Trouble

By Kaleidoscope Press

He's in need of saving, but Tyson's short life has been a long string of rejecting any man whom ventures close enough to hurt him again.

He’s worked hard to keep up the icy façade which has served to guard his heart, but that chilly demeanor is threatening to seep into the young man’s soul. Hard work and alcohol are what fuels his days... and both are also what brings him to a second chance in the form of Ramiro’s Ranch, and the man’s nephew, Dawson.

The attraction is immediate, but will Tyson learn how to let a man close? Or will he ruin any semblance of love Dawson is prepared to offer?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steamy eReads
• Release date: Mar 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005116439

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Kaleidoscope Presents

Trouble

Men Behaving Badly Book 1

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Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter One

Pure rage sped down the dirt road and parked itself south of the Dallas County line, in the dirt-bag infested Ramblin' Man Bar-N-Que parking lot. Out from behind the driver's seat stumbled Tyson, already drunk with a blend of self-hatred and denial. It would be a long night for the just-fired ranch hand and his pent-up aggression.

The security detail eyed him as soon as his truck came barreling around the corner in a heated rush. They'd grown used to fending off jealous husbands and estranged wives and the like, but this man proved to be more disturbed than any of the others they'd come to know in their time as the bar's bouncers. Something told them that this man needed a drink like a fish needed water, and they allowed him entrance but made a mental note to remember which side of the parking lot he was originating from if their suspicions proved to be right and the guy got himself tossed out.

Tyson wasn't keen on making a good first impression. Nearly missing the bar stool entirely, he spat his order at the bartender, shouting, Do you speak English, senorita? Give me a damn Corona! Now!

Making eye contact with the already looming bouncers, they nodded in her direction, and while biting her tongue, she slid an open bottle in the general direction of their newest drunk patron. She knew the night would not end well for either of them.

The regulars had eyes on Tyson, each of their concerned stares communicating that their tolerance level was especially low when it came to this belligerence. The cocktail waitress fisted her palms in her apron to keep from slapping him across his smirking face as he spewed a barrage of off-color jokes and lewd accusations her way, followed by vile propositions. She'd seen enough drunks to know this one was especially nasty and wasn't worth the effort to remain cordial. She didn't know who’d kicked his ass to the curb, but she mentally sympathized with anyone for having to put up with the disgusting cowboy.

No one tells me what I can and can't do. Who the hell do they think they are? Tyson seethed in denial of what most would feel was guilty behavior. With coping skills not high on his list of priorities, he ordered another round of drinks for himself and the person he swore had accompanied him, but others in the joint saw him arrive alone. The bartender opened another Corona against her better judgment at the prompting of her manager, who had a sympathetic eye for whatever was torturing the young man.

The second Corona did just what everyone, except the bellyaching ranch hand, knew it would do. His foot reached his mouth before the bottleneck did, followed by one full punch thrown by the boyfriend of the harassed waitress landing just south of Tyson’s big mouth. The mind-numbing concoction of a bad attitude and a few too many drinks along the way sent Ty flying down the center aisle of the bar in between the dance floor and the wall of patrons waiting to order their spirit of choice.

Superhuman strength or stupidity gave Tyson the gumption to stand up and avenge his attack, but the high blood-alcohol level told him otherwise. His words slurred, but not enough to soften the anger behind them, landing him in the county drunk tank for the night. In his stupor, jail was a far better alternative than sleeping in his truck.

***

Great... another drunk is all we need. Doesn't anyone try to rob liquor stores anymore? Deputy Annabelle Morris wondered as she got ready to process a freshly bruised and battered shell of a man. I need your full legal name and social security number, she directed Tyson.

I don't have to tell you squat. I have rights, you know, he mouthed off.

Yes, you were read your rights. Here, you’re an inmate, and I need your name and social security number, she demanded again; this time more firmly than previously, as she could tell that her newest addition to the county lockup was not going to make this easy for her.

With venom in his eyes, Tyson leaned in. His putrid breath swirled inches from her face. I don't have to tell you nothing, bitc...

He landed face first on the floor,