Authors: K.M. Mahoney
The third time he nodded off in the saddle, Troy started to get irritated. He was supposed to be the accountant, for God’s sake. What the hell was he doing two hours into a four hour ride at this horrible hour?
Oh, yeah. Mr. Cheerful had kidnapped him.
He hated mornings.
“Best way to get a feel for the place, he says,” Troy muttered
under his breath. “We need all the help we can get, he says. You bet your sweet ass you need help. When I get off this stupid animal—”
He meant to glare at Rafe, he really did. But the guy had that wide, happy grin on his face again. Damn it all, did the man have to look so gorgeous? It was really, really hard to stay pissed off when presented with a vision of masculine perfection.
That grin grew larger, wide lips creating a matching pair of dents on his tanned cheeks. With a triumphant flourish, Rafe handed over a thermos.
“See, I’m not completely heartless,” Rafe said. “I’m sharing my coffee with you. That’s a big sacrifice in these parts.”
Troy snatched the thermos. He wrapped the reins around the saddle horn and twisted off the lid. He couldn’t quite suppress a moan of pleasure as he took a sip. The coffee was, at best, lukewarm, but it was caffeine. That was the important thing.
“God, I think I love you.”
Troy could have bitten off his tongue. Okay, that had so not come out in the right tone. Luckily, Rafe just chuckled and spurred his horse around Troy on the narrow trail.
Troy clutched his thermos like the lifeline it was and followed. After over a week of working around the ranch, he had come to the conclusion that he would follow Rafe just about anywhere. Besides being gorgeous, the man was downright nice. Thoughtful and hardworking with a smile hot enough to melt the soles of Troy’s boots. Hell, he had to be. It wasn’t anyone who could pry Troy out of bed before dawn to climb on horseback and trek through nature.
The terrain was slowly steepening, going from gentle foothills to full-on mountains. He had to admit, it was kind of nice out here. Peaceful. Good scenery, and not just the eye candy sitting on the other horse. It had been years since Troy had taken a nice, long ride. He’d forgotten how much he used to enjoy saddling up and wandering. No destination, no urgent plan. Just him, a couple hundred pounds of sleek muscle, and the great outdoors.
Of course, by the time they reached the campsite, Troy was rethinking the whole thing. His legs had fallen asleep and his ass was throbbing. Not in the good, just-been-fucked-through-the-wall way, either.
Troy groaned as he practically fell off the horse. At the last second, he turned it into a limp slide. Of course, that left his whole front covered in horse sweat. Gah.
“Walk it off,” Rafe advised. “You did good for a tenderfoot.”
“That’s not what’s tender,” Troy informed him seriously.
Rafe chuckled. The sound turned into a full laugh as he watched Troy hobble around the clearing.
“Shut up,” Troy growled. “This is all your fault.”
“And just think, you get to do it all over again tomorrow. After a night spent sleeping on the ground.”
“I hate you,” Troy said evenly.
He turned and nearly ran into Rafe’s broad chest. Damn, when had the man gotten so close?
“No, you don’t,” Rafe said in a low voice.
“Don’t what?” What had they been talking about? Every thought had been wiped clean from his mind the minute he’d gotten a good sniff of the man. Leather and sweat and…oh, damn. He wanted to wallow.
“Hate me,” Rafe whispered, moving even closer.
“Hmmm.” Were they talking about something? Because Troy was having an insanely difficult time focusing. His knees wobbled. Troy told himself it was from the ride.
“Easy.” One word and Troy about came in his jeans. It was that tone, the same one Rafe used on a skittish horse. Three times over the last two days alone Troy had been forced to retreat into the house to jack off in the bathroom thanks to that tone.
About the time that Troy realized Rafe was doing some sniffing of his own, the cowboy nudged him down onto one of three logs scattered around an empty firepit. Rafe dropped down beside him, straddling the makeshift bench.
“Damn,” Rafe said. “You are just so irresistible.”
“What—”
Warm lips covered his own, stealing his words and his breath. Rough whiskers rubbed his skin as Rafe nibbled at the corners of his mouth, teasing gently at the same time that he requested entrance.
Troy melted. He leaned into Rafe’s strong chest, grasping those broad shoulders. He parted his lips and greeted Rafe’s tongue in passing, trying to slip his own way inside that moist heat.
The kiss started out gentle and tentative and quickly went to incendiary. Rafe pulled him closer with rough hands, grinding their lips together. Their tongues did battle, giving and taking ground in equal measure like two warring armies. Troy fought for breath, then gave up. Who needed to breathe when you had a kiss like this? He could die happy, right now.
Well, maybe not right now. He would kind of like to get fucked first.
Troy tangled his hands in Rafe’s shoulder length hair, grinding against the hard muscles holding him close. Rafe grunted, moaned. Troy answered with a moan of his own. His cock actually ached, stomach muscles tight. Holy hell, he was going to blow. Just from a fucking kiss. Rafe was clearly in a similar state, his own rock hard cock pressing into Troy’s thigh.
It was that feeling, combined with a loud squabble in the bushes, that had Troy coming back to his senses with harsh abruptness. He almost whimpered. So close. But his mind wouldn’t shut up now.
He yanked himself away with a gasp. “What are you doing?”
Rafe smirked, trying to reel Troy back in. “Come on, I didn’t peg you for the innocent type. I thought it was fairly obvious, myself.”
“Rephrasing…
Why
are you doing it?”
“That should be obvious, too,” Rafe whispered against the skin of Troy’s neck. He kissed him there, licking a trail around his jawline to his lips.
“Hello the camp!”
Troy jerked away and nearly fell off the log. Rafe grabbed his arm and yanked him back upright.
“Damn idiots,” Rafe muttered. He ran a hand through his hair, breathing hard. “They always have the worst timing.”
As Chip and Jason rode into the clearing, Troy found himself disagreeing. He kind of thought the pair had perfect timing. A few more minutes and he might have done something he would regret.
Rafe sauntered over to talk to his ranch hands about pastures and horses and cattle and all that good cowboy stuff, looking disgustingly undisturbed by the whole damn thing. Troy stayed where he was, trying to calm down his heart rate. He also took the opportunity to give himself a very stern lecture. Getting involved with a client was stupid. Getting involved with the subject of the investigation was even stupider. Didn’t matter how hot and bothered the man made him. Starting something with Rafe was a huge mistake.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t seem to convince his body. His eyes kept wandering to that perfect ass encased in well-worn jeans. Damn, was that a hole?
No, Troy, no drooling.
Troy gave his cock a surreptitious thump. Now was not the time to break his latest celibacy streak. And it really wasn’t the time to break his no involvement rule.
Now if he could just convince his libido, and his heart, he’d be all set.
Go him.
Oh, he was so screwed.
They loped back into the ranch in a cloud of dust and sweat. Troy wiped his forehead, every muscle aching. The hard ride combined with sleeping on the ground, then another full day on horseback, had his body screaming for mercy.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed himself more. It wasn’t just spending time with Rafe, although that was certainly no hardship. But it was the entire package. It was the scenery and the work and putting in a full day’s work doing physical labor with a group of guys that Troy could honestly say he liked and admired. It was sad, but how many of his acquaintances back home could he say the same of? They’d checked cattle, herded some others to better pastures, repaired fence line. It had been hard and exhausting and exhilarating, all at the same time.
Troy hauled the saddle off Lena, the mare he’d been using. The overwhelming smell of sweat and hot horse didn’t even bother him anymore. Rafe tossed over a brush and the men got to work cleaning up the horses in a companionable silence. Even if they weren’t all so tired, there wasn’t any need for words.
Troy gave Lena one last pat and sent her off into the pasture. She trotted a few feet and dropped her head, shaking her shaggy brown mane and sending a flurry of dust into the air, before settling in to grazing.
“You did good for a greenhorn,” Rafe teased gently, sending his own gelding after Lena.
“I suppose there was a compliment in there somewhere.”
“What do you mean somewhere?” Rafe said with a low chuckle. “That was all compliment, boy.”
Troy snorted. According to the file, Rafe was actually the younger one by nearly two years. “I’d argue with you, but I’m too hot, sweaty and gross. Not to mention tired and sore. I’m going to take a shower. We can finish our argument after I sleep for about a day.”
“Who was arguing? But yeah, I hear you about the shower. You can go first, just don’t take too long. Hot water tank needs replacing.”
“So I’ve noticed,” Troy replied with a grimace.
Troy trudged up to the house, leaving Rafe behind to do God only knew what in that beloved barn of his. He stripped off his boots, leaving them on the porch. No point in dragging the nasty gunk into the house.
Troy closed the door with his foot and stretched, setting a wide yawn free.
He was digging a pair of sweats out of his suitcase when his phone rang. Troy groaned.
Damn, why couldn’t the real world wait for a while?
By the time he’d found his phone under the bed, the caller had hung up. There were seven missed calls and three messages.
Troy chucked his phone onto the bed. Whoever it was had waited nearly two days. They could wait another half hour while he cleaned up.
And if he was procrastinating? Well, too bad. He would worry about it later. Tomorrow, maybe. Everyone was entitled to play the role of Scarlett every once in a while and put off things for another day. He was picking today as his day.
Troy was leaning over in the bedroom, drying his hair with a towel, when footsteps echoed in the stairwell. He froze, gaze darting toward his cell phone, lying there like the proverbial elephant in the room.
The water in the bathroom turned on and Troy realized he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t call Ken and Mark and discuss their socalled case. He couldn’t betray Rafe like that, not while in the man’s home. Maybe not at all. God, when had this whole thing turned into such a mess? And when had he gotten so sentimental and mushy? So attached?
Didn’t matter. Troy realized that what he really wanted was a couple of stiff drinks. He yanked on a clean pair of jeans, grabbed his keys and phone, and headed for the front door. The small town of Everton was a few miles up ahead. This was cattle country. There would be beer. And possibly whiskey.
Sure enough, several small taverns dotted the main street, looking old and worn next to the hardware stores and the Wal-Mart complex a few blocks down. Troy picked one and walked in. Liquid courage first. Phone calls later.
Nearly half an hour later Troy signaled for another beer, cell phone mashed against his ear. “I’m just saying, I think we’re going about this all wrong. I know Mark wants to sue Rafe for all he’s got. But you know what? He doesn’t have anything. Just a crumbling ranch that barely pulls in enough money to keep from going under each year.”
“Is everything okay down there?” Ken asked with a note of concern in his voice. “Because you don’t sound like yourself.”
“Could be the four beers. Five? Dunno, I lost count after that shot of tequila.”
“Okay, now I
know
something is going on. Want to tell Uncle Ken?”
“That sounded vaguely…nasty or something. Look, I think we maybe should remember that Mark is still a kid. Maybe he doesn’t know what’s best for himself. Maybe he’s letting a screwed-up childhood turn him into someone he shouldn’t be. Doesn’t need to be. Whatever.”
“And maybe you’re drunk and not making a whole lot of sense. What’s so complicated about this? Mark—client. You—detective. So finish the job, get the info, and come home.”
Troy swallowed a belch—eww, gross—and slid off his stool, tossing some bills on the counter on his way out. He was already being stupid, talking about the case in a public place. Small town and all that. He didn’t really think the locals would appreciate where the conversation was going next.
Troy stepped outside and leaned against a corner of the building. “I like him,” he blurted out.
“Like who?”
“Rafe. I like him. You know,
like
him, like him.”
“What are you, a thirteen-year-old girl? So you have a crush on the mark. Big deal.”
“The mark? Shit, when did I turn into a con man?” Troy ran his free hand through his hair, thinking that maybe the description wasn’t too far off. He
felt
like a con man. Every day that he continued to lie to Rafe chafed at him, like an annoying bug bite on the back of his knee that just wouldn’t go away.
“Troy?” The serious note in Ken’s voice caught his full attention. “Have you broken the, and I quote, ‘number one PI rule of all time’? Have you fallen for a client?”
“He’s not a client,” Troy protested. He actually squirmed a bit in the uncomfortable silence that followed. “All right, maybe a bit,” he finally admitted. “But Rafe is nice and gorgeous and, oh God, you should see his ass.”
Troy clamped his mouth shut before he could continue gushing. Damn, he really
was
acting like a teenaged girl. Maybe he should stop drinking for the night.
Then again, maybe he hadn’t had enough.
“Troy, you need to finish the job and get your ass back home,” Ken said. “Don’t complicate the situation.”
Troy hung up without saying goodbye. He let his head drop back against the siding with a loud thump. He should probably take Ken’s advice. Probably.
Didn’t mean he would. Or even could.
Troy thumped his head against the wall a few more times before he pushed away and stuck his phone into his pocket. He needed another drink. Or three.