Cowboy Waltz

By Cameron Dane

A horse stock manager on the rodeo tour, gruff cowboy Jed Hastings is in a bind. He needs a new assistant yesterday. Enter green-as-hell Booker West. The guy doesn't have any experience working with horses, but Jed doesn't have options, and gives the newbie a chance.

Innocent about the world, Booker works like the devil to hide his fierce attraction to rough and handsome Jed. He doesn't just want to be a wannabe-cowboy with a crush, he wants to learn from Jed. Booker craves Jed's respect, friendship, and trust. Living together in a cramped trailer, Booker basks in every word of kindness from Jed and cherishes their growing friendship.

 

For Jed, he knows an eager young colt like Booker should work his last nerve, yet he finds he has endless patience with the guy. He's possessive about Booker too. And while bunking together does create intimacy, that doesn't explain away Jed's explicit sexual fantasies and growing desire for his roommate.

When a life altering event sends Jed and Booker reeling, a night of raw passion between the men finally explodes. But in the aftermath, can Booker help Jed see the depth of their love? Can Jed outrun his demons and accept the undying love and passion Booker so desperately wants to share?

 

CONTENT NOTE: This book was written and originally published in 2013.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cameron Dane
• Release date: Sep 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223076667

Book preview

PART ONE: The Stallion and the Colt

CHAPTER ONE

Son of a bitch.

Growling in a rough tone that caused a young cowboy to look up from a stall twenty feet away, Jed Hastings strode toward the exit of the makeshift stable as if hell itself swirled around his scuffed cowboy boots. The rodeo had ended, the time had come to take care of the stock and load them into the trailers, and that good-for-nothing fuck Blake was nowhere to be found. Not surprised one goddamned bit, Jed dug his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed his boss’s number. If the man once again refused to fire Blake, Jed swore to everything holy he would quit on the spot and look for new work. It’s not like the bastard pays me enough to do one man’s job, let alone two.

The moment a disinterested Hello reached Jed’s ear, Jed spewed like a drill hitting a reservoir of oil. That asshole must be out fucking one of the leftover groupies the riders didn’t want, because he sure as hell isn’t here with me, and he won’t pick up my calls. Jed paced in front of the stable’s wide doors, glaring at anyone who had the nerve to shoot him a disgruntled look. If you don’t fire his ass this instant, you won’t have anyone to drive half your stock to the next event, because I will be gone.

A sigh resonated through the phone. Be reasonable, Cliff replied. I can’t get rid of him. Who the hell is going to drive the travel trailer while you and I drive the stock?

I don’t care.

You haven’t given me enough time to find a replacement.

Fucking shit-eating bastard. Every molecule in Jed’s arm ached to take a swing at something. Employing supreme will, he tucked his fist against his side and paced a ditch into the dirt instead. I’ve been telling you to get rid of this useless asshole for two months. Don’t give me that shit. You’ve had plenty of time to hire someone else. Jed spoke freely with Cliff, knowing Cliff didn’t like him any more than he liked Cliff, but that until Cliff unloaded this rodeo stock operation, they needed each other—with Cliff needing Jed more than Jed needed Cliff. You don’t even mention that you’re looking for someone new unless I bring it up.

Trust me, Cliff replied. Everyone who has dropped off an application makes Blake look like a winner.

Jed snorted and rolled his eyes. That’s bullshit. I could throw a fucking nickel and find someone better than Blake.

Feel free to try. Cliff’s response, the first like this, made Jed jerk up straight. If you find someone who will do this job for what I’m paying Blake, then he will be history.

A picture of the young cowboy hanging around the stables flashed like a 3-D image in front of Jed’s eyes. He’d seen the kid trolling around all weekend, and he knew what that meant. Yes. Jed spun on his heels and headed back to the animals. Seriously, kid. Please don’t be an idiot.

It’s already done, Jed assured Cliff. Pick up your phone in ten minutes and be ready to tell Blake he’s out of a job.

Jed didn’t wait for Cliff to say goodbye. He reentered the temporary stock barn and immediately zeroed in on the young cowboy. The kid still mingled with the animals, this time stroking the flank of a speckled mare. Upon closer inspection, Jed cataloged dark hair sticking out from the edges of the young man’s pristine white Stetson, the length of the black stuff nearly dusting his shoulders. A blue shirt and dark denim covered a body taller and lankier than most cowboys looking to get into bull or bronc riding, and his boots looked brand-spanking-new too. He’s just a groupie.

Wellll, shit. As fast as Jed deflated, he perked back up. The mare the kid was looking at shimmied in her stall, but the guy crooned to her and calmed her as if he’d cared for horses all his life—and was damned good at the task. So maybe the kid was only a rodeo fanatic, but he’d developed some skill somewhere or maybe just possessed a natural gift. Jed stepped closer, his senses now homed in even tighter on this young man. With a second look, Jed figured if the cowboy was a groupie, he was here for the animals and not the men and women riding them. And that’s exactly what I need.

Moving in next to the cowboy, Jed asked, How bad do you want a job with these horses?

The guy whirled, his hand plastered to his chest. Shoot. He slumped against the stall. You scared me.

Jed quirked a brow. You saw me a few minutes ago. I cursed loud enough to get your attention.

The young man glanced toward the open doors. When he brought his focus back to Jed, red crept up his face. I also saw you leave. I didn’t hear you come back.

I wasn’t being especially quiet. When the kid only grew redder, Jed figured he was shy, and so Jed dialed his grilling down to a murmur. I guess you were just into the animals more than anything else around here and didn’t notice.

The guy’s angular face softened, and a new light saturated the green in his eyes. They’re beautiful. He rubbed the mare’s nose once more, and she nickered at him as if he was no stranger to her at all.

Almost mesmerized, Jed studied the ease between this stranger and horse. You ever worked with animals?

The guy shook his head.

You ever worked any job?

Fast food officially. With a shrug, the wannabe cowboy shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on the heels of his boots. But I’ve been walking dogs, mowing lawns, and stuff like that since I was twelve.

How long have you had your fast-food job?

Over two years. I started when I was sixteen.

So you’re reliable. And you’re eighteen. Jed could work with green but eager in a trainee. Do you have family? A girlfriend? Speed bumps and possible derailments flew fast and furious through Jed’s thoughts. Anyone who would get up in arms if you weren’t around every day? Are you getting ready to start college?

I have a sister, but she’d be okay without me. Cherise—that’s my sister—she’s older than me. The kid tucked his shoulders into an even deeper slouch and softly added, I don’t have a girlfriend, and college isn’t happening for me right now.

Being on and off the road all the time, far from home, won’t make you homesick? Jed pressed. Hell, he had to. He didn’t want the first employee of his choosing to crap out in a month and prove Cliff right. You opposed to living in a cramped travel trailer with me, a guy you don’t know?

Why are you asking me all these questions? The kid narrowed his stare, but he didn’t slink away. He even pushed up straighter, Jed noticed.

Jed let his gaze slide to the horse nudging at this young man’s shoulder as if they’d been friends for life and then looked back into the cowboy’s earnest eyes. You’re hanging around because you want a job, aren’t you? He cut right to the chase. You want to be near the rodeo and the animals, and my guess is you don’t much care how. Do I have that about right?

Yeah. Folding in on himself again, the guy added, But I don’t have any experience with horses or bulls, so nobody will give me a shot. I want one, though. I want one more than anything.

Excellent. Suddenly spiked full of new adrenaline, Jed whooped and stuck out his hand. You just met your shot. The name is Jed Hastings. Jed engulfed the kid’s hand in his and liked the hell out of the strong grip he received in return. I’m in charge of eight of these horses, and you just got a job as my assistant.

Really? Twin strands of excitement and disbelief came through the young man’s words, and his stare grew wider than any Jed had seen. You’re serious?

Jed chuckled. The traveling schedule is relentless and the pay is for shit, but you get to be around the rodeo and help me take care of some of the best broncs on this tour. Jed offered a rare, genuine smile. How does that sit with you?

It’s so awesome. The guy grabbed Jed’s hand with both of his and pumped it with vigor. Thank you, sir.

I’m twenty-seven fucking years old. Jed shot the kid an exaggerated brow. Don’t call me sir. Save that for Cliff. He’s your official boss, and he eats up that kind of shit.

Sorry. Will do. Nodding, the guy straightened and patted down the nonexistent wrinkles in his shirt. Thank you again.

What’s your name? Jed figured he ought to start thinking of him as something other than kid or wannabe cowboy or guy.

Booker. Young Booker had a grin a mile wide that tugged another smile out of Jed. Booker West.

Well, all right, Booker. Call me Jed. Work this gig like you think I might fire you every day, and we’ll get along just fine.

I can do that. After moving in a slow circle, clearly absorbing the aftermath of the rodeo in a whole new light, Booker finally looked to Jed once again. What do you want me to do first?

First, Jed shared with lightness in his tone, I’m going to look for an application while I make a phone call. Meanwhile I want you to go home, tell your sister you’re moving on and likely won’t see her for a long while, and pack a bag with clothes you can get dirty in. And don’t forget to call your boss at the fast-food joint. Tell him you’re not gonna be able to flip burgers for him anymore.

Then you want me to come back here and help you with the horses? Somehow Booker had a goddamned bounce in his voice, one that matched the way he lifted on the balls of his feet.

Absolutely. Jed gave Booker the words he wanted to hear—not to mention that Jed needed to say. You start tonight.

Booker grabbed Jed’s hand for a third time and shook with what looked like his whole body. Thank you, Jed. Seriously. You’re not gonna regret this. I swear. I want this job more than anything.

Reining in his expectations, Jed thought back to his first ranch and rodeo work and sobered. Tell me that in a month when you feel like your back is never gonna stop hurting, and you can hardly get a half night of good sleep on what passes for a bed in a trailer, and you miss your sister more than you realize. Get past a thirty-day probation period, and then I’ll let myself believe you’re gonna work out.

Booker still grinned so big it appeared as if it might crack his face open. I’ll still be saying the same thing in a month. And in a year. I promise.

Your trial run starts tonight. Jed jerked his head toward the building’s entrance. Get going.

Booker began walking backward toward the doors, his attention still locked on Jed. I’ll be back in less than an hour! Don’t do anything without me. I want to learn everything. Then he spun, took off at a sprint, and pumped his fist in the air before he disappeared.

Chuckling, unable to help it, Jed shook his head. Green. Green. Green. Jed could hardly remember when he’d last experienced such infectious enthusiasm for his job. He loved these animals, but Cliff had so frustrated him in the last year—and Blake had only compounded that feeling—that Jed couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt pure, unfettered joy in caring for and prepping these horses for their work.

Jed strolled to where his line of horses was housed and stopped in front of his sturdiest, most proficient bronc. If he works out, maybe he’ll be good for all of us. His soft murmurs carried to his favorite horse’s ears. What do you think, Moses? Jed rubbed the animal’s nose. I’m sure young Mr. West has made his rounds and praised you once or twice this weekend. Do you think you’ll like having him around?

Moses whinnied and pawed his hoof against the hay.

Yeah. Jed let his gaze drift to where he’d first noticed Booker in the makeshift stable two nights ago. Me too. Christ, Jed never could have known one moment of eye contact would have been enough to make him feel confident about offering a stranger—barely more than a kid—a job.

After one more firm pat to Moses’s flank, Jed set off for the horse trailers. He needed to find that application. If Booker West worked out—hell, he might not be a cowboy yet, but he already had the name in place—Jed wanted everything nice and official. There was no way Cliff would fuck him over with an asshole this time. If Booker passed his trial period, Jed wanted the guy around for a long, long time.

* * * *

Twelve hours later, in an entirely new temporary stable, Booker West groaned and reached his arms toward the heavens. He shifted his upper body to the left, then the right, and did his best to work out the repeated spasms coursing through muscles in parts of his body he’d never thought existed, let alone felt before.

Through the quiet of the building, Jed’s deep voice resonated in all the empty corners. See what I said about this work breaking your back?

Booker jerked upright. His core tensed and screamed with pain, and he winced. He shot his focus to his left, onto Jed a half dozen stalls down. The man had his elbow resting on the handle of a rake, and knowledge of Booker’s physical condition colored his deep slate stare.

Gritting his teeth, Booker forced his spine into a stiff line. I am sore. He couldn’t exactly deny the stiffer movement of his body, so he didn’t see the point in lying. But I’ll be okay. I’m not gonna quit on you.

Jed looked Booker over; his lips thinned, but he also nodded. So you’ve said. Pointing with the tip of the rake, he added, Finish spreading the shavings in these stalls while I get the first horse.

It’ll be done before you get back. Booker didn’t wait for an okay before getting back to work.

Booker couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard Jed mutter, Sure, kid, and chuckle softly as he walked out of the cavernous barn.

Whatever. Booker blushed, but he told himself he didn’t care. He would finish lining the stalls with shavings and pellets, and do it properly in record time. When Jed returned, he would see, and he would know Booker was serious about keeping this job.

In half a day, Booker’s life had completely changed. He’d talked to his sister about his new job—of which she’d expressed her fears of Booker going on the road with a stranger who might be a serial killer for all Booker knew. Once Booker had told Cherise he trusted his gut, he’d then called his former boss to apologize for not giving proper notice about quitting his job. The guy understood Booker’s love for the rodeo and had wished him well. Finally, Booker packed a duffel bag faster than he’d ever done in his life and had gotten himself back to the rodeo and Jed Hastings, fearful the man might change his mind about offering someone who’d just turned eighteen and had no experience this job.

Those many hours ago, Booker had sprinted into that other stable, and Jed had been right where Booker had left him. Thank God. With incredible efficiency Jed had introduced the horses and given Booker simple instructions about how to get the animals ready for travel. The two of them had then successfully gotten the horses settled and on their way to another city and a new rodeo. Booker had briefly met Cliff as the older man had climbed behind the wheel of the truck hauling a horse trailer, but that had been it. Otherwise, Booker’s boss appeared to be Jed.

Just as Booker moved to begin covering the dirt floor, Jed led one of the horses into the stable.

Shoot. I’m sorry. Booker raked faster, evening out the bedding, and then strode to the final stall. I said I’d have them done, and I didn’t get there.

Jed sent Booker a sideways glance. Relax, he ordered as he led a huge black animal into the farthest stall. You’re like an eager little colt trying to get away from his mama’s shadow too fast. You’re doing fine. You actually got more done than I thought you would. Jed suddenly offered a full on smile, something that drifted into his eyes. You’re already making me forget that asshole Blake ever existed.

Sorry. Booker clamped his mouth shut, but then stammered, I mean, thanks. It’s just, you mumbled something when you left, and I thought you were challenging me to live up to what I’d promised I could do. Then when I didn’t, I thought you’d think I was just a big talker or something.

That’s just the way I talk. Jed shared another wry grin that made Booker’s belly flip-flop. After closing and bolting the stall, Jed gave the horse—Assassin’s Bullet, Jed had called him earlier—a good thump on the shoulder. I spend most of my time talking to horses. They don’t seem to mind what I have to say or how I say it.

I don’t mind either, Booker responded. And God help him, but already Booker didn’t think he would ever tire of listening to Jed. The man’s voice, so deep and grainy, reached through Booker’s skin and touched him with rough strokes on the inside of his body. I like hearing what you have to say. Fast fire burned straight up to the tips of Booker’s ears, and he sputtered, I mean, it all helps me learn, you know. That’s why.

You’re gonna get real used to me, Jed said, not missing a beat, because I’ve been told I talk in my sleep, and you’re only about five feet above me in the trailer. Once we get the horses settled, we can go crash for a few hours, and we’ll test that claim of yours.

Booker’s lower back chose right then to clench with fisting tightness. As he pressed his fingertips into his spine, honesty spilled from within. Once I hit that bunk, I don’t think I’ll hear a cannon if it goes off outside the door. Even as Booker massaged his back, his forearms trembled with tension too. And if I did, I’d probably put the pillow over my ears and risk the explosion.

Jed studied Booker, down to where he continued to work the kinks out of his back. His lips compressed, and his eyes darkened with clear empathy. I’ve been where you are. I know what you’re feeling right now. Darting his attention toward the open stable doors, to the morning light, Jed crooked his finger at Booker. Let’s get the rest of the horses in and fed, and you can try out that bunk. As Jed began to walk, he lifted his arms toward the sky, groaning as he stretched. I’m tired as hell too.

Booker jumped to follow Jed so quickly he tripped. Jed continued to walk and lift his arms toward the sky. As he did, Booker tried not to notice the way the gesture lifted Jed’s shirt to reveal a slim waist and expose how the guy’s taut buttocks molded perfectly into a worn-in pair of jeans.

He failed miserably.

Darn it.

* * * *

A grittily uttered Fucking shit and the smells of smoky bacon slowly dragged Booker from the dead of sleep. Blinking the crust from his eyes, he rolled over—and half his body met nothing but thin air.

Starting to topple, Booker squeaked, Oh crap. With everything in him, he threw himself back in the other direction. His shoulder slammed into the trailer wall, making him oomph, but at least he landed fully on the thin mattress and didn’t crash ass first onto the floor.

Careful. Jed’s warning, his tone full of deep resonance, filled the trailer.

Booker glanced toward the other half of the small interior and found Jed, shirtless. Oh my God. Booker stared, and his mouth went dry. Roped with ripped muscles, just wearing jeans, Jed stood at the small stove top, making breakfast. Wisps of the man’s light brown hair stuck out, damp, in disarray, making Booker think Jed had recently showered and used a towel to rub his hair dry.

That bunk is skinny as hell, Jed warned. It takes a few days to adjust.

I’m okay. Booker forced himself to bob to a sitting position, like one of those inflatable punching toys that don’t stay down, and in the process slammed his head into the ceiling. God darn it. His skull tingled with pinpricks of pain, but every muscle along his shoulders and back squeezed too, fighting for the top spot of what hurt the most.

Booker forced a smile into his voice. I’m awake. I’ll be ready to work in five minutes. After scooting to the edge of the bunk, he grabbed on to a ledge in the wall that offered a step down.

The second Booker shifted upright and put weight on his foot, his thigh and hip muscles screeched in protest. His leg instantly crumpled under him, and he careened off the small step to the rock-hard floor, a mess of weakened body parts.

Shit, man. Jed shot across the small space and dropped to his knees next to Booker. Look at you. He swept his arm around Booker’s back and helped him to his feet. I was just teasing before, but you really are like a newborn horse. Maybe I’ll have to start calling you Little Colt. After helping Booker stand up straight, Jed kept his hands securely locked around Booker’s elbows. Find your legs. Jed held on to Booker and watched him closely. Are you all right?

Rather than comforting Booker, the shades of concern swirling in Jed’s eyes opened a huge pit of dread and drenched Booker’s stomach in fear. No. No. No.

His thighs and calves trembled like hell, but Booker still shook off Jed’s hold and stiffened his spine. I’m fine. Monstrous pain, unlike anything Booker had felt before, made perspiration pop up along his upper lip and hairline—where surely Jed could see it—but Booker kept his chin high anyway. He had to. And I’m not little, he challenged, maintaining his stance in front of Jed. I’m taller than you.

With a glance up, hardly more than an inch, Jed snorted. Just barely. And you’re all spindly arms and legs—he poked Booker’s skinny upper arm—so in the important ways you’re still smaller than me.

Booker pushed himself up even taller. Give me a couple of months working this job, though, and I’ll have just as many muscles as you. But you’ll still be the same height—Booker lifted his brow and tried to make himself appear as if he were looking down at someone a foot shorter than him rather than just an inch—no matter what.

Shaking his head, laughing, Jed strolled back to the stove and his frying bacon. Which is when I’ll switch from calling you Little Colt to just Colt. As Jed pulled bacon from the pan, he glanced Booker’s way, light twinkling his gaze with sliver flecks. But I get the feeling you’ll always be a bit gangly and awkward. I bet you trip over your feet a lot, huh?

Studying this wonderful, big man from fifteen feet away, Booker swallowed with difficulty. His stomach thudded to his feet too. So very softly, he murmured, I’ll get you to forget you ever saw me as a colt, Jed Hastings, if it’s the very last thing I do.

But that won’t likely happen today, Jed replied. A smile tinged his tone, though; Booker swore he heard it. Go take a shower. Using the spatula, Jed pointed at the narrow door a foot behind where Booker stood. It ain’t much, but it works, and if you’re in and out in less than five minutes, you’ll even have hot water the whole way through.

I’ll be back in four.

It wasn’t a challenge, Colt. Jed sent another sideways glance in Booker’s direction. It was just information.

Booker’s chest thumped in response, and he couldn’t tamp down a huge smile. You already dropped the ‘little.’ I’m halfway home.

It’s your first full day, Colt. Sahara Desert-level dryness coated Jed’s response. I’m being nice. Which is the only reason you’re getting this fancy breakfast, he added while grabbing a couple of eggs from a carton. This is my one-time welcome gesture. Next time you feel like having bacon and eggs, you can either make your own or find a local diner and pay them to serve you.

Got it.

His bare toes curling into the rough carpet runner, Booker couldn’t move or rein in his mile-wide grin. He had a real cowboy right in front of him, cooking breakfast, teasing him, and promising to work alongside him to teach him everything about being a part of the rodeo world. And good God, on top of that, he was as fit as anything Booker had ever seen. Even better, at the moment, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Booker couldn’t stop his attention from slipping down the line of Jed’s back to where his jeans hung low on his hips. The dip at the base of Jed’s spine, so close to the hidden cleft of his ass, made Booker’s palms sweat. Booker had never touched a man’s bare back or ass, but his fingertips tingled to do that very thing right now. Booker just knew Jed’s skin would be so warm and smooth.

Well? Jed waved the spatula again. The move, and his voice, ripped Booker out of his fanciful thoughts, and reminded Booker where he was. Get in there and get done already. I’m gettin’ so much grease all over me I’m gonna have to take another shower before we start the day. He cursed as the frying egg popped and splashed oil on his forearm.

Booker snapped to attention. I’ll be fast. Without another word, he ducked in the tiny toilet/shower combo. Booker had been lingering, and he knew it. If he wasn’t careful, Jed would notice and think the ogling wasn’t normal. Booker couldn’t let Jed discover his secret. He can’t know I’m gay.

Halfway through Booker’s junior year he’d reached a place where he could no longer ignore that he looked at boys a whole lot more than girls, and that every wet dream featured big cowboys with hard bodies and rippling muscles—with Booker right there naked with them. Booker hadn’t done anything about his growing interest in the same sex; where he’d lived, that wasn’t an option; he’d had no intention of getting his ass beaten daily in school. Beyond that, he hadn’t known any boys in school who’d stirred him enough to risk detection or a possible beat down.

Booker might be done with high school now, but he sure as hell didn’t intend to take his first chance with a hard man like Jed. Roughly sexy or not, even if by some miracle the man was secretly gay too, Jed was Booker’s ticket into the rodeo circuit. This world—the animals, the cowboys, the constant travel to new places, the camaraderie of being around people with the same passions, and hell, even the smells—had starred in Booker’s dreams and fantasies for far longer than any sexy guy had. And now, because of Jed, Booker had the opportunity to make those fevered dreams—his rodeo dreams—become reality. For Booker, everything else, including men, took second place.

Not even Booker’s immediate attraction to his sexy cowboy boss could topple his desire for a life in the rodeo. Nothing mattered more to Booker than succeeding in his job and becoming a true member of the rodeo community.

He would not fail.

* * * *

As Booker bounded out of the second horse trailer, Jed glanced up from vacuuming the interior of the pickup truck—the vehicle they used to haul their travel trailer. Two weeks into Booker’s probation period, and Jed could no longer detect the slightest winces or grimaces in his young trainee. Booker hadn’t put on any real muscle yet, but his body had clearly acclimated to the grueling physical work. He didn’t appear to have a single ache anymore.

Jed grinned wryly. Lucky little bastard.

Just then Booker joined Jed at the truck. Both horse trailers are hosed down and clean, he shared, a bounce in his cowboy boots—a pair of shoes now broken in and dirty, not a bit of shine left on them. Should I go find Cliff?

You don’t need to worry about passing Cliff’s inspection, Jed reminded his young employee. You need to worry about mine.

"You, Mr. Hastings, boss, Booker replied, his tone as light as the dance playing in his grass eyes, could eat a perfectly grilled steak off any surface in either of those trailers. They both look practically brand-new."

Jed didn’t doubt it. One thing he’d quickly learned about Booker West: the kid did everything full bore. Still, Jed replied, I’ll check as soon as I’m done here, and then returned to his vacuuming.

Edging in by the open door, Booker brushed shoulders with Jed. You need some help? He reached across the seat to grab a grocery bag full of trash.

Jesus. After jamming the Off button again, Jed wrapped his hands around Booker’s shoulders—already a little tighter and thicker after all—and walked him away from the truck. I’m good. Take a break.

You sure?

Go ahead. Jed let his gaze drift to the buildings housing the animals, knowing Booker’s would follow. The guy adored the animals—all of them. Check on the horses. Take a look around. Familiarize yourself with the venue.

Booker’s stare widened. Really? I don’t mind helping you.

Jed sighed and pointed to the makeshift stables. Go. If you want to help me, take the trash with you. He jerked his head toward the back of the truck. Grab the bags by the wheel there, and then you’re good for some free time. Be back in an hour.

Faster than a comic book hero, Booker flew to the back of the pickup and bundled the bags in his arms. I have my phone if you need me, he shouted as he spun in a circle. Bye!

Two bodies emerged from behind another trailer right then, directly in Booker’s sprint line.

Jed shouted, Colt! Look out! but Booker ran smack into the two other people—a female bull stock owner, Marcy, and her nephew, Tim—and sent bags of trash flying in the air.

Booker quickly retrieved the bags of trash, apologizing profusely as he did it, and somehow managed to glare at Jed at the same time.

Jed erupted with laughter. He couldn’t help it. The sight of Booker—good God, Jed had never seen eyes snap with such irritation while skin flamed such a deep crimson—tickled him to his core.

Other than a bruised ego, Booker appeared fine. Booker, with Tim now at his side, strolled toward the trash area, both young men growing smaller the farther away they got.

Catching his breath from laughing, Jed said, You all right, Marcy? as the dark-haired woman moved to his side.

Been run into by bigger and worse animals than Booker there. Planting her hands on her hips, the plump, petite woman looked up at Jed with the stink eye. Why don’t you call him by his real name?

Jed could see Booker in the distance, paused yet again by another worker on the circuit. With Booker’s arms only half-full now—Tim had taken some of the burden—Booker responded to whatever the cowboy had said to him with such wide gestures in that one free arm it animated his entire body.

In answering Marcy, Jed still couldn’t stop smiling. I call him Colt because of exactly the kind of thing that happened just now. He got so excited he couldn’t focus, and he got tangled up in you. He hasn’t outperformed the nickname yet. When he does, I’ll stop.

You act like such a hard-ass sometimes, Marcy muttered, but you’re gonna keep him, and everybody knows it. He works damned harder than any three guys you could grab in this place put together. Why are you still making him sweat through a trial period? Booker is a sweet kid. Let him off the hook and tell him he has the job.

Jeez. Jed rolled his eyes. When one month is over, he and I will talk, and he’ll probably get the gig. It’s good to be hungry for something sometimes.

If you tease him too much, he won’t know he’s wanted, and someone else might make him a better offer.

He’s mine. Jed barked his response with the precision of a sniper’s bullet, not a hint of teasing or friendship in his tone. Shit. Don’t even think about edging in on my territory.

Better let Booker know quick, Marcy answered, still amiable as hell. If you don’t, someone else will express an interest, and it might look more enticing to Booker than what you and Cliff have on the table.

White heat tore through Jed, and he locked his body stiff. Are you looking to do something that’ll end our friendship, Marcy?

Marcy remained as easy and open as Jed had ever seen her. I see an employee who anyone here would kill to have, and so I’m just offering some friendly advice from someone who has her ear to the ground. Do with it what you will. She squeezed his tension-filled forearm. See you later, sugar. I have a husband to track down.

As Marcy walked away, Jed could still see Booker, this time chatting with a different face in this familiar crowd. The kid couldn’t get more than ten feet without someone waving at him or grabbing him for a quick conversation.

Jed scanned the growing group working and milling in the area—all of them owners or employees, all connected to the rodeo, most of whom Jed recognized as colleagues if not exactly friends. Studying them through a new lens, Jed thought everyone now looked like a predator out to poach his guy. Fucking bastards. Jed had been the only one with the insight to see the potential for a top-notch employee in a green kid like Booker. He’d been the only one willing to put his reputation on the line in order to get Booker hired and give him a shot. Only now, a mere fourteen days later, Booker looked like a star with the threat to shine with a million watts of power, and everyone suddenly wanted his light shining in their companies.

No fucking way. Booker wouldn’t jump ship anyway. More than a hard worker, Booker possessed loyalty; Jed had sensed that in the young man from the very beginning. Booker wouldn’t be seduced into a larger outfit with a few more dollars and empty promises. Booker had character, a trait that couldn’t be bought.

Still, without bothering to lock anything, Jed started to stride through the crowd. Something in his gut he couldn’t define pushed his legs toward Booker and the magnetic beacon that seemed to draw all into his sphere.

By the time Jed reached Booker, Booker only had Marcy’s nephew at his side once more.

Barely throwing Tim a glance, Jed homed in on Booker and pronounced, gruff as hell, Probation is done. You’re hired. Don’t let me down.

Booker stumbled, and his mouth gaped. Finally, he whispered, Thank you. I won’t.

With a stiff nod, Jed turned and walked away as fast as he’d come. Otherwise he might have stayed, ripped those trash bags out of Tim’s hands, and helped Booker himself. The urge to keep the young man at his side, under his tutelage and influence, rode hot and hard inside Jed. Yet as much as Jed wanted Booker in his employ, he hadn’t liked the feelings of possessiveness that had come over him when Marcy had threatened to take him away. Jed took care of himself, and he didn’t rely on anyone other than family. Ever.

Fuck. But you nearly started a fight with a friend over this kid. That’s not normal. Maybe Jed should throw Booker to Marcy right now and find someone new to take his place.

Not a chance.

A fisting tightness clamped Jed’s chest. He forcibly ignored it and walked on.

Booker would settle in. Jed would too. They would find a routine, and everything would be fine.

CHAPTER TWO

Booker stood on the top rung of a paddock on Cliff’s run-down property, waiting and watching breathlessly as Jed—so handsome in jeans, boots, Stetson, and a shearling-lined denim jacket—led a spritely young horse from the barn toward the corral. This horse had prestigious bloodlines, and Cliff had purchased the animal—Destiny—with the hopes of luring buyers to take another look at his operation. According to Jed, the five-year-old bucker had a winner’s spirit in his eyes and the passion to earn a spot on the tour.

Eight and a half months had passed since Booker had signed on as Jed’s assistant. For Booker, each day that came and went—where he got to live, eat, and breathe a life with Jed and these beautiful horses—he experienced the meaning of bliss. Sure, he had one hell of a crush on Jed and woke up in the sticky aftermath of more wet dreams about the man than he wanted to admit, but he wouldn’t give up his time spent in this world for a million dollars or his choice of the most attractive, eligible gay men on earth. None of them would be Jed.

Bitter, cold wind swept the nearly barren Wyoming landscape, rushing through Booker’s undershirt, flannel button-down, and fleece zip-up hoodie. He shivered, but as icy as the temperature was for a day early in April, the afternoon sun shone high and clear above, blistering in its brightness, and put an undercurrent of warmth in the chilly air. The day couldn’t have been more beautiful if a Hollywood studio had created it; storm clouds remained in the distance, almost out of sight.

Rather than lead Destiny into the corral, Jed guided the animal to a chute. Booker instantly stood up straighter; his heart started pumping out endorphins at a furious rate. He swung his head left and right, searching for Cliff or one of his two other part-time ranch employees. Nobody else was in sight. Booker’s breathing shifted lower, becoming a tangible thing, and for once it didn’t have anything to do with Jed’s proximity. Will he? Booker stood at attention, much like an eager animal himself, but didn’t dare hope Jed would call him over. Is it finally going to happen?

Once the horse entered the chute, Jed closed the gate behind him. He climbed the metal rungs on the back of the enclosure. From across the paddock, he locked in on Booker. Come on. The wonderful, gravelly texture of Jed’s voice cut across the crisp air and sliced its way into Booker’s flesh. Jed didn’t grin, and nothing about his tone sounded welcoming, but God, he crooked his finger, and Booker jumped off the railing and started running as if tied