File Gumbo

By BA Tortuga

Beau is riding like the two-time champ that he is, but nothing is assured in the world of bullriding—not happiness, not wealth, and not survival.

Beau is a two-time champion bullrider who is working on his third title. Sam is his long-time lover and traveling partner, who is feeling the sting of having just about the worst season he can remember.

The two of them are on the road together twenty-four-seven, and it's starting to get to them a little, between the constant injuries Sam faces, and the relentless press that Beau has to put up with.

Add in friends on the circuit who need their help and the fact that they have to hide what they mean to each other, and it's no wonder that Sam and Beau's relationship is starting to wear a little from the friction.

When things blow up in their faces, Sam leaves the bullriding tour for a while, but the boys find out they're far more miserable apart than they are together. Beau and Sam may agree to disagree in order to make peace and help out their friends Jason and Coke, but in the unpredictable world of extreme sports, nothing goes as it's planned. Can Beau and Sam recover from what just might be the last ride of Sam's life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pride Publishing
• Release date: Jan 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781784309497

Book preview

Page

File Gumbo

ISBN # 978-1-78430-949-7

©Copyright BA Tortuga 2015

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright December 2015

Edited by Sue Meadows

Pride Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2015 by Pride Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

Pride Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

Roughstock

FILE GUMBO

BA Tortuga

Book three in the Roughstock series

Beau is riding like the two-time champ that he is, but nothing is assured in the world of bullriding—not happiness, not wealth, and not survival.

Beau is a two-time champion bullrider who is working on his third title. Sam is his long-time lover and traveling partner, who is feeling the sting of having just about the worst season he can remember.

The two of them are on the road together twenty-four-seven, and it’s starting to get to them a little, between the constant injuries Sam faces, and the relentless press that Beau has to put up with.

Add in friends on the circuit who need their help and the fact that they have to hide what they mean to each other, and it’s no wonder that Sam and Beau’s relationship is starting to wear a little from the friction.

When things blow up in their faces, Sam leaves the bullriding tour for a while, but the boys find out they’re far more miserable apart than they are together. Beau and Sam may agree to disagree in order to make peace and help out their friends Jason and Coke, but in the unpredictable world of extreme sports, nothing goes as it’s planned. Can Beau and Sam recover from what just might be the last ride of Sam’s life?

Dedication

To my beloved wife, who loves Sam and Beau with the fiery passion of a thousand suns.

Author’s Note

Hey, y’all! The Roughstock world is a labor of love for me. Cowboys are my weakness, after all, and Texas will eternally be where my heart lives, so it’s incredibly important to me to be as honest and true to the culture I was raised in as I can. I want to say that, despite the best efforts of my editor, I take a great many liberties with language in this universe, both in narrative and in dialog. I felt I really needed to portray the rough and tumble world of bullriding and rural Texans as I know them, instead of attempting to polish the narrative up and give it a more literary style. So, with that in mind, any and all mistakes in the text are mine and mine alone.

Cowboy up, y’all! Come take a ride with me.

Much love, y’all.

BA

Trademarks Acknowledgment

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Hoover: The Hoover Company

Icy Hot: Sanofi

McDonald’s: The McDonald’s Corporation

Big Mac: The McDonald’s Corporation

Coke: The Coca-Cola Company

Budweiser: Anheuser-Busch InBev

Wranglers: VF Corporation

Twinkie: Apollo Global Management and C. Dean Metropolous and Company

Sprite: The Coca-Cola Company

Tupperware: Tupperware Brands

Marriott: Marriott International, Inc.

K-Y: Reckitt Benckiser

Camel: R. J. Reynolds Tobacco

Popeye’s: AFC Enterprises

Frankenstein: Mary Shelley

Jell-O: Kraft Foods

Stetson: John B. Stetson Company

Chevy: General Motors Company

Chapter One

Come on, Boug. We gotta hustle. Sam swacked his traveling partner, Beau, grabbed his gear and his good hat, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder. Nate? Nate, man? You coming?

The fucking rodeo was over and they had to get on to the hospital, check on Pharris.

Now.

Coming. Coming, fuck. Ain’t no one answering their phones. Nate had his and Coke Pharris’ gear, and Sam Bell grabbed Coke’s duffel. Damn bullfighter. Damn fool.

Beau’s got his pickup here. C’mon.

Beau popped out of the little bathroom like a Cajun jack-in-the-box. Let’s go.

Pretty light eyes met his, worried as all fuck, then Beau looked away as Nate started bouncing, Coke’s partner in crime covered in a smattering of bruises from a hit in the second round. Yeah. Yeah. He didn’t look so good, Sammy.

He’s gonna be fine, Nate. He’s Coke. Coke was always fine. Coke had to be fine.

He’ll need us while we’re here, though. Beau was putting his feet down hard, making time. They got to the truck, and Beau muscled right out into the flow of drunks and shit.

Nate was on his phone, dialing one number after another, and Sam sighed, peered at Beau. There was beer in the cooler in the back—they could have one at the hospital.

Beau grinned just the tiniest bit, shaking his head. Man, Coke had to get in there and get hit, huh?

Yup. That was how Fearless Pharris was, though. Always doing crazy shit. Must be why he was a fucking bullfighter.

Well, we can stay a few days, right? Beau hit the horn, squeezing in between a dualie and an old Chevy and baring his teeth at the teenager who flipped them off.

As long as we gotta, Boug. He glanced back at Nate. You call your woman yet?

No. Shit. Nate looked so guilty that they all sort of cracked up.

We got any cash, Poot? Beau asked, finally getting them onto the little four-lane highway.

Uh-huh. How much you need? He had a couple hundred in his wallet, for traveling.

Oh, I just wanted to make sure we did. For food and coffee and shit. We’ll need it. Beau was always thinking ahead.

You’d think, as expensive as it is to go in, anyway. You call Coke’s contact at the sponsor, Nate?

Yeah. Yeah, and the Relief girl. Ace?

Sam sighed. I’ll do it.

The bullfighters and Ace had…issues some days. Sam scrolled through his phone till he found the entry titled ‘Butthead’, and hit the call button.

The head of the organization always sounded like someone’d just woke the mean bastard up. You’d best not be telling me that Beau is cracked up.

Nope. Beau’s good. Won the round today, fuckhead. He grinned over at Beau. Coke, though, he done got took away to the hospital. Ain’t nobody talkin’, not even to Nate.

Beau’s hands tightened on the wheel, knuckles white. Sam’s Cajun did love Coke to death.

Shit. Okay. He’s going to the hospital there, huh? I’ll get the guys on it.

He’s been there since about three-quarters through. Saved Bonner’s bacon.

Yeah? Well, Bonner’s daddy will be pleased. Ace sure didn’t sound pleased.

Yeah. I’ll call, but someone’s gonna have to make them tell shit at the hospital.

For Coke, that’s Nate. You have him?

Sam nodded. Yep. Right here. You want him?

Yeah.

Nate made a face, but took the phone, soon knee-deep in shit with Ace.

Beau glanced over. Ace mad?

Ain’t he always? He was glad it wasn’t you. In fact, so was Sam. His position on trampling was anybody but Beau.

Yeah. Just ’cause I’m winning. Beau hated politics. Always made his jaw clench just like that. It was cute as hell, but Sam wasn’t saying nothin’.

World loves a three-peater, Boug.

So do I. Beau grinned. I just don’t care to be on the top of Ace’s list.

He nodded. Everybody knew that when that butthead called, you answered. Hospital’s right there.

He’d been four chutes over when Coke’d gone down, but he’d heard the scream. Damn near made him piss himself, hearing someone so strong sound like that.

Thanks. They made it into visitor parking, and Nate was out of the truck and halfway to the building before they could blink.

You reckon we can share a beer, Beau?

I bet we can. Beau rolled his head on his neck, not even reaching for his hat on the dashboard. Nate will have to wade through a bunch of red tape, and ain’t no one else here yet.

He turned and grabbed a Bud from the cooler, handed it over. Nate looks worried, man.

He should. That was nasty, Poot. Coke will be out a good while. Beau shrugged, the nickname sliding out as easy as anything. Beau always called Sam ‘Poot’, just like he called Beau ‘Boug’.

I hate to have him hurt, man. Nate was a good man, Coop, too, but… Coke was Coke.

He’s the old man. It’ll happen to us all eventually. Beau’s fingers tapped the steering wheel, his short little legs starting to jiggle.

It does. Still. He reached over, touched one of his Cajun’s legs.

Yeah. Beau sighed, feet settling on the floorboard. Damn, Sammy.

He nodded, the beer just not quite cold enough. All of a sudden, he just wanted to be home, sitting on their porch, listening to the bloodhounds bay like the damn fools they were.

Beau grabbed the beer and sucked the last of it down, hand coming to rest on Sam’s thigh. Shit, Poot. I know I can’t, but I just want to drive on.

I hear you. I’m longing for the house.

Yeah. The dogs won’t know us. Beau chuckled. Sam couldn’t blame him. Their dogs would know them anywhere, and they were too lazy to go find someone else to love on.

LouAnn says Petunia’s having pups again. Maisy’s in heat, but they’ve got her penned to give her a season off. Their bed was waiting, their chairs. The big ole kitchen.

No shit? Buford will be a proud papa.

No shit. They grinned at each other, just beaming a little.

They took no end of shit about having breeding hounds, but really, someone had to be breeders around their parts. Right? Absolutely. And there weren’t a single damn criminal willing to stop in their parish.

Their dogs had the best noses in Louisiana. Hell, law enforcement in Texas fought over them. That said something.

Guess we’d best go in, do our thing, huh?

Yep. Beau stretched a little. Okay, Poot. C’mon.

Yep. They had shit to do and a bullfighter to pray for.

Well, come on. Oh, and someone needs to call Dillon. Beau headed out.

Uh-huh. He stopped, blinked at Beau. Nattie’s got my phone.

Oh. Beau flipped his little phone open. I don’t got Dillon’s number.

I’ll get it when we get up there. There ain’t that big of a hurry.

Yeah. Coke was going to be in the hospital a bit. He still hated it, but it was what they did. All of them.

They hopped out of the truck and headed in.

* * * *

Beau stretched, listening to his neck crack. His stomach was acidy from all the bad hospital coffee. Jesus.

He glanced at Sam, who was sitting with his head against the wall, hat in his lap. Snoring. Lord, the man seemed awful tired, with big, dark circles under his eyes even with his lashes resting there to hide the worst of them. Maybe it was time to go back to the hotel.

Sammy’d been running hard, running off nervous energy, but… Yeah. Real food. Real bed. A hot shower.

Beau couldn’t reach with his toes, so he had to get up and walk over. Sammy.

Those pretty, pretty blue eyes popped open, stared at him. Boug. Coke?

Mmmhmm. Coke is the same. They’ll do the surgery tomorrow. More joints popped. I don’t think we can do much else tonight. He’s resting as much as he can, and visitor hours are over.

You want to head for the hotel?

I do. They’d check in real quick with Balta, but there wasn’t nothin’ else to be done.

Sam blinked again. You think I oughta stay or can I come, too?

That had him cracking a smile. I think you ought to get your lazy ass up and come with me, Poot.

Fuck you, Boug. Sammy’s leg swept out, kicking him lazily.

Huh. He might find the energy to do that. Okay.

Beau! Sam sounded outraged and shit, but that grin was pure evil.

What? I’m thinking we need to, you know, blow off steam. Wasn’t no one listening.

"I got steam, cher." That low, deep rumble and the cher? In public, like Sam was the Cajun instead of a pretty Texas transplant in bayou country? Jesus fuck—that was pure heat.

Beau shifted from boot to boot, his jeans getting tight. Tight-tight. Beau cleared his throat. Let’s go say ’night to Balta and Joa.

Sounds good. Sam rolled up, lean and solid beside him.

They went, shoulder to shoulder, finding Joa feeding change into a Coke machine, Balta chattering into a cell phone in Portuguese. Man, they’d gotten bitched at for cell use. Balta must be using the pretty card. It worked for the old man, not so much for him and Sam. Them Brazilians, though, they had pretty in spades.

You two goin’? Joa’s weird-assed accent always made him grin—mostly Texas, but just a little weird.

Yeah. He pointed his chin toward Balta. He okay? Y’all need anything?

Nah. We got it. Nate’s stayin’. We’ll be back, first light.

Beau jerked his head and Sam nodded. They both waved at Balta on the way by, but their shift was over for the day.

Sam followed him, right on his heels. You hungry, Boug?

I could grab somethin’. He didn’t want to do a sit-down thing.

We could. Somethin’ in a drive-through.

Yeah. Chicken. Did they have Popeye’s up here?

That works. Something spicy. Sam was missing home—Beau could tell.

They ended up at a barbecue place that claimed spicy ribs, and they got a bucket of those, some potato salad, some coleslaw and a buttload of bread. Then they picked up a six-pack of Bud and a two-liter of Coke. They also got mustard to mix into the potato salad, as folks anywhere north of Texas forgot that part, and some extra salt for the slaw. They was all set.

They got all of the stuff in on the little table and Sam grinned at him. Be right back. I’ll get ice.

’Kay. Beau watched Sam go, loving the way that tight, round ass filled out his jeans. The man was underrated, but Beau was okay with that. Meant he didn’t have to get all jealous.

He got things all arranged, toed his boots off, when Sammy came back carrying ice and Twinkies. At his look, Sam blushed. For dessert.

I like dessert. He had a sweet tooth. He also had a Sam tooth. Beau stood up and stretched, walking over to give Sam a hello. Sam put the ice on the table, eyes on him all the way. Funny, wasn’t it? How Sammy could look at him like that, even after they’d been together a million and a half years?

Beau reached up and put a hand behind Sam’s head when he got close enough. Hey, you.

Beau. Sam smiled at him, the worried lines beside eyes and mouth easing some.

Mmm. Yep. Gimme some sugar, Poot.

Anytime. Sam’s hand found its place on the small of his back, drew him in, and those lips met his, sweet as Tupelo honey. God damn. He could have the worst day in the history of the world, and Sam would make it better. Just like this.

Sam kissed the same way he read the paper—slow and focused, like he might miss something. Beau knew if he wanted Sam to slam him around and love on him hard enough to bruise, he just had to flirt with Adam Taggart. Now was not one of those times. This felt perfect. His man moaned for him, the sound just barely there, tongue sliding on his, making promises.

He wanted those promises. Wanted Sammy to back them up, too. They could wait to eat. They surely could. Bed?

Uh-huh. Sam walked him back, careful not to let him stumble.

He started working at Sammy’s clothes, needing to get to that skin. Hairy monkey man.

He loved to feel the way Sammy shivered when he touched, too, the way the finest ass in bull riding moved. They got sat down, then they could really get to going on the clothes. Sammy’s jeans were a little on the tight side. Sammy’s fingers knew just how to work his buckle open, how to ease his zipper down before he could focus at all.

Sammy… His breath huffed out, his belly sucking in. Yeah.

I got you. Sam fished his cock out, started jacking him, nice and easy.

I know. Always got me. Beau grinned. Front and back.

Mmm. I like both sides. Lots.

I like you liking them. He pulled at Sam’s jeans, his fingers not so nimble. Sam lifted that fine bubble butt, let him tug them down. Beau pulled and pushed and got to kissing again. Lord, but he loved touching this man.

"Cher…" Sam groaned and nuzzled into his throat, finding his hot spots unerringly.

Mmmhmm. He was. Damn. He was gearing up for a real hot one. His dick was just aching.

Those calluses moved over his body, dragged on his skin. Damn. It made everything else go away. Everything but Sam and the heat and need and the feel of them. Sammy. More.

Uh-huh. Sam’s lips were so hungry, but it was that hand that had him shaking, had him rolling up and begging. Sam measured him, tip to base, then started working his balls, rolling and tugging some. Beau’s toes curled, his body swaying. Jesus, that was perfect. Just what he