Ray kicked the door shut with his boot heel, wound his fist around Landon’s tie, and pulled the man’s head down. His mouth slammed into Landon’s in a hard, angry kiss. A kiss meant to purge and cleanse, erase and forget.
The lips beneath Ray’s were firm and soft, but not quite as full. They moved with him, following his lead, but they didn’t challenge, didn’t battle for control. The tongue that met his, while not timid, wasn’t demanding. It didn’t taste quite right, wasn’t the flavor of sunlight and sweet feed his body suddenly craved.
After a brief second of stunned hesitation, Landon responded with a long moan. And that wasn’t right either, the sound not deep nor resonant enough.
Ray broke the kiss abruptly. He loosed his hand from Landon’s tie and stumbled back a step from his longtime lover.
“Shit.” He ran a hand through his short hair. “Sorry, didn’t mean to come on so strong.”
Landon tugged off the tie. “Actually, Ray, I think I liked it.” Bewilderment laced Landon’s short laugh. “But I think I’d like it more with less clothing.”
Landon tossed the tie to the chair by the door, slid the jacket off his broad shoulders, and began unbuttoning the shirt.
Ray felt an odd sort of disconnect as he watched Landon undress. They’d been meeting in secret, having great sex for nearly two years, but he’d never really
looked
at his young lover. Not close. Not deep. They gave each other only what they needed, and that was enough. Though Ray knew Landon wanted more. He wanted a relationship in the true sense, one he didn’t have to hide—one Ray could never give him.
“Going to join me, cowboy?” Landon asked in a dulcet voice.
Shirt added to the pile of clothing building up on the chair, Landon’s bare chest was lean, skin pale under the weak lighting of the motel room. Broad shoulders tapered into a narrow waist. Long legs had Landon standing a couple of inches taller than Travis—taller but not bigger.
Landon’s eyes were more hazel than green—open and expressive, withholding no secrets. His face was smooth-skinned, features classically handsome whereas Travis was rugged and wore life’s experiences in the fine creases around his eyes and mouth.
Ray knew what he’d be getting with Landon. He knew that although Landon wasn’t an aggressive lover, he was generous and endlessly creative. But heaven above, even having not yet fully experienced Travis, Landon didn’t match up.
Travis, Travis, Travis. Goddamned Travis Morgan. Even here with a willing body ready for him, wanting him, the cowboy wouldn’t leave him alone.
“Yeah,” Ray said as he tore at the buttons, opening his shirt but not shrugging out of it. He reached for the button of his jeans as Landon stepped out of slacks that had pooled at his feet. His erection jutted eagerly from his groin. Ray closed the distance, grabbed Landon by the hips, spun him around, and shoved him face-first onto the bed.
Landon grunted something Ray didn’t catch as he climbed up on the bed and knelt between Landon’s spread legs. He tugged his zipper down, freeing his semierect cock, then fell forward and covered Landon’s body. The man under him was warm and firm, but not solid. A white-collar physique created and maintained in a gym, not one carved by hard living and working the land. Still strong, but not powerful. Not Travis.
Unblemished pale skin smelled of rainwater and mint that for some reason made Ray think of summer picnics. Pleasant, but not enough to overpower the lingering trace of cedar leaf, ginger, and wood smoke that still clung to his clothing, his skin. Not enough to overpower Travis.
Fucking Travis.
And God help him, that’s exactly what he wanted to be doing right now.
With a curse, Ray pushed himself off Landon and stalked across the room. He zipped up his jeans—no point in leaving them open—and reached for the half-full bottle of Glenlivet sitting on the faux-oak dresser. He grabbed the empty glass beside the bottle, poured himself a three-finger shot, and downed it in one swallow. Liquid fire blazed a path to his stomach, dulling the sharp edges. He winced.
“It’s him, isn’t it.” Not a question. “That cowboy. Travis.”
“Hell no!” Ray snapped. He frowned at the defensive tone of his voice, promptly dismissed it, and poured another hearty shot.
“I saw the way you looked at each other yesterday,” Landon said, a touch of sadness underlying his soft voice.
Landon was a good man. He deserved someone who would treat him right, be proud to walk down the street at his side, give him what he so clearly wanted. But as much as Ray cared about him, and he did, he just wasn’t that man.
He checked his tone but didn’t turn around. “Don’t go there, Landon. We both know this was only ever going to be about sex.”
“I don’t know the story between you two, of course, but it’s plain to see it’s about more than just sex.”
“Not true.”
“Really? Then why are we sitting here talking about it instead of having it?”
Ray opened his mouth to refute, but his vocal chords flatlined. He peered into the glass in his hand, searching for the words he’d lost. Tiny diamonds winked and danced in the amber liquid, promising temporary oblivion instead of wisdom—and a raging hangover come morning.
“You won’t drown him in alcohol or forget him in another man’s bed,” Landon said close behind Ray. “Not even in mine.”
Defeat pressed down on Ray’s body like a cement blanket. His limbs felt heavy and cumbersome. He couldn’t deny the truth. Couldn’t deny that he was falling for a man he couldn’t have.
Warm hands rested lightly on his shoulders, and then Landon’s voice was quiet in his ear. “Don’t drive tonight.” The hands squeezed once, then fell away. “Good-bye, Ray.”
Distantly Ray was aware Landon had just ended their relationship. Or perhaps it was he. The door clicked shut, and Ray turned around to face an empty room.
There went Tornado Morgan’s first victim.
“Shit.”
Ray sat down hard on the edge of the bed and polished off his whiskey. Even when not present, Travis Morgan was an annoyingly persistent man. There’d be no forgetting him in drink or casual sex tonight. Probably never be anything to make him forget the one man he wanted more than he’d ever thought possible.
Travis couldn’t focus. He glanced over his shoulder, again, at the empty round pen. Ray had yet to return from wherever he’d torn off to yesterday afternoon, after things had got a little hot and heavy in the tack room.
After they’d almost had sex.
Travis knew he was pushing Ray when he’d followed him. Knew what Ray risked, what they both risked. But damn, the man was an irresistible force when he got all riled up. He radiated a power and passion that had Travis’s body shaking with excitement in response. And those incredibly expressive eyes, darkened to a rich espresso, had scalded his skin.
He hadn’t been disappointed when Ray snapped and slammed him up against the lockers. Kissed him with such intensity, Travis had forgotten to breathe. Every nerve ending had caught fire. And holy hell, he’d nearly come in his jeans right then.
He could still taste the lingering cinnamon on his tongue.
“Hey, Trav,” Jesse called out, jarring Travis from his erotic reverie of the tantalizing Ray Ford. “I’m free the rest of the afternoon if you want to start training.”
“Good.”
I need the distraction
. “Have some men herd half a dozen steer into the ring for us. I’ll bring a couple horses over.”
Travis selected two just-broke horses—Little Red, the bold and willing red dun mare he’d taken a shine to, and Wiley Dog, the high-strung buckskin that continued to test him. The mare would be a good mount to start the kid on. She was one of those horses that practically trained themselves.
“You’re on Red, here,” Travis said as he joined Jesse in the ring. “We’ll do dry groundwork first. Then if things go smoothly, we’ll see how she takes to the cattle.”
Travis gave Jesse a few basic pointers as they tacked up; then he mounted up and sat comfortably in the saddle while he observed and instructed. The kid was good, and Little Red was a quick study. It was a bit of a cheat starting Jesse on her, but he needed a confident grasp on the basics before he started working a horse with an attitude like Wiley.
“She’s good on the right turns, but she’s not listening to you on the left. You need to get her off your leg. Give her a little spur and keep her shoulder straight, nose in.”
Jesse tried to get the mare into a loose turn, but she still resisted on that side.
“Right toe forward, left foot behind the cinch, heel in,” Travis instructed. “Keep your knee pressure firm.”
Jesse huffed. “That’s what I’m doing.”
Travis rode over and dismounted, passing his reins to the kid to hold Wiley while he demonstrated. He walked around to the mare’s right side, sliding his hand over her rump as he went. “Here,” he said as he positioned Jesse’s foot, toe in and forward, tapping Red’s elbow. Then he moved around to the left and positioned the other foot, heel in toward the horse’s barrel. “And here.”
Then he placed his hand on Jesse’s lower leg and pressed it against Red’s side. She moved off his leg immediately.
“There. That’s what you want, kid.”
“Sweet.” Jesse smiled and leaned down to rub the mare’s neck. “But I wish you’d quit calling me ‘kid.’ Twenty-two officially makes me an adult, you know.”
“Yeah, well. Eleven years my junior means you’re always going to be a kid to me.” Jesse rolled his eyes, and Travis slapped him on the thigh with a laugh. “Get over it. Kid.”
Travis reclaimed Wiley’s reins, and as he walked around the buckskin to mount up, he saw Sam Davis standing outside the arena gate. Even from across the ring in dim lighting, Travis could see the rigid stance of the man’s body, flushed ruddy cheeks, and killing glare. Travis groaned inwardly.
And the day had been going so well…
Sam yelled furiously, “You get the fuck away from my boy!”
Travis almost shook his head and dismissed the man but knew that would only fuel an irrational fire. One he really didn’t feel like putting out.
“And you get the hell out of there, Jesse.”
“I’m just learning to train, Dad,” Jesse reasoned.
Travis sighed and handed his reins back to Jesse. “Stay here.”
“I’m sorry, Trav.”
Travis shook his head. “We’re good.”
He made his way to the gate at a deliberate, leisurely pace and stopped a few feet shy. “You have a problem with Jesse learning to train horses, Sam?”
“Nope, I have a problem with him learning from you.” Sam’s voice was confrontational, and his steely eyes held violent storms.
Travis spoke without inflection. “And why would that be?”
“You know damned well why.”
“No actually, I don’t.” Travis crossed his arms over his chest.
“I saw your hands on him. Saw you touching my boy.”
Travis regarded Sam for a long moment. He didn’t want to do this.
Really
didn’t want to do this. Without pulling his gaze from Sam, he spoke over his shoulder, “Go back to working Red on her left turns, Jess. I’ll be right back.”
Travis inclined his head. “Let’s step outside so the kid can work.”
Travis strode past the angry man and headed for the far corner of the barn. A quick scan of the area told him they were without audience. As he came to a stop, he caught a flash of movement in his peripheral. He ducked reflexively and narrowly missed Sam’s sucker punch.
He knew Sam was no match for him, but he was so tired of fighting, so tired of always being put on the defensive, keeping his guard up 24-7. All he wanted to do was to relax and enjoy his life—his way—in peace. Why something so simple and basic continually proved to be so unattainable, he’d never understand.
Undeterred, Sam hauled off and launched a right hook that Travis dodged neatly. The missed contact tipped Sam briefly off-balance, and Travis took advantage of the recovery lag. He spun the man around by his arm, twisting it behind his back, and slammed him up against the hard wood siding of the barn. Travis pushed his weight into the armlock and dug the elbow of his other arm into the back of Sam’s neck, effectively immobilizing the irate ranch hand.
“We. Are not. Doing this,” Travis ground out, giving Sam a little shove with each clipped sentence.
“Get off me!” Sam’s voice was just shy of a scream as he struggled in Travis’s unyielding grip. “You fucking perv—”
“What the hell is going on here?” Ray’s voice snapped across the yard like a bullwhip that left Travis’s ears ringing. He and Sam both froze a heartbeat as Ray rounded the barn and strode toward them. Travis cursed under his breath and stepped back, roughly releasing Sam.
“Nothing, Ray.” He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. As he replaced it, he said with forced nonchalance, “Just settling a difference of opinion.”
Ray looked from Travis to Sam and back, his expression shuttered. “Looks like a little more than that from this angle.”
While Ray waited in apparent calm for an explanation, Travis studied the rancher for what he was more concerned about—clues to his absence. His eyes were bloodshot, skin drawn and pale under an unshaven face, and his rough voice had a jagged edge, like it had been cut with hard liquor.
So the man had gone and got himself good and drunk last night.
“One of you want to tell me what’s really going on here?”
“I’ll tell you,” Sam spat out with clear disdain while rubbing the back of his neck. He glared daggers at Travis as he leaned down to pick up the hat that had been knocked off his head during their scuffle. “Son of a bitch queer was touching my boy. That’s what’s going on here.”
Other than a slightly raised eyebrow, Ray showed no outward reaction, no signs indicating what was thinking. Travis didn’t miss the nearly imperceptible tick in the man’s jaw, however. Ray wasn’t nearly as calm as he projected.
“Had his filthy hand on Jesse’s leg.” Sam dusted off the hat against his thigh and continued, “And who knows what kind of twisted poison he’s filling my kid’s head with when I’m not around to protect him.”
“I’m not a fucking kid, and I don’t need you or anyone else to protect me,” Jesse snapped at Sam as he came out of the arena still astride Little Red. His gaze shifted to Ray. “All he’s doing is teaching me to train. That’s it.”