“I just have to wrap everything up and put on your new shoe,” the doctor answered.
Tristen’s fuzzy brain liked the idea of new shoes, but his eyelids took over and closed before he could ask what color they were.
* * * *
Santos held a sleeping Tristen on his lap, taking comfort that the smaller man was resting peacefully with his head snuggled into Santos’s shoulder and neck. Santos couldn’t even begin to describe how glad he was that the last couple of hours were over with. Looking at Jimmy sitting in the front seat, he asked, “Why is Tristen so afraid of needles?”
Jimmy looked back over the seat while biting his lip. He seemed to be turning things over in his head before he said, “My mom thought it was because of what happened right after he was born.”
“Are you saying something happened to Tristen when he was an infant?” Santos asked.
“Yeah. Right before Tristen and my mom were about to be released from the hospital, the doctors did a last overall checkup on him,” Jimmy explained. “They found his oxygen levels were way down. He ended up staying another week in the infant ICU. My mom said they had so many tubes attached to his feet, arms, and body it was horrible. She said she sat there and cried with him as they poked him over and over with needles while performing all kinds of tests.”
“That’s nasty,” Parker commented.
“You’re telling me,” Jimmy said. “I think that’s why my mom and Tristen have such a special bond. She never left his side. And, as far back as I can remember, Tristen couldn’t tolerate needles.”
“I’ve never seen such a deep fear before,” Parker said. “After taking that muscle relaxant, most people wouldn’t care what the doctor did. I was astonished when he became combative and Chad had to sneak that shot into his thigh to drug him up more.”
“Oh, so the doctor’s Chad now?” Jimmy teased. “Was that a card with his telephone number that I saw him hand you?”
Before Parker turned his head away and became interested in the scenery out the side window, Santos saw a red blush travel up his neck and over his cheeks.
“Knock it off, little bit,” Roman said. “You aren’t allowed to tease unless you get the story straight. Parker handed the doctor a small piece of paper with his telephone number on it first.”
Everyone in the truck burst out in laughter, even Parker. For the first time, Santos felt as if they all were starting to become friends.
Tristen shifted in Santos’s arms. The oversized, hard plastic boot encasing his foot lying on Parker’s lap tipped to the side. Parker reached down and tipped it back upright. The doctor had said Tristen needed to keep it elevated for a few days. Santos had a feeling that a bored Tristen might become more than a handful. In his mind, he started devising ways to keep him entertained.
* * * *
“So we’re okay?” Tristen asked.
“Of course we are,” Garrett answered. “We both know it wasn’t me you really wanted.”
Tristen was sitting on one of the kitchen stools watching Garrett make up some sandwiches. Santos had gone outside earlier with Rhys to work with their horses or something or other. Tristen hadn’t paid much attention. He was still miffed at Santos for turning down his offer of a blowjob. The infuriating man had kept sex or any other fun, sexy activity off the table for the first three days while Tristen had to keep his foot elevated. Tristen had pointed out that elevating his foot during sex was the normal way of doing things. Yeah, that had gotten him nowhere. He got to the point that if he had to watch one more move or play another card game he was ready to put some hot pepper in Santos’s tight boxer briefs just to break up the monotony.
Yesterday, Tristen had graduated to using crutches. The awkwardness of using them would have irritated him, but for now, he was happy to be mobile. Was Santos more cooperative in seeing things Tristen’s way? As in naked, sweaty bodies, with cum painting their skin? Nope.
After Santos had left, Tristen knew it was past time to talk to Garrett. Tristen had come to Los Héroes to be with Garrett. Those plans had gone array when Santos stepped in and took over.
Tristen frowned at Garrett’s nonchalance. They had kissed after all. “Yeah, but…um…we might have…”
Garrett laughed. “Ah honey, you are one of the sexiest men I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen my share,” Garrett said. “But you were Santos’s the moment he got a good look at you. Face it, you decided to come here and be with me because I’m the safe old guy. Except it wasn’t me you really wanted to be with.”
Tristen bit on his lower lip, thinking about Garrett’s statement. Looking Garrett over, he wasn’t sure about the safe part. Garrett might be in his forties and have gray in his hair, but the guy’s arms and chest bulged with muscles. His belly was flat, and he had legs like thick tree trunks. Garrett’s smile was big and friendly, but an air of danger surrounded him.
“Am I that transparent?” Tristen asked.
“Honey, you fool most people because they’re too busy wanting to touch that long, silky hair of yours and imagining those tan legs wrapped around them.” Garrett put the sandwiches in a soft cooler and added plastic containers of cut-up watermelon and slices of chocolate cake. Last he threw in a small bag of potato chips. In the side pocket, he added plates, forks, and napkins. “While I enjoyed your attributes, I can see and hear what the real you is saying, and I hope we can be friends.”
Tristen’s face hurt he was smiling so hard. “I’d love to be your friend,” he told Garrett. He had some friends from high schools, but somehow, Garrett’s friendship meant more.
“Good.” Garrett nodded and smiled back. “You can never have too many friends.”
From the bottom shelf of one of the lower cupboards, Garrett pulled out another soft cooler. After adding an ice pack, he filled that cooler with a package of bacon, eggs, and a few slices of bread. Looking up at the clock shaped like an apple on the wall, he said, “And as your friend, I want to say have a great time.”
“What?” Tristen frowned at his new friend, whose clear blue eyes were twinkling, and a giant smile lit up his face.
Behind him, Santos walked into the kitchen from the hallway leading to the bedrooms. In one hand he carried a small duffel bag. When Santos reached him, he turned Tristen toward him and hoisted him over his shoulder.
Tristen gasped, “Santos, what are you doing?” He saw he wouldn’t be getting any help from Garrett as the cook handed Santos both soft coolers.
“Thank you, my friend,” Santos said while managing to snag both of Tristen’s crutches in the hand holding the duffel bag.
“No problem. Have fun,” Garrett replied.
As Tristen bumped along on Santos’s shoulder, he wanted to slap the man’s ass in frustration. But Tristen was no fool and had learned his lesson. This time he was going to go about getting Santos’s attention a different way.
Reaching down, Tristen spread his hands over each of Santos’s flexing ass cheeks and squeezed. The big man stopped moving right before the front door.
“What do you think you are doing, fofinho?” Santos asked.
“Playing dirty,” Tristen answered. “You keep throwing me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and I’m retaliating.”
“I think you should stop your retaliation, fofinho,” Santos said. “I want to get to our destination before the sun goes down, and that will not happen if I am forced to take you to our bedroom.”
Tristen stopped squeezing rock-hard buns for a moment. “You’re taking me somewhere? Where? I’m not dressed for anything fancy. Do I need my wallet?” he asked. Excitement rippled over his skin at the thought of going out.
Santos’s laughter vibrated Tristen’s body. “I have everything you need packed for you.”
Once outside, Tristen arched his back and tried to look around. Rhys was standing on the edge of the parking area, holding the reins of Tristen’s big black tracking horse, Chester, and the packhorse, Blue. Sadie, in her ever-patient way, was sitting on the ot
her side of Rhys.
Tristen’s idea of going out for a meal and a movie went sailing right out of the proverbial window. Ten minutes later Tristen was sitting behind Santos on Chester while they led the packhorse, and Sadie ran along side of them. Santos had refused to let him change into jeans and boots so he could ride his own horse. At least Santos had plopped a straw cowboy hat on Tristen’s head to reflect the sun’s rays before putting on a matching one.
“Santos, I’ve been riding horses since I was three years old,” he pointed out. So far none of his arguments had gotten him anywhere. “I even have my own horse back on the ranch in Texas.”
“What is his name?” Santos asked.
Tristen blinked as the question interrupted his argument. “Jenny,” he answered.
“Do you miss her?”
“A little,” Tristen answered.
“I will see if Roman will let me off of work long enough for us to go and get Jenny,” Santos said.
Tristen was touched Santos would do that for him, but there was still a point he needed to make. “There’s no need for us to stress Chester out by making him carry both of us. I can easily ride the packhorse.”
“Blue is carrying our provisions for the night,” Santos said. “Do not worry about Chester. He is a Friesian cross. He has no problem carrying us. Now put your arms around my waist and hold tight.”
Tristen wrapped his arms around Santos and waited for him to urge Chester into a trot or gallop. Nothing happened. It took another couple of minutes for him to realize that Santos wasn’t going to go any faster and had just wanted Tristen closer. Tristen gave up fighting the bullheaded man and leaned against Santos, laying his head against his back.
“Now you are where you belong, my anjinho,” Santos said.
“You could have just asked,” Tristen replied.
The big man didn’t say anything else, and Tristen relaxed while taking in the bright blue Nevada sky and the green scrub brush mixed with long clumps of green and brown grass. Not too far away were the majestic bluish-purple mountains looming over them. The closer they got, the greener the landscape became.
“I understand you using Sadie to help you find missing people, but how does Chester fit in?” Tristen had been wondering about that for a while.
“Most horses have the same scenting capabilities as dogs, except their nose is farther off the ground so they can detect airborne scents,” Santos answered. “With the right horse and the right training, you can have a search and rescue dog, only one you’re able to ride.”
Tristen turned that information over in his mind. He had been around horses all his life and had never heard or observed them having any of those skills. Not that he had been looking.
“What about their eyesight?” Tristen asked, becoming curious about an animal he had thought he knew everything about. “I know it’s not as good as ours.”
“True,” Santos answered. “But their field of vision is huge with the way their eyes are set in their head. And their detection of movement is out of this world. They also see better than us at night.”
Tristen looked around Santos’s back to get a glimpse of Chester’s face as they made their way down a small path through thick, dry underbrush and trees. “I know a horse’s hearing is good, so that must help.”
“It is way better than ours, and they hear more frequencies.” Santos’s firm belly under Tristen’s hands rippled when he chuckled. “Hell, each of their ears can swivel in different directions. When we are on a mission, there is not much Chester misses.”
Tristen wondered if it was stupid that the warmth in Santos’s voice when he talked about Chester had sent a pain of jealousy stabbing though him. He pushed that craziness aside. He didn’t do jealous. That was for other men to feel.
After a while, Tristen asked, “Do you like working for Rescue for Hire West?”
Santos was quiet for a moment before he answered, “So far it has been okay. We’ve gone on a few rescues, and things have gone well. I know it is early, but I admit I thought there would be more.”
“More what?” Tristen asked. “Are you talking more rescues or training?”
“I know the rescues will pick up, and some are going to be intense, but so far, the whole company isn’t what I expected,” Santos admitted.
“What did you think it was going to be?” Under Tristen’s hands, Santos’s body had grown stiff. A glance at the side of his face showed he was frowning and his lips were pressed tightly together. Tristen now understood this was a big deal to Santos.
“While I was a member of NASAR, I heard about Rescue for Hire,” Santos started to explain.
“Wait, you were a member of NASAR?” Tristen interrupted. Wow, now he was impressed. It took a lot to even qualify for that elite search and rescue association.
“Yes, my fofinho, for a few years.” Santos looked off into the distance, seeming to scan the area. “It wasn’t what I was looking for. And then a friend told me about a company in the Midwest called Rescue for Hire. It sounded perfect, except they don’t have a big need for scent-tracking horses. I’ve worked too hard with Chester and have no intention of giving him up or letting his skills go to waste.”
“What was it about Rescue for Hire that attracted you?” Tristen asked. He could feel they were getting to the heart of the matter.
“Rumors said they were a group of badass adrenaline junkies who were so tight they lived in each other’s pockets.” Santos sighed. “It didn’t matter what race, religion, or whatever else you were, if you became a team member, you became part of a family.”
Tristen rubbed Santos’s flat belly in comfort. When Chester shifted under them, Tristen figured the horse was sensing his master’s inner turbulence too. “Is that what you’re looking for? A family?”
“I was born in the United States,” Santos said. “In the middle of the night, my father stole me away from my mother and took me to Brazil. A year later he was killed in a dispute with another drug dealer. I lived on the streets of Fortaleza for a year until an American tourist saw me and took me to the American Embassy.”
“Jeez. How old were you?” Tristen asked. He began rubbing Santos’s stomach and chest with both hands. Santos must have been so scared.
“I was nine when my father kidnapped me,” Santos answered and then chuckled. “Anjinho, unless you want me to stop Chester and take you right here, I think you should stop those hands from wandering.”
Tristen stilled. He had been so wrapped up in thoughts of Santos’s struggles as a child, he hadn’t realized his hands had roamed into exciting territory. Currently one was splayed flat against Santos’s lower belly, and the other was cupping his pec. Santos’s hard-as-a-pebble nip drilled into his palm. Sighing loud enough to let Santos how put out he was, Tristen moved his hands and locked them back together around Santos’s waist.
“So I take it when the opportunity came up you jumped at a chance to be with Rescue for Hire West. But now, what? You don’t like the people or the place? What’s wrong, Santos?” Tristen asked.
Santos sighed and adjusted the straw cowboy hat he wore. “To be able to function at our highest level during a rescue, we have to be able to trust our teammates. I’m afraid that trust is not there, anjinho.” Santos turned his head and looked at Tristen. “And I’m not the only one who feels that way.”
Chapter Seven
Santos looked at his handsome anjinho, glad they were having this conversation. His first inclination had been to throw Tristen over his shoulder to take him along, if he decided to leave Rescue for Hire West. But he understood those kinds of decisions needed to be talked about. Not that he still wouldn’t do the whole over-the-shoulder thing. Tristen was it for him.
“Who else isn’t happy?” Tristen asked. “I’m sure Roman would want to know about it.”
“Roman,” Santos answered.
“What?” Tristen swayed sideways before recovering and righting himself.
“I heard Captain talking on the phone,
” Santos said. “I believe he was speaking to Cade Miller. He said he was concerned about the dynamics of the group and wondered if it would be best to replace a few of the guys.”
“Holy shit, do you have any idea who it would be?” Tristen’s arms tightened around Santos’s waist.
Santos didn’t want to say it but knew Tristen deserved the truth. “Yes, my anjinho, I do,” Santos answered. “Me.”
By now they had traveled through a wooded area for some time and had come to a pond large enough to be called a small lake. Beyond the pond was the start of thick underbrush and steep hillsides that connected to the mountains. Santos stopped Chester. He knew the questions would come soon.
“Why would your job be in jeopardy? You get along with everyone, and you’re a tracker. I don’t get it.”
“I’m also part of a disruption,” Santos said and waited. Tristen was a smart man. It didn’t take long.
“Wait a minute. Are you saying that I’m the cause of the problems within Rescue for Hire West?” Hurt weighed down every word.
Tristen unlocked his arms from around Santos’s waist. Santos felt the man shift to slide off Chester. Santos grabbed his arm and used his strength so Tristen landed gently, keeping most of his weight off his injured foot.
Santos dismounted Chester and gave him a hand signal to stay where he was before walking up to Tristen and lifting him up until they were face to face.
“You are not the cause of the problems,” he said in a no-nonsense tone. “The cause is a bunch of men who haven’t made the effort to bond yet.”
“But I’m a problem, aren’t I?” Tristen’s plump lower lip stuck out. Santos resisted the urge to suck on it.
“On your last visit, you were a toy everyone wanted to play with. I’m the one who wanted to keep you,” Santos said.
“So now I’m a toy?” Tristen huffed.
“Be careful, my querido,” Santos warned. He was in no mood to put up with Tristen’s diva act.
The Tracker Claims the Cutie [Rescue for Hire West 2] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove) Page 5
