He hated the denying, hiding, and lying, to Dot especially. He just didn’t have the heart, or courage, to tell her the perfect
woman
would never come along. And risking the truth would be far too damaging. Not just for him, but for the ranch’s reputation, his family’s hard-earned name, and everyone who depended on Ford Creek for their livelihoods.
If it ever came out that he was gay, he’d be run out of town like Dwayne Harrelson—if he were lucky enough to still be breathing.
He’d only been seventeen when it happened, but it had set the course for the rest of his life. When it was discovered Dwayne’s roommate was much more than that, local suppliers refused to sell him grain and provisions, others refused to buy his beef or bid on his horses at auction, and hands walked off the job and left him short staffed. His fencing was sabotaged, property vandalized. And when Dwayne still wouldn’t be intimidated, wouldn’t back down, it escalated. His barns and home were torched, and he and his partner were beaten to within an inch of their lives.
No one had stepped forward to help the men. No one was ever charged for the crimes against them. Dwayne had lost everything he’d spent his life working for.
Ray knew his own dad had been part of the posse that ran him out, as well as Chester Davis, Sam’s dad—they’d both smelled of smoke that fateful night. Those men, because of their ignorance and discrimination, had destroyed a man’s livelihood, forced him from his own home, and almost taken his life. Ray would not see that happen to himself, to his ranch.
No, that itch was too far dangerous to scratch in the open.
So, he appeased Dot’s need to see him settled by enduring a seemingly endless string of uninspiring dates. It wasn’t that the ladies she’d set him up with were unlikable or unattractive; he simply didn’t swing that way.
A horse squealed aggressively in the distance, interrupting the morning songbird’s conversations.
Ray turned around with a smile he hoped didn’t look as strained as it felt, that the weariness wasn’t evident in his voice. “It was fine.”
“Fine?” Dot’s bright eyes popped as her brows shot up. “What kind of date is that? Fine?”
Ray inhaled slowly. “Sandra was a lovely young woman. We had a nice evening.”
Dot rolled her eyes. She was clearly becoming frustrated with his complete lack of interest in the women she’d tried so hard to match him up with. He really couldn’t blame her. It had gone on long enough with the same outcome: “Yes, we had a nice time, yes she was lovely, no—”
“Are you going to see her again?”
“Don’t think so.”
“When are you going to stop beatin’ the devil around the stump and find yourself a good woman, Raymond?” She threw her hands up and huffed a small cloud into the space between them. “There are only so many available ladies in these here parts, young man. I’ve gone through just about the lot of them trying to find you the perfect ranch wife.”
“Maybe you should stop then, because I don’t need a wife.” The words escaped harder than intended.
Dot’s eyes narrowed, and her sharp gaze bore into him. A shiver of fear ran up his spine. Did she know? Could she see behind his mask, see who he really was? Nothing terrified him more. Dot was the closest thing to a mother he’d ever known, having lost his own in childbirth. His father had never remarried and had tried his best to raise Ray. But he had a ranch to run and not enough time to properly care for a small child. Dot had unselfishly stepped up and added surrogate mother to her long list of ranch duties. She’d given so much of her own life to ensure Ray grew up wanting for nothing and knowing he was loved, no matter what. Even still, he couldn’t chance disappointing her, or worse, having her turn away from him.
“I’m too busy, Dot. You know how it is around here. I don’t have time for a woman.”
“Every man needs a good woman, Raymond.”
Not
every
man.
Ray held his tongue and his gaze until Dot cowed, ending their short stare-down with a shake of her head. Her shoulders slumped slightly, just enough to send a spike of regret through his chest. He hated letting her down, but this was one argument she was never going to win. The hardest part of it all was that he couldn’t seem to find a way to tell her why.
“I just want you to be happy, Raymond.” The fire died out of her voice and twisted the spike.
“I know, Dot. I know.”
She gave him a small smile and rubbed her hand up and down his forearm, then turned back for the house. “Breakfast is just about ready, son.”
His ranch hands were already seated and loading their plates when Ray entered the large dining room through the kitchen door. The first pair of eyes he made contact with belonged to Travis Morgan—and they stayed on him until he’d made his way across the floor and pulled out his chair. A rush of heat caught him off guard, scoured his insides, and pooled in his lower abdomen. He cleared his throat, tore his gaze from the cowboy who was quickly overrunning his thoughts, and took his seat beside Dot.
He nodded. “Morning, gentlemen.”
A chorus of mumbled, sleep-laden “mornin’s” followed his subdued greeting to the crew.
Once Ray’s plate was loaded, business began as usual with the men giving him a status report on the livestock, pastures, supplies, and any other issues in need of consideration or direction. He tried to pay attention but found his thoughts, and his gaze, traveling back to the sexy cowboy at the far end of the table.
“Lost some more cattle on the north range,” Jesse said between mouthfuls of sausage. “Don’t have a head count yet.”
That caught his wandering thoughts. Ray looked around the table only to be met with blank stares and shoulder shrugs. Broken fence lines or rustlers—hopefully not the latter.
“Okay, Jesse. Take an ATV and run the lines. Don’t forget to take a two-way radio with you.”
“Will do, boss.”
“On second thought. Clay, grab an ATV and go with him just in case we have a rustling problem. I don’t want anyone out there alone.”
Clay Fisher was Jesse’s best friend and had been living and working on the ranch five years now. Clay was a year older at twenty-three, though Jesse was clearly the “older” of the two. But what Clay lacked in maturity, he more than made up for in sheer physical force. He was well over six feet and solid as an ox. He was hardly ever serious but had an incendiary temper if pushed too far. Fortunately that limit was long and wide. But the boy was nothing if not loyal. He could trust him to watch Jesse’s back if they came upon any trouble of the gun-toting, thieving kind.
It wasn’t that he didn’t think Jesse could take care of himself. With a father like Sam, the kid had to have some decent defensive skills, but in general, he was too…sweet. And for whatever reason, Ray had always looked on Jesse like a younger brother, had some sort of innate sense that he needed to look out for him.
“You got it, boss,” Clay answered, then turned to Jesse and elbowed him in the ribs. “Race you to the ravine.”
Jesse elbowed him back and laughed. “Loser gets shit duty for a week.”
“Get your gum boots ready, dude,” Clay teased, shoving Jesse with his shoulder.
“Boys,” Dot said with a firm, authoritative voice. Jesse and Clay immediately quit horsing around and returned to their breakfasts. Clay snickered under his breath.
Ray shook his head and once again caught Travis’s eye. Ray dropped his gaze to his plate and kept it there.
With the morning meal finished and the day’s tasks set, the men rose one by one and placed their dirty dishes in a plastic tub on a trolley for Dot before heading out. Travis hung back until the last man had cleared the dining room and placed his dishes in the tub.
“Can I help you clean up, Dot?” His deep voice was sincere and respectful.
Dot looked up at him, as surprised as Ray was, but she shooed him away with a smile. “You go on and do your own work, young man.”
Travis hesitated a moment and glanced at Ray. Ray nodded toward the foyer as he rose from the table. “Daylight’s burnin’.”
“I have a rule against working with a partner,” Travis stated, matching Ray’s stride as they walked across the yard toward the barn. Ray inhaled the subtle scent of livestock and fresh hay that rode the ever-present eastern trade winds.
“You aren’t working with a partner,” Ray said, his voice a bit tighter than intended. He took a breath. “We’ve got two round pens there, and we’ll split the herd. We’ll be working on our own.”
“Sounds fair enough, I suppose. Any preferences on which horses you want?”
“Nope. Go ahead and take your pick.”
Travis tipped his head in the direction of the corrals. “And Diablo over there?”
Ray shot a sideways glance at Travis.
“Hollis told me about him yesterday. I wouldn’t mind taking him on.”
Ray had had enough trouble with that horse, though he had an unusual bond with the animal. Diablo’s dam had died when he was just five weeks old, and Ray had assumed nursing duties, bottle-feeding the youngster to keep him alive. For the first eight months of his life, the colt followed Ray like a lost puppy. That time had laid down an unshakable foundation for the rare understanding they now shared.
Even if Diablo made a point of testing it every time Ray brought him down from winter pasture. Four years now.
Few people believed the feisty stallion was actually well trained. He just played at wild. Still, Ray wouldn’t trust that horse with anyone else, no matter how experienced a horseman. Diablo’s volatility with everyone but Ray had sent more than a few men to the hospital over the years. He wouldn’t chance another being hurt. And for some reason he didn’t care to explore, the idea of Travis hurt bothered him more.
Ray shook his head. “Nope. Any horse but.”
“You know I do this for a living, Ray.”
“Of course. And so do I. But that doesn’t change the fact I won’t chance anyone’s safety with that animal.”
“Ray—”
Ray stopped and faced Travis. His voice snapped. “Are you going to argue with me?”
“No, of course not. But training horses like that, it’s what I do best.”
“He doesn’t need training.”
“But Hollis told me n—”
“This is starting to sound like arguing.”
Travis squared his shoulders infinitesimally. “I’m not arg—”
“
Travis
.” Ray used the man’s name like a weapon and received the desired effect. Travis snapped his mouth shut. “Whose ranch are we on here?”
Bronze fire flashed in Travis’s eyes, and a muscle ticked in his clenched jaw. He pursed his lips, looking for all the world like a rattler poised to strike. Instead of being annoyed with the man for arguing with him, Ray found it…arousing.
Damn it all to hell and back.
With a firm tone and pointed enunciation, Ray said, “My ranch. My horses. My rules.”
Facing off, the sudden urge to grab the man by the back of the neck and pull him in for a hard kiss shocked Ray. Travis threw his hands up in surrender, though Ray doubted the acquiescence would last. The enticing fire in the other man’s eyes abated, replaced by that mischievous glint Ray was too quickly becoming familiar with—and tempted by. A crooked half smile popped a dimple in Travis’s cheek.
“Fine.” Travis matched Ray’s verbal delivery. “
Boss
.”
The sun had reached its highest point in the sky when Ray’s stomach began to growl. He was working a big bay gelding with curious brown eyes that was proving to be one of the better horses he’d handled in a long time. Some horses he just clicked with. Those were the ones he had the hardest time letting go.
With their training session at an end, Ray stood in the middle of the pen and waited. The big bay sauntered over to him, nickered softly, and nudged his shoulder. Ray smiled and scrubbed the animal’s strong jaw.
“You’re just a big pushover, aren’t you?”
Ray turned away from the horse, who followed right on his heel like a well-trained dog, and reached through the railing for the bucket of carrots he’d left on the other side. Running his hand over the thick, muscular neck, he handed the gelding his treat for a job well done. He returned the horse to the herd and made his way over to the other pen where Travis was working with a red dun mare.
Ray swiped at a light sheen of sweat under the band of his hat with a bandanna he’d pulled from his back pocket.
“Time for lunch, Travis.”
“Few more minutes,” Travis said without turning away from his charge. “She’s just about got it.”
Ray leaned his forearms on the railing and crossed one booted foot over the other to watch the famous Travis Morgan at work. That effortless swagger he’d noticed when Travis was walking along the shoulder of the highway translated into a quiet confidence with his equine counterpart. His every movement, every sound, had been sharply honed to earn trust quickly. But then, Travis wouldn’t be the best trainer in the country if he didn’t command that sort of respect.
It was impressive to watch the man communicate, understand, and intuitively anticipate the skittish mare to settle her with ease. Given how the man’s kinetic energy had so unsettled Ray, he was somewhat surprised it had the opposite effect on the horse. Perhaps it was the man’s focus.
Which drew Ray’s focus from horse to man.
The heat of the afternoon sun had forced them to remove their heavy jackets. Travis stood with his back to Ray, the sleeves of his blue-checked shirt rolled up to his elbows. The material pulled across his back as he moved, flattened against taut, defined muscle. Ray found himself mesmerized by the play of lean muscles as they contracted and extended from shoulder to hip. He imagined that back bare, his hands sliding slowly over warm skin, tracing the curves and contours of each muscle with his tongue.
Travis reached behind and shoved a red bandanna into his back jeans pocket. The movement grabbed Ray’s eyes and pulled them along with it. His gaze remained focused on that bandanna—in the back pocket of well-worn, butt-hugging Wranglers—a red flag taunting an angry bull.
Ray couldn’t pull his eyes away, so he squeezed them shut. The lack of sight only amplified sound. Travis’s even breathing and the low murmur of his deep whiskey voice as he soothed the horse’s anxieties.