Travis let his hand slide slowly, like a caress, from Ray’s back and casually stepped forward without missing a beat. He shook the man’s hand and haggled on the price. The owner had dropped it considerably for bragging rights and, of all things, an autograph. Travis had turned back and given Ray a surreptitious wink that made his breath catch.
“Don’t mention it,” Travis said with a shrug, loading up another dollop of salsa on his burrito.
Ray’s gaze fixed on Travis’s mouth as it opened to take a bite. Deep pink lips closed around the thick cream-colored tortilla. One hand gripped it firmly at its base, holding it in place, and Ray’s abdomen clenched at the sight. The burrito fell away, and a wet tongue shot out to run along the top lip. A missed chunk of red salsa clung to the corner of the sensual mouth. Ray saw himself leaning over the table, sticking his own tongue out and lapping up the spicy hot sauce. Then he would trace the seam of those enticing lips, ensuring he hadn’t missed a drop, and they’d part, allowing him entrance. Blood drained from his brain and fled south in response.
One side of that delectable mouth lifted and held motionless—waiting. Ray raised his gaze to find Travis staring back at him. Darkened eyes flashed bronze fire, burning him, singeing his skin. Travis raised his thumb and wiped at the salsa, then put the digit between his lips and sucked. He opened his mouth, and his tongue made a display of circling around the tip before he closed over it again. Then he slowly pulled it out, finally letting go with a small
pop.
Good. God.
Ray was mesmerized, fully erect and pressing painfully into rough denim and an unforgiving metal zipper. Why didn’t he wear button-fly jeans? His cock throbbed, and he shifted to accommodate himself as much as possible, short of yanking his pants off to free his aching dick.
The smile on that rugged, handsome face across from him widened, and that single dimple deepened in his cheek.
What the hell was he doing? Mind controlled body. Not the other way around.
Annoyed, Ray tore his gaze away, suddenly finding his enchilada extremely interesting. He could not look at Travis again, not without jumping his hired hand right there on the table in the middle of Santos Café. The good people of Billings, Montana, likely weren’t ready for that kind of lunch-hour entertainment.
He would never look at a burrito the same way again.
Ray shifted in his seat again, willing his blood to retreat so his brain could function properly. He cleared his throat. Twice. And without looking up, asked, “So…uh…what got you into training horses for a living?”
Travis’s extended silence forced Ray to look up and meet the eyes of the man who was too easily driving him around the bend. With a satisfied smile and unaffected casualness that pissed Ray off, Travis said, “Always had an affinity for them.”
Ray’s voice was sharp. “I have too, but I’m not world renowned.”
If he hadn’t been watching so closely, he’d have missed Travis’s slight wince. “I’m far from world renowned. And your ranch is legendary.”
“That’s due just as much to the cattle as the horses.”
Travis shrugged and returned to the task of making his plate look as if it had come straight out of the dishwasher.
Pissed at being pissed, Ray checked his tone and said, “So what’s your secret?”
Travis shot Ray a quick, almost wary glance. A dark flash scored the green depths of his eyes, sending a ripple through their usually resident merriment. For a fleeting moment, Travis looked…vulnerable. Not something Ray had ever expected to see in the confident and carefree cowboy.
“No secret. They’re just…unconditional…in their trust. I give that back. Simple.”
There wasn’t anything at all simple about that. Whatever experiences Travis had lived through, it was clear that not all were the exciting, high-times adventures he’d shared earlier. Something sharp and uncomfortable nipped at Ray’s edges. He ignored it, curious about the history of the man sitting across from him.
“You ready?” Travis asked without looking up. He placed a napkin over his now spotless plate and waved for the waitress to bring their check.
“Nope.” Ray held up his hand, palm out, as Travis reached for his wallet. “I’ve got it.”
He pulled a couple of bills from his wallet and dropped them on the table. Before Travis could argue, he quickly added, “For saving me a bundle on Blue out there.”
Ray slid out of the booth after Travis and followed him out the door into a warm and breezy afternoon. It was a small town, as far as cities go, but exhaust and heated concrete competed with the fragrant spring flowers and blooming trees that filled the air. His big red Dodge 3500 and matching trailer were conveniently parallel parked across the street. A lazy snort echoed from the trailer as Blue waited patiently.
He was just about to step off the curb when someone called out his name. Ray turned around and spotted his lawyer, Henry Cordero, walking briskly up the sidewalk. Henry wore a gray suit, the jacket buttoned tightly across his potbelly, black cowboy boots that always looked like he’d just bought them an hour ago, and a ten-gallon cowboy hat that hid his near completely bald scalp. Sunglasses disguised permanently bloodshot eyes, and a thick mustache capped his thin mouth.
A young man dressed in a dark blue suit that better fit his tall, lean frame walked confidently at his side. He too wore black cowboy boots, though his actually looked as though they’d kicked around a while. Blond hair was slicked back instead of under a hat. When Ray’s gaze met the young man’s deep hazel eyes, his stomach clenched. The enchilada he’d eaten contemplated an immediate and inappropriate exit, and a wave of panic threatened to send him running.
Jesus fucking H. Christ.
“Ray Ford,” Henry said as the pair stopped a couple of feet away.
Too late to run now
. “Not often I see you in town.”
“Afternoon, Henry,” Ray said, his was voice strained and hoarse when he spoke. He caught the sidelong glance Travis shot his way from the corner of his eye but could only handle one thing at a time.
Henry struck out his hand and gave Ray a hearty shake with his too-firm grip and too-soft skin. “I don’t think you’ve met our newest partner at the firm, Landon Graves.”
Travis looked from Ray to the two men and back. Ray’s skin had paled, and panic flooded off him in heavy waves. Travis looked back at the suits. The older man, Henry, seemed relaxed and genuinely friendly—for a lawyer. The other man, Landon, mirrored Ray in expression and stance. They knew each other. More than acquaintances, Travis ventured, and frowned.
Ray stuttered. “Uh, I-I’m not sure…I don’t think so.”
That was not the serious, self-assured and in control Ray Ford Travis had come to know, and he didn’t think he liked it. Ray was stoic, unshakable, unless Travis was the one doing the shaking and shattering of the rancher’s iron control.
Landon reached out hesitantly and took Ray’s hand in a quick, awkward shake. He nodded once. The younger lawyer seemed as unable to form a cohesive sentence as Ray and didn’t attempt to speak.
Landon slanted a measuring glance at Travis, who met it head-on with one of his own. The man was good-looking, a bit taller than he, just as lean, and too young. He couldn’t imagine Ray with a suit like him and didn’t want to. Travis clamped his jaw tight and ground his teeth. He instantly disliked the younger man for having had what he wanted, what was his.
And Ray was his.
Travis moved subtly closer and slightly behind Ray, sending a clear message to the young lawyer. Landon was no slouch in the silent-language department if the narrowed eyes and hard, challenging stare he shot Travis were any indication. Travis answered with a smug grin. Lines drawn and ground staked.
He’d think on that sudden possessive streak later.
Henry drew Travis’s attention by striking his hand out. “Henry Cordero,” he said with a slight inflection in his graveled voice.
Travis took his hand in a quick, firm shake and nodded. “Travis Morgan.”
Henry inclined his head. “My associate, Landon Graves.”
The young lawyer looked like he’d rather chew nails, but cordially took Travis’s hand. His skin was hot, and his grip deliberately crushing, sending a message of his own. Travis smiled, ignored the message, and in his most pleasant and sincere voice possible said, “’S’a pleasure, Landon.”
Landon’s mouth was a hard slash across his attractive, clean-shaven face, his voice clearly forced when he spoke. “Travis.”
Oblivious to the silent battle to claim Ray as their own, Henry continued, “How’s that beautiful Dottie McCray doing?”
Travis looked to Ray. He could feel him vibrating, agitating the calm afternoon air. A thick muscle ticked in his clenched jaw, but to the unobservant eye the man looked cool as a cucumber. “Great. You know Dot.”
A sharp
thud
from the trailer signaled a much needed easy out to end the awkward situation.
“I think that’s our cue, Ray,” Travis said.
Ray jumped on the opening. “Yes. Sorry, Henry. Got a new stud we need to get out to the ranch and settled.”
“Sure, sure.” Henry didn’t seem at all offended by the subtle brush-off. “Give that Dot a hug for me, will you?”
“Will do,” Ray said over his shoulder as he dashed for the truck.
Travis nodded to the men and followed after Ray. He felt the burning heat of Landon’s glare on his back and smiled.
“So…” Travis began, as they merged onto I-90 West, leaving Billings behind. “You and Landon, eh.”
“Shut the fuck up, Morgan.”
Travis smiled and settled back into his leather seat for the silent ride home.
Chapter Seven
Ray leaned back in the well-worn leather office chair and dragged his hands over his face. Stubble scraped under his calloused palms. It had been a long, draining day. Thank fucking Christ it was finally over. He’d run the gauntlet today and really couldn’t take one more hit.
“You okay, Raymond?” Dot asked as she entered the den, a steaming mug of coffee in each hand.
He cleared his throat and sat up. “Just going over Hollis’s weekly report.”
She placed a mug on the desk for him, then moved to the leather couch on the other side of the room and sat down. She pulled her legs up and tucked them underneath her.
Ray brought the steaming mug up to his lips and took a sip. Hot liquid with an unmistakable kick burned a pleasurable path down his throat and splashed warmth in his belly. Spanish coffee.
Heaven
. He lifted his cup toward Dot. “Thank you.”
She nodded. “Good-looking horse you brought home.”
“I think he’ll earn his weight in gold come next season.”
Dot was silent for a moment before asking casually, “What’s up with you and Travis? You’ve had your back up since you got home.”
Ray was used to Dot’s habit of jumping topic tracks when she was fishing. It was her bait and switch method of squeezing out what she was really after. But Ray was too spent to play the game with her tonight.
He sipped his coffee and waited. Fiery liquid softened his stressed, jagged edges.
Best way to play the game was to simply sit back and let her start when she was good and ready to get going. It usually didn’t take more than a minute or two.
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.