start, his member big and aching, with fleeting wisps of dream still floating in his brain, flashes of humid bare skin, of touching and groaning and kissing, and damn if that wasn't the best part, the part that sometimes got him out of his bed and out into the cool night to finish himself behind the barn. And always, always, it was Larry, the soft of his lips and the rough of his beard, that he imagined kissing when he finished.
Temper might have been in torment, but Larry was relaxed and happy. The tightness around his eyes had eased since Arcady left the ranch, and the spring was back in his step. And maybe it was Temper's imagination, but it seemed to him that those occasional shy glances thrown his way were just a mite bit wicked, too.
One hot Saturday night in August, Larry jumped into the wagon and settled next to Temper, throwing him one of those teasing little grins. Temper grinned back and shook his head, wondering why the young man insisted on soaking himself in that God-awful cologne for every trip into town. His own sweaty, earthy smell was far more attractive. Not that it made much difference to Temper, who was terribly aware of the other man's presence, even if he did smell like a Kansas City brothel.
The wagon seemed a lot more crowded tonight, mostly because Lonnie was coming along. Most Saturdays he stayed at home with his family, but this week he seemed glad to be getting out. No one was sure what he'd done to anger Juanita, but they'd all heard the angry Spanish hollering that had chased the big man out of his house—not to mention the stock pot that had bounced off his skull on the way. He'd been sulking when he threw himself into the wagon, taking up more than his share of space, but soon his natural good temper had reasserted itself, and he was laughing and joking with the others. In fact, everyone was in a fine mood, full of piss and vinegar, as Temper's daddy used to say. The men were all ready for their weekly night out on the town. Only problem was, they were two men short.
Snow lounged against the side of the wagon, sighing and shooting pointed gazes at the setting sun. “Where the hell are they?” he muttered. “Finally! Let's go, time's a'wastin'."
"Actually,” Ben said, aiming for casual and missing by a country mile, “You go ahead and take ‘em into town. Me and Obie'll stay and keep an eye on things."
Porter snorted, and Obie pinked up like a virgin. Temper made a mental addition to his shopping list—whenever them two were left alone on the ranch, it played hell with their supply of saddle oil.
"All right, boss,” Snow said with a knowing grin. “I guess you two got things well in hand.” Snickers rose up from the wagon. “Damnit, left my hat in the bunkhouse."
Ben took the battered tan hat off his own head and dropped it on Snow's. “Now you got a hat. Git goin'."
This time Snow laughed outright. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're tryin’ to get rid of us. You in a hurry or somethin'?"
Ben flashed him a rare, wide grin in answer. Snow shook his head and climbed up on the seat, released the brake, and twitched the reins. They rumbled down the path to the main road. Ben and Obie had disappeared into the barn before they'd traveled ten feet. Yeah, they'd definitely be needing more oil.
As they slowly covered the distance between the Bar J and town, Temper noticed with suspicion that with every bump and rut the old wagon jostled over, Larry moved a little closer. By the time he could feel the heat of the other man's thigh resting against his own, Temper was sure and gave him a questioning look. For his part, Larry flashed an impish grin and nestled a bit closer. Glancing around at the others, Temper saw that either no one had noticed or no one cared. He let himself relax and enjoy the contact, even daring to add an extra bottle of oil to his list, just in case.
He didn't actually hear the gunshot, though he remembered it later. The first hint he had that
Temper might have been in torment, but Larry was relaxed and happy. The tightness around his eyes had eased since Arcady left the ranch, and the spring was back in his step. And maybe it was Temper's imagination, but it seemed to him that those occasional shy glances thrown his way were just a mite bit wicked, too.
One hot Saturday night in August, Larry jumped into the wagon and settled next to Temper, throwing him one of those teasing little grins. Temper grinned back and shook his head, wondering why the young man insisted on soaking himself in that God-awful cologne for every trip into town. His own sweaty, earthy smell was far more attractive. Not that it made much difference to Temper, who was terribly aware of the other man's presence, even if he did smell like a Kansas City brothel.
The wagon seemed a lot more crowded tonight, mostly because Lonnie was coming along. Most Saturdays he stayed at home with his family, but this week he seemed glad to be getting out. No one was sure what he'd done to anger Juanita, but they'd all heard the angry Spanish hollering that had chased the big man out of his house—not to mention the stock pot that had bounced off his skull on the way. He'd been sulking when he threw himself into the wagon, taking up more than his share of space, but soon his natural good temper had reasserted itself, and he was laughing and joking with the others. In fact, everyone was in a fine mood, full of piss and vinegar, as Temper's daddy used to say. The men were all ready for their weekly night out on the town. Only problem was, they were two men short.
Snow lounged against the side of the wagon, sighing and shooting pointed gazes at the setting sun. “Where the hell are they?” he muttered. “Finally! Let's go, time's a'wastin'."
"Actually,” Ben said, aiming for casual and missing by a country mile, “You go ahead and take ‘em into town. Me and Obie'll stay and keep an eye on things."
Porter snorted, and Obie pinked up like a virgin. Temper made a mental addition to his shopping list—whenever them two were left alone on the ranch, it played hell with their supply of saddle oil.
"All right, boss,” Snow said with a knowing grin. “I guess you two got things well in hand.” Snickers rose up from the wagon. “Damnit, left my hat in the bunkhouse."
Ben took the battered tan hat off his own head and dropped it on Snow's. “Now you got a hat. Git goin'."
This time Snow laughed outright. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're tryin’ to get rid of us. You in a hurry or somethin'?"
Ben flashed him a rare, wide grin in answer. Snow shook his head and climbed up on the seat, released the brake, and twitched the reins. They rumbled down the path to the main road. Ben and Obie had disappeared into the barn before they'd traveled ten feet. Yeah, they'd definitely be needing more oil.
As they slowly covered the distance between the Bar J and town, Temper noticed with suspicion that with every bump and rut the old wagon jostled over, Larry moved a little closer. By the time he could feel the heat of the other man's thigh resting against his own, Temper was sure and gave him a questioning look. For his part, Larry flashed an impish grin and nestled a bit closer. Glancing around at the others, Temper saw that either no one had noticed or no one cared. He let himself relax and enjoy the contact, even daring to add an extra bottle of oil to his list, just in case.
He didn't actually hear the gunshot, though he remembered it later. The first hint he had that
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