap-danced across his chest. He didn’t do attachments. Not to anyone or anything. He knew all too well what lay down that road. He couldn’t stay on at Ford Creek any longer. But as much as he needed to leave, he wanted to stay more.
Fucking hell.
A nudge against his shoulder pulled him out of his reverie.
“Where’d you go, man?” Jesse asked.
“What? Nowhere.” Travis made the mistake of glancing at the empty chair again, catching Dot’s watchful eye.
“You zoned right out. Didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”
Travis snapped. “Of course I did.”
He immediately regretted the whip-snap tone of his voice and inhaled deeply. The kid didn’t deserve taking the brunt of Travis’s frustration, but Ray wouldn’t leave his head. All he’d wanted was a damned fling, some mutual hot sex. No strings, no emotions, no regrets. They hadn’t even kissed yet, hardly even touched, and he was already screwed.
“Seriously, Trav.” Jesse leaned closer and whispered in a conspiratorial tone. “If you got something on your mind, you can talk to me. Right?”
Travis nodded and with a calmer tone said, “You best get to branding them cattle if you want a training lesson.”
Travis stood up from the table and carried his dirty dishes to the trolley. The last thing he wanted to talk to anyone about was how deep Ray Ford was getting under his skin. And how much that scared the shit out of him. He dropped his dishes into the tub and turned to leave.
“Travis,” Dot called after him. “Why don’t you help me clean up here?”
Travis stopped stock-still halfway across the room. It took him a few seconds to register what Dot had said. The first time he didn’t offer, and now she wanted his help? Or was it because she was too damned observant and had something to say, something he likely didn’t want to hear?
He mentally sighed and turned back.
“Sorry, Dot,” he apologized. “Yes, of course. Let me help.”
She smiled that I-know-what-you’re-up-to smile of hers and nodded.
Travis hung back and stacked plates and silverware on the trolley as the men cleared out, ignoring the death stare Sam leveled at him as he dropped his dishes carelessly into the tub. With the last of the men gone, Travis and Dot finished clearing off the table in companionable silence. Dot tossed him a damp cloth, and they wiped down the dark wood beginning at opposite ends. When they met in the middle, she spoke in her motherly tone he’d become familiar with. “It’s been nice having you here, Travis.”
“Thank you, Dot. I’ve enjoyed being here.”
“Sure would be nice if you stayed on. I’d like that.”
I’d like that too. “I don’t know, Dottie. I’m not much for planting roots.”
She didn’t say anything in response as they made their way into the kitchen, Travis pushing the cart. He rinsed the dishes in the sink and handed them to Dot, which she then loaded into the industrial-sized dishwasher in an orderly fashion. Their rhythm was as smooth and practiced as if they’d been working side by side for years.
Everything was too comfortable here. Too right. Not even a fucking week and already it was going to be painful to leave.
“Ray was up and off before the sun to run fences on the north range,” Dot offered, seeming to know his unasked question. Travis only nodded in response, afraid that anything he said would come out wrong. Not many people could tie his tongue up like she could.
When they were done with the dishes, Dot turned and regarded him with that shrewd, intense gaze of hers. The one that always made him feel naked and exposed.
“You’d be good for each other.”
Everything inside Travis screeched to a crashing halt. It was all he could do to keep his jaw from hitting the blue-and-white-checked linoleum floor. But he had a feeling the cartoon character eyes-popping-out-of-his-head thing was a dead giveaway.
Bright light flashed in Dot’s eyes, and she graced him with a warm smile. “Don’t you have some horses in need of training, young man?”
When Travis didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, she chuckled and gave him a gentle shove toward the door. “Off you go, son.”
What the hell… Travis made his way to the corrals in a mild stupor. He’d known Dot was too damned sharp for her own good. Known if he let his guard slip, even a fraction, she’d find him out. And it seemed she did. Fortunately, it seemed she not only approved of her discovery, but also encouraged it.
Fear eased and something else settled in his chest, something pleasant.
Travis was about to enter the barn to gather his tack when a loud snort and whinny drew his attention. He glanced over his shoulder to see Diablo looking his way, tossing his head.
He grinned and whispered, “Hello, Diablo.”
Chapter Eight
It was approaching the lunch hour when Ray ambled unhurriedly back to the ranch, feeling relaxed. Sweet grass and the sharp scent of first-cut timothy drying in the sun rode the gentle breeze. He’d told Dot he had to run the lines, but he’d ridden out before sunrise for some time alone. Yesterday had been about more than one man could handle in a single day, and he needed the peaceful solace of nature to recharge.
He’d saddled up Rebel, one of his favorite working mounts, and ridden west following a creek that tried to be a river. An hour’s ride had him dismounting at a secluded spot shrouded by a copse of Ponderosa pines as the first fingers of daylight splayed out across the waking land. He’d thrown a blanket on the ground and leaned back against a tree, closed his eyes, and listened to the earth’s gospel. Morning birds cheerily welcomed the day. Insects buzzed around opening wildflowers. The gurgling creek coaxed his mind into a quiet, unthinking state.
But even that couldn’t keep Travis Morgan from his thoughts for long.
Eventually he’d hauled himself up, climbed back in the saddle, and ridden the lines. The fencing Jesse and Clay had repaired was secure, and except for one break that he’d tagged with a red strip of synthetic ribbon, the rest of the lines looked strong. Fortunately, it didn’t appear they had a rustling problem, and most of the stray cattle had been recovered. In no hurry to return, he’d taken a turn through the south pasture as well. They’d soon be moving the herd of Black Angus out there for the summer.
Riding in behind the corrals, Ray noticed the round pens were empty. No Travis. And then he immediately berated himself for the sliver of disappointment that needled inside. Something else caught his attention as he reined Rebel toward the barn. Diablo’s corral was empty. Missing horse; missing cowboy. Cold dread pricked his skin. If Travis had tangled with that horse and been injured…
The rhythmic beat of hard hooves on soft ground drew him to the indoor arena. He pulled Rebel up when he reached the gate at the open end of the ring.
In the brief moment of blindness that hung in the shift between bright sunlight and dark interior, Ray could make out the silhouette of horse and rider turning into a smooth figure eight at the far end of the ring. Seconds later his eyes adjusted, and his heart stopped.
Travis was astride Diablo.
And the sight was breathtaking.
Travis sat the horse with understated confidence and ease, Diablo well in hand. They moved in perfect synchronicity, Travis’s commands so subtle he may as well have been psychically communing with the black stallion. For a moment, Ray couldn’t quite believe it was Diablo under saddle. The horse moved with effortless grace through a series of obstacles placed randomly about the ring. He displayed flawless flying lead changes, collected trot and canter, sliding stops. Sleek black coat stretched over solid, sharply defined muscle, sinew and bone, reflecting blue-and-white sparks under the dim arena lights.
Travis held the reins loose in his left hand, right hand splayed on a strong thigh, posture relaxed and languid. There wasn’t much more striking than a man who knew how to sit a horse.
Impressive show aside, it didn’t change the fact that Ray had specifically told Travis not to go near that horse. And there he was, first chance he got, disobeying a direct order. It was like the man was on a personal mission to rile him up, knock him off-kilter.
Ray remembered all too well what had happened to the few cowboys who’d tangled with that horse in the past: broken bones, punctured lung, stitches, and one cowboy in a three-week coma. That was the last time he’d let anyone near Diablo. Ray shudd
ered, forcing back images of what could have happened to Travis. Arrogant bastard.
Fear shifted into anger with frightening intensity.
Ray’s voice boomed across the arena. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
His roar spooked Rebel into a jolting sidestep. Travis and Diablo barely twitched.
The frustrating cowboy glanced over his shoulder. Ray didn’t know what affected him more, the sheer joy that lit Travis’s handsome face or the blinding magazine-cover smile. Travis reined Diablo his way and casually trotted over.
“Hey, Ray.” Travis beamed as they approached. “You weren’t kidding about the training. He’s a dream.”
“Get off that goddamned horse right now, Morgan.”
Travis’s smile faltered only slightly. “Easy, Ray.” His tone was placating, but his eyes were amused. “I figured out what his problem is—”
“I don’t give a shit what his problem is. Right now the only problem around here is you.”
Travis grinned. “No. Actually, you’re the problem.”
“What the—” Blood pumped hot and furious through Ray’s veins and burned his throat. “You looking to get fired?”
“Listen,” Travis continued undeterred. “Those other men who tried to work with him, were you near?”
Goddamn if the man wasn’t pulling a Dot tactic with the track-jumping thing.
“What that hell does that have to do with anything?” Ray barked.
“Were you?”
“Of course!” Ray threw his free hand in the air.
“Well, there you go.” Travis nodded, looking quite pleased with himself. “Diablo thinks you’re part of his herd and saw those men as a threat. Damn horse has been protecting you.”
Ray opened his mouth and snapped it shut with a shake of his head. How did he get from frustrated and angry to dumbfounded and mute in the space of a breath?
“Do you have any idea how amazing this horse is? You know what you’ve got here, don’t you?”
