What Ray wouldn’t give to have that soothing voice murmur in his ear, encouraging him, coaxing him to obey the other man’s commands? His skin tingled, and heat rushed south as his cock agreed.
Ray cursed under his breath.
“What’s that, Ray?”
His eyes popped open, and the blood that had been pooling south suddenly reversed engines and raced north, flooding his neck and cheeks. He took a deep breath and said a small prayer of thanks for small miracles. Travis still had his back to him. Ray rubbed his own bandanna over the back of his heated neck. He cleared his throat and, wincing at the roughness of his voice, said, “Uh, I see why you’re the best in the country.”
Travis glanced over his shoulder at Ray. Those magnetic eyes locked with his, and Travis flashed one of the most stunning smiles Ray had ever seen. The sheer brilliance of it hit him like a hoof square in the center of his chest with enough force to shove him back a step.
Shit on a stick.
He was done for.
Chapter Four
“Hold on, I’m coming,” Travis hollered as he stepped out of the small bathroom and wrapped a towel around his waist. He crossed the small room in three long strides, dripping a trail of water as he went, and swung the cabin door open. The blanket of cold air that attacked his exposed, wet skin was more refreshing than chilling after his hot shower.
Jesse stood on the porch with his mouth open, about to speak, but the words had apparently died on their way out. The kid’s gaze suddenly riveted to Travis’s bare chest, traveled slowly downward, until it got hung up on the bulge behind the thin blue towel.
Well, well, well
. Travis hadn’t seen a perusal that blatant outside a gay bar. So, it seemed Jesse Davis was gay.
How the fuck about that? Wouldn’t Sam just shit a brick?
He bit back a laugh at the irony, but couldn’t stop the smile breaking out across his face. “Something I can help you with, Jesse?”
Jesse’s head shot up to meet Travis in the eye; shock and embarrassment played out on his young face. The kid’s neck and cheeks flushed such a brilliant red, Travis thought he’d pop an artery. Jesse’s jaw worked silently a couple of times before he was able to force sound out of his mouth. “I, uh, we”—he cleared his throat—“we’re…me and the guys…we’re gonna light a fire and toss back a few beers.”
Travis looked over Jesse’s shoulder and saw Clay and Ross throwing logs and kindling into the fire pit, creating a tepee. He hedged. “Okay.”
“Uh, yeah, so…you want to join us?” Belatedly, Jesse held up his hands, a bottle of Wild Fly Ale in each. A cold beer actually sounded pretty good.
“Sure. Just let me dry off and throw some clothes on.”
Travis rarely made friends on the ranches he worked. He made a point of keeping his head down, doing his job, and moving on the second he was done. No attachments or commitments meant no problems, disappointments, or hurt.
But these men sitting around a roaring campfire—relaxed and laughing, genuine and straightforward—had a way of putting Travis at ease, as if he’d always been here. They’d befriended him quickly and easily, made him feel like he belonged. It was a rare feeling, and one he was afraid to get too comfortable with.
Good things never lasted. The bottom always dropped out, and he was the one who always paid the price.
Jesse sat on the log bench beside Travis, nervous and fidgety. He kept glancing at Travis with awe, excitement, and that blatant flare of desire in his guileless gray-blue eyes. Clay sat on Jesse’s other side, and Ross shared the next log bench with a cooler of beer. The fire crackled and popped. Red embers rose to twine with bright stars in a swirling, lackadaisical dance.
Travis observed how the men interacted with one another as they regaled him with their adventures on Ford Creek. The other two treated Jesse like a kid brother. Both seemed genuinely fond of the young man. Not that it was a hard thing to do. Travis had to admit the kid was instantly likeable. Jesse’s best friend Clay was watchful of him. The young cowboy may come off as an immature clown to most, but it was hard to miss Clay’s astute observance, like an ever-faithful guard dog. The kid was smarter than he let on, and Travis was grateful Jesse had a friend like him in his corner. Especially after the little run-in with the kid’s father at dinner that first night on Ford Creek. And now discovering that the kid was gay, with a hot-tempered, homophobe dad, Travis’s own protective instincts had flared.
A brief memory of the first time life had shot him down rose to the surface. He took a solid draught of his beer and pushed it away.
“Well. That’s it for me.” Ross stood and dropped his empty bottle into the cooler with a sharp
clink
. “This old man can’t keep up with you young bucks anymore.”
“Whatever, Ross,” Clay said. “You still kick my ass at arm wrestling.”
Ross winked. “That’s because I have a secret family maneuver.”
“One of these days I’ll get it out of you,” Clay teased.
“Taking it to the grave, boy.” Ross laughed and headed for his cabin with a wave over his shoulder.
Clay chugged back the last of his beer, exchanged a look with Jesse, and stood up.
“I’m calling it too. Don’t want Dot giving me shit for being late for breakfast again.” He clapped Jesse on the back. “Later, dude.”
“Later,” Jesse said.
“Make sure Cinderella gets home before curfew,” Clay said to Travis.
“Shut. Up.” Jesse spluttered and smacked Clay on the thigh. He laughed and knocked Jesse’s hat from his head, then sauntered off.
Silence fell around the campfire as Jesse retrieved his hat, dusted it off against his knee, and settled it back on his head. Travis waited for Jesse to bring up what he knew was coming. It didn’t take long.
“Can I ask you a personal question, Travis?” Jesse asked timidly, worship and lust in his eyes.
Travis shrugged his shoulders.
Jesse cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and sat up straighter. “Those rumors my dad was talking about the other night…”
Travis regarded the kid for a moment. He didn’t make a habit of outing himself to many people, but it seemed apparent Jesse needed some guidance, support, someone to turn to. Still, he held back saying anything definite.
“Anyone else know?” Travis asked, using the same gentle and assuring tone he used with his horses. “Anyone you can talk to?”
Jesse’s eyes widened, fear flashing through them.
“It’s okay, kid. I understand.”
Jesse relaxed, and his relieved exhale nearly drowned out the crackling fire. “Clay knows, but he’s straight. No one else.”
Travis nodded. Poor kid thought he was alone. He had no idea Ray could have been there for him all along, if the stubborn man wasn’t so deeply closeted, and Jesse wasn’t so green.
Travis found himself skipping back in time to another young man, this one much younger than Jesse, with that same youthful innocence, wonderment, and fear.
That boy hadn’t had anyone there for him either. He’d been fifteen years old, discovering who he was on his own, when his father had found him behind the barns kissing Bobby Joe MacCabe.
It all played out so clearly in his mind, as though it were only yesterday.
One minute Travis was enjoying the most earth-shattering experience of his life as he and Bobby Joe clumsily kissed for the first time. The next minute, he was yanked by his collar and slammed up against the side of the barn, splinters digging painfully into his back.
His father, the man Travis had always looked up to and trusted without question, punched him in the gut so hard he felt like he was drowning, unable to pull air into his lungs. Still gasping for breath, the second punch rocked his head back against the hard wood. His vision grayed out, stars danced in a chaotic cloud, and he suddenly thought, Huh, you really do see stars. Just like in the comics. And it was almost comical. Until he crumpled painfully to the ground in a bloody heap when his father let go with a kick to the ribs, and told him to get off his property.
It took close to an hour before he could pick himself up off the ground and stagger to the house. His body was on fire, and there was dried, crusty blood on his face. One eye was swollen near shut, and his side hurt so badly he could only take short, shallow breaths.
He didn’t make it into the house. His father stepped out onto the front porch, arms crossed over his broad chest. “You don’t live here anymore. You’re no longer my son or a member of this family.”
“Dad…” Travis pleaded. He couldn’t believe his dad was doing this. The man who’d taught him how to lasso a calf, shoe a horse, ride like the wind—the man who’d always been there for him.
But apparently love was conditional.
“Where am I going to go?” He spit dirt and blood from his mouth.
His father yelled at him, face flushed with anger, “I don’t give a shit!”
Travis’s head snapped back like he’d been physically slapped. He saw the faces of his family watching from behind the front window, looked to each one pleadingly. His mother wouldn’t meet his eyes. His own fucking mother! His older brother Randy sneered at him in disgust, and the oldest, his sister Gracie, was crying. She turned from the window and a moment later charged through the front door. Their father grabbed her by the collar and hauled her back.
“Dad!” she screeched. “He’s hurt. He needs help.”
“He’s nothing to us now. Go back inside.”
“He’s my brother.” Gracie was crying, wailing, flailing her arms at their father, but the man didn’t even blink.
“Get off my property before I get my twelve-gauge.”
His father was gone. The man who stood on the porch with dark, killing eyes was a stranger. Travis had no choice but to turn around and leave. Gracie’s cries echoed in the distance as he lurched slowly down the long drive, leaving the only place he’d ever known.
That was the last he’d seen of White Deer, Texas, or the people he’d once called family.
A shudder ran through him. Travis slammed back the last of his beer, hoping it would drown the painful memory once and for all.
He would be there for Jesse, like he’d wished someone had been there for him eighteen years ago.
“Yes,” Travis said quietly.
“Yes what?” Jesse asked confused.
“The rumors are true.” He turned to face Jesse. “And that’s strictly between us. Understand?”
Jesse nodded. “Understood.”
“Not even Clay can know,” Travis warned.
“I got it, Travis.” Jesse nodded again and his eyes turned serious, revealing comprehension beyond his years. “Between us. You’ve met my dad.”
“Unfortunately.” Travis sighed. He stood up and added his empty beer bottle to the collection in the cooler. “And don’t hit on me. I’m too old for you.”
Tension hung thick and palpable in the air when Ray and Dot walked in to the dining room for breakfast. Just like the first night Travis had joined them. Ray scanned the men crowded around the table focused intently on their meals, with one exception. Make that four. Sam’s face was flushed with anger, lips pursed, flat eyes glaring across the table. He looked like a lone bandit, pissed off, cornered, and holding out to the very end against a determined, unyielding posse. A posse made up of Ross Dennison, Clay Fisher, and Travis Morgan. Jesse sat between Travis and Clay, body held tight, head down, nostrils flared.
“Gentlemen,” Ray said as he pulled out Dot’s chair and after she was seated, pulled up his own, still watching as he sat. The silent standoff continued. “Ross? Do we have a problem here?”
“No sir,” Ross answered Ray, though his words were directed at Sam. “We’re all good. Aren’t we, boys?”
Sam agreed begrudgingly with a curse under his breath and snatched the platter that was being passed his way.
“Don’t you be cursing at my table, Samuel Davis,” Dot admonished.
“Yes, ma’am,” Sam said with obvious effort at civility. He loaded his plate in sharp, jerky movements.
Aside from bare-bones business at Ray’s requests, not another word was spoken. Meals were eaten with vigor as the men seemed to be in a great hurry to get to work. The first to finish, Sam rose abruptly from the table. His chair scraped loudly on the hardwood floor. As he walked around the table to drop his dishes in Dot’s trolley, he stopped to lean over Travis’s shoulder and whisper into his ear. Whatever Sam said, Travis showed no outward reaction—didn’t even look like he was listening—but the vibrating rigidity of Sam’s body told Ray it wasn’t “have a nice day.”
As was becoming habit, Travis hung back and offered to help Dot with the cleanup. She absently shooed him off, telling him to behave himself. Travis turned and gave Ray a long, unreadable look. Then he nodded and left the room.
“You’ve got trouble brewing between those boys, Raymond,” Dot said matter-of-factly.
Ray sighed. “Yes, it appears that way.”
He dropped his dishes in the tub, leaned down to give Dot a quick kiss on the cheek, and headed out to get to the bottom of the morning stare down.
Travis was still in the tack room gathering gear when Ray caught up to him.
“What’s going on with you and Sam?” Ray asked as he entered the crowded room. Two rows of saddle racks, three-high and seven-deep, took up the majority of the small space. Tack lockers took up one wall, floor-to-ceiling, and half another wall sported hooks holding bridles and halters, lead and lunge lines. Interspersed with the headgear were framed photos of Ford Creek’s legendary equine history.
“Nothing.”
“Didn’t look like nothing.” Ray followed Travis down the narrow row of saddle racks. The sharp, buttery scent of leather and earthy horse sweat hung thick and comforting in the air.
“Just Sam posturing.” Travis pulled a saddle off one of the midlevel racks and turned around to meet Ray’s gaze, a flash of merriment lighting his changeable eyes. “Nothing to worry about.”
“What is he posturing about?” Ray pressed. “I won’t have tension between the hands on my ranch.”
Travis gripped the saddle by the horn, slipped his hand through the gullet, and held it comfortably at his side. He placed his free hand gently on Ray’s hip.