Truth or Consequences

By BA Tortuga

When Saint John "Sinjun" Livingston drove out of California in his vintage Caddy, he left behind the years of shame and fear instilled by his stalker ex. Sinjun's new life as owner of the Rainbow Spa and Lodge in small town New Mexico is the perfect bandage for all his hurts. Finding this surreal place of peace is more than Sinjun dared to hope for, but what he doesn't expect from Truth or Consequences is meeting a beautiful Texas cowboy on the side of the road… and wanting to get to know him.

From the first chance encounter, Rhys Davis knows he wants to see the free-spirited man with the weird name again. When Rhys offers to help renovate the lodge and spa to take the place from the 1970s to the modern age, he's well aware he is falling for Sinjun. But the spa's healing waters are needed more than ever when Rhys's family interferes and Sinjun's dangerous past comes back to haunt him.

Now Sinjun and Rhys must trust each other and the place that brought them together if they're going to survive to build a future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Turtlehat Creatives
• Release date: Jul 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781951532963

Book preview

Prologue

When Hal left for work, Sinjun closed his red, swollen eyes and counted slowly to one hundred.

One hundred got the Escalade to the freeway, which meant traffic, so Hal couldn’t watch the cameras. He had twenty-eight minutes.

Thirteen minutes from now, there was always a bottleneck. Thirteen minutes from now, Hal would check the cameras. Then it would take five minutes to turn around, ten minutes back.

Twenty-eight minutes to get his ass up and pack.

He peeked at the clock. No, twenty-seven minutes now.

Sinjun sat up, his body screaming at him. He was pretty sure his cheek was busted. No question his hand was, but he didn’t have time to baby himself. Next time Hal was going to kill him.

No more.

It had taken a year to sneak enough money to buy a burn phone, but he used it to get an Uber, leaving his own phone plugged in on the bedside table. Fifteen minutes until they arrived. Okay.

He threw on three layers of clothes before he grabbed two suitcases and started slamming things into them—pants, shoes, T-shirts—anything that would fit. Then he grabbed his hairbrush from the bathroom, a little scream leaving him as a bottle of Hal’s cologne fell on the floor, the glass shattering around his feet and covering him in the stench of musk and male and Hal.

The sudden urge to clean it up—hurry, hurry before he notices and gets mad, and oh my God, you’re doing this, you’re doing this, you have to hurry because he’ll kill you—was huge and sudden, but he resisted.

Instead, Sinjun shoved the suitcases down the stairs, praying they didn’t break open when they landed. Then he grabbed the hammer he’d hidden under the bathroom sink. It had a good heft, and the sound when it hit the locked doorknob of Hal’s office rang out, making his broken hand throb where he had it tucked up near his heart. Come on. Come on, you fucking bitch.

He hit it again, jumping as his phone started ringing, Every Breath You Take sounding.

No.

No, it was too soon.

Panic flooded him, and he hit the knob again and again and once more until it came off. He kicked the door open, tickled shitless to find the little pink safe there on Hal’s desk.

You’ll never be able to leave, you little fuck. I have your passport, your license, your birth certificate. Everything. Right here. Hal had patted it, so fucking smug. You’re mine.

The Police started singing again.

No. No, you motherfucker. I’m not yours.

He grabbed the safe, then rifled around until he discovered the envelope of cash Hal kept for emergencies. It wasn’t much, a couple hundred, but it was enough.

Sting cut off, the silence huge, a threat in itself.

Sinjun stepped out of the office, running now, because Hal saw. Hal knew.

And Hal was coming.

He muscled the suitcases out, grabbed his yoga bag and his favorite jacket.

The clock in the front room was ticking, taunting him as he threw on his sunglasses and shoved his Hal-stinking feet into his flip-flops.

Hal’s fury was like smoke, filling up this house that he’d been so proud of. This showplace that was a lie.

Sinjun stood there for a second, wavering. Was this what he had to do? Hal loved him, right? He glanced down at his hand that looked like a blood puppet—swollen and bruised, with a bootprint still evident.

Oh, fuck this.

He turned and faced the camera, held his good hand in the air, and flipped Hal off. Not. Yours.

The Uber driver helped him load, the big man understanding immediately his whispered, Hurry, hurry, he’s coming back. Sinjun slipped into the Toyota, the nondescript little car already at the end of the block and turning when the Escalade pulled up.

I need to go to a locksmith, please. Sinjun held up the little safe. My ID is in here.

Sure, man, Ben—his name was Ben—said. Don’t worry. I’ll help you. I won’t leave you all like this.

Thank you. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number familiar as his breath. Sinjun didn’t start crying until he got an answer. Dad? Dad, I left him. I need help. Please.

Anything. Anything you need. I’m here.

Chapter 1

The sun beat down on Rhys Davis’s head, and he wished for the millionth time that he’d grabbed his hat from the truck. He’d only jumped out for a minute to check on a piece of fence that butted up to Highway 152, but then he found a damned break, and now he had a wire-bending situation on his hands. The heat could be fierce in early June in Southern New Mexico, and any idiot caught out working in the midday light without a hat deserved to fry his little brain to a crisp.

Bailey Barnes passed by in his big GMC, waving a gnarled hand at Rhys through the open window. Eighty years old if he was a day, Bailey had his sleeves rolled up and his windows down in the age-old manner of cowboy air-conditioning. Rhys waved back, glad to take a moment’s break from the damned barbed wire that seemed determined to rip into his hands like some kind of crazy dinosaur teeth.

He was about done with the job when he heard the rattle of an old car behind him, and Rhys was distracted long enough that he lost hold of the wire and it snapped up, hitting him in the face, only narrowly missing his right eye.

Rhys jumped back, hand clapped to his face. Goddamn it all.

Oh my God! A man ran up behind him, the sound of flip-flops slapping feet loud on the packed dirt of the shoulder. Are you okay? Do you need a towel? I have some water.

Eyes watering, Rhys turned to stare at the guy, his lips pulled back into a grimace. No. I’m okay. Just stung me good.

No, you’re bleeding. I’m sorry if I did that. I saw your truck, and I needed to ask directions.

He squinted at the man, noting shaggy blond hair and bright blue eyes in a tanned face. Looked like a surfer out of a movie about California, including baggy board shorts and crazy bare feet in flip-flops.

It’s okay. Really. What are you looking for?

Cuchillo. The guy smiled and spread his hands. I’m staying in T or C, but my friend Angie runs a B and B in Cuchillo. It’s, like, a ghost town, right?

Population thirty-five, not including the ghosts, Rhys said. You missed the turn for the village is all. I can lead you back there, you give me ten minutes to finish this job.

That would rock! The guy stuck out a hand. I’m Sinjun. Spelled Saint John, Sinjun spelled out the words.

"Rhys. With an h and a y. He shook hands, grimacing again when blood smeared Sinjun’s hand. Sorry. I don’t have any weird diseases to pass on, though."

No worry. I’ve got a towel, for real. Sinjun pelted back to his Cadillac, which was vintage and what Rhys always thought of as candy-apple-red, complete with horns on the grille.

That’s what? A ’58 Caddy?

Yeah! You know your shit, man. Sinjun returned with a towel and a bottle of water. Here, wash up. When was your last tetanus shot?

I’m up-to-date. Rhys wasn’t about to go into how tetanus actually got passed on. Not his circus, not his monkeys. He did press the cool, wet cloth to his cheek, though, because it felt amazing. Can you do me one more huge favor, though?

Sure. What do you need?

Can you get in my truck and get my hat? That way his head wouldn’t burn up.

You got it. The slap-slap of those shoes sounded again, and Sinjun called out moments later. Cowboy hat or ball cap?

The gimme cap, please. No sense dirtying up my good hat.

Gotcha. Sinjun hustled back over to him and slapped the cap on his head so he didn’t need to let go of the fence. What else can I do?

Hold the pliers here for me and watch your fingers so I don’t cut you.

I can do that. Sinjun moved closer, near enough that Rhys smelled him—spicy and earthy with a hint of patchouli.

Thanks, Rhys said, trying hard not to get all distracted again. He quickly wound the wire around the nail he used for a height marker. Then he grabbed the stapler and punched in a few to hold the wire in place. Okay, so back up and take the pliers away. I need to put a few more staples in.

Sinjun backed away gently, easing the pliers off the wire. The man would make a good ranch hand if he could be convinced to wear real shoes. Flip-flops and ranch work would actually give you that tetanus, unlike a rusty nail.

Better? Sinjun asked after Rhys had stapled stuff into place.

Much. Thanks. I don’t need cows out on the highway, you know?

That could be awkward. Sinjun smiled for him, which lit up his whole face and made him even more attractive, if that was possible.

Totally. All right, can you follow me okay?

I can! Hey, I owe you lunch or ice cream or something. For your help. Sinjun bounced on his toes, looking hopeful.

I like ice cream. Rhys winked, feeling young and a little flirty, which made him blink.

Me too! Is there a place in town?

Not in Cuchillo, but in T or C. Are you gonna be around for a few days? Rhys asked casually, but his interest was ramping up by the moment.

I am! Sinjun gave him a bright smile. I’m moving in. I bought the old Holden Hotel, the little rainbow one with the private hot springs pools.

Nice. Damn, this guy had to be loaded. Rhys had looked into the Holden when it went up for sale. Too rich for his blood, but then he was a cattle rancher. Everything was out of his price range.

It is. I really want to redo it, make it a retro haven, you know?

Are you going to keep it rainbow? Rhys asked. The crazy, wildly painted building made Rhys smile. He’d hate for the town to lose such an icon.

I am. I’m going to put a fresh coat of paint on it and rename it the Rainbow Lodge.

That’s awesome. The whole rainbow deal also gave Rhys hope. Not everything rainbow had to be queer, but T or C was getting more friendly these days, so Rhys could sure wish Sinjun swung his way.

So, anyway, I’ll be in town for a while.

Then I can take you for ice cream tomorrow. Definitely date terminology there. He needed to back off, but this guy made him a little stupid already. Hell, Sinjun made him feel hopeful, and hope was the most dangerous emotion there was.

Chapter 2

Saint John Livingston hopped out of his Caddy and waved at the hot as Texas in July cowboy driving away in a big dualie pickup. Ice cream. Tomorrow. Rhys had texted him when Sinjun had asked for his number, and he’d put the man into his contacts already.

Sinjun! Angie came hurrying out of her sweet little adobe B and B, hand on her pregnant belly. Oh, honey, you finally made it.

I did! California had almost eaten him whole, but he’d escaped, and his Caddy had carried him across the desert to New Mexico like the wind was pushing him, telling him he was doing the right thing. I just met the most amazing man.

Already? I thought you were taking some time off from men. She took his arm and led him inside, out of the intense sunshine. Her house was adorable, with Saltillo tile floor and nichos all over the place filled with carved saints and brightly painted lizards.

I am. Doesn’t mean I can’t meet him for ice cream in town. He grinned, then hugged her again, so happy to see Angie. They’d gone to college together, and he’d been her dude of honor at her wedding. He’d never met a man so in love as Elijah; the little tech geek adored her.

What’s his name? she asked, bustling to the kitchen to tug out a teapot and cups.

Rhys something.

She paused, tilting her head, which caused her red braid to slip off her shoulder and down her back. Rhys Davis? He’s so…

He’s a cowboy. From Texas, if his accent means anything. Sinjun flapped a hand. I know. I still think he’s hot as hell. Maybe he needed a rebound fling. Maybe he just needed a straightforward man who liked to make a fellow feel good.

Yeah. He’s from somewhere outside of Fort Worth or something. Wherever they call the cowboy capital.

Hmm. Sinjun made a mental note to google that when he got back to town. Cuchillo might not even have satellite internet. He moved over to the breakfast bar and plopped down on a tall stool. So tell me why you’ve decided to raise your child in the back of beyond.

Angie’s laugh was one of his favorite things about her, and she laughed for him then, a real belly sound, deep and happy. Well, it was this or a tiny house in the woods outside Chama. I figured we’d get less snow here and more contact with other humans, since this was a B and B.

Hey, I don’t judge. You married a New Mexican. He held up his hands. I’m grateful you gave me a place to go.

I love you. Of course I did. She grimaced. I’m so sorry about Hal.

Sinjun closed his eyes for a moment. Me too. Boy or girl? You never told me. He didn’t want to talk about the clusterfuck he’d let his life become.

We just found out a few weeks ago. Her face lit up. Twins. A boy and a girl, they think.

Oh! He hopped up to give her another hug, holding on tight. Happy news!

It is! She giggled, sounding so young. You give the best hugs, Sinjun.

I try. He knew himself pretty well, knew his hugs felt good because he craved human contact. These days he was starved for it.

You do great. She pulled back and pressed a hand to his cheek, reminding him that his razor needed a new blade when the stubble on his face bent in response. I missed you, honey. So glad you’re here. Let’s have some tea, and I’ll ply you with my green-chile-and-cheddar scones. They’re gluten-free.

Ah, the chile indoctrination begins. I read about this. He winked, pushing aside his woe-is-me thoughts. Sinjun was starting over, dammit, and his life was one big adventure these days.

You just wait. You’ll be a fan in no time. She patted his cheek one more time before heading back to the kitchen, the smell of tea and baked goods making Sinjun smile.

Maybe it would all be okay after all, with or without the cowboy and the ice cream.

He was optimistic enough to hope it was with.

Chapter 3

Smuthins was crazy busy when Rhys parked in the lot, and he rolled his eyes. Great. Folks already talked about him enough as it was. Now they’d be all chatty about who he was eating ice cream with.

Rhys squeezed his truck into a spot, determined not to get his back up. No one treated him any different than anyone else in T or C. Even the mayor was a source of speculation. Small towns talked.

A candy-apple-red Caddy sat in the lot too, so looked like Sinjun was already there. His heartbeat kicked up a bit, anticipation bringing a smile to his lips. Let them talk; Sinjun was worth a little gossip.

Hey, Rhys! Christie waved at him when he walked in, her cheerful smile reminding him why he’d moved here. All he had to do was take a deep breath and calm the fuck down. You want the usual?

Not yet, huh? I’m meeting someone.

Oh. The sound came out in syllables. O-oh-o. He loved that silly New Mexico inflection. The new guy? Christie jerked her chin toward the back booth, where Sinjun sat, a smile stretching his cheeks.

Yeah. His own cheeks heated, but Rhys carried on. He stopped and helped me mend a fence yesterday.

He has a nice car, for sure. She winked. Just tell me when you’re ready.

Thanks! He walked back to the booth and held out a hand. Hey, Sinjun.

Rhys. Hi. Sinjun stood and took his hand, not shaking so much as simply holding on. I’m glad you came.

Rhys had one of those moments then, the kind he thought only happened in movies. When Sinjun took his hand, the rest of the world slipped away, the busy ice cream shop falling around him like a curtain dropping in a magic show. All he could see and hear was Sinjun.

Thanks. He stood there, feeling his arm tingle. Uh, what’s your poison?

Oh, I haven’t decided yet. In fact, I was hoping you were hungry enough to have lunch. They have gluten-free hot dog buns. I could murder a Chicago dog.

Oh, I might have a gyro, for sure. Why gluten-free? he asked, wishing he hadn’t right away. Food things tended to be fraught with danger, conversation-wise.

Eczema, Sinjun answered easily. I have terrible itchy skin if I eat too much wheat. I’m so lucky not to have Celiac, but I save my wheat for my real obsession.

What’s that? he asked.

Doughnuts. Sinjun nodded, expression sober.

Oh God, I miss good doughnuts. They’re a national pastime in Texas.

Texas has national stuff? Sinjun chuckled, then winked.

It’s a whole other country, Rhys said. Seriously.

I bet. California can be that way too. I think it was a republic for a while.

Yeah, but y’all don’t talk about secession like it’s a real possibility. Rhys scanned the menu board, but he knew what he’d have. A gyro with a Frito pie on the side instead of a salad.

Mmm. We prefer rebellion by tofu.

Rhys blinked, then hooted, the world tilting back to its normal axis. Laughter was good for making things right, for easing any awkwardness. He needed to remember when he got all locked up in his own brain that a silly joke could work out all the tension.

Ready, Rhys? Christie’s eyes twinkled with curiosity.

Yeah. A gyro and a Frito pie. Ice cream after, but I’ll come back for that. This is Sinjun.

Nice to meet you.

You too. I’m Christie. A Chicago dog with a gluten-free bun? Fries or a salad.

You heard! Sinjun clapped his hands, sounding delighted.

I did. I’m nosy, huh? She rang up their order, waiting for Sinjun.

Oh! Salad, please. Ranch, if you have it.

We do. She rattled off the total. I’ll bring it out when it’s ready, okay?

Sinjun handed over cash before Rhys even moved, and he frowned.

You can get the ice cream, cowboy, Sinjun said. I can eat my weight in it.

Fair enough. It wasn’t, really, but a guy who manged to buy the rainbow lodge could pay for lunch, he reckoned. He’d save his pennies. And he’d pay for the ice cream. They chose a different booth and got their iced tea before they sat, the sun shining in through the windows to turn Sinjun’s hair bright gold.

Rhys stared, unable to help himself.

Do I have a booger? Sinjun asked in a stage whisper.

Huh? No! No, nothing like that. He chuckled. I was just admiring.

Oh. Sinjun’s cheeks went pink. Well, thanks, then.

You’re welcome. He would never flirt like this back in Texas, would never take that kind of a chance, even though he thought it a pretty safe bet that Sinjun was queer. He hadn’t realized how much confidence his new home had given him in that arena.

So, why are you in T or C? Sinjun asked, almost as though he heard Rhys’s thoughts.

Pure stubbornness. Rhys shrugged. My dad has a big spread near Stephenville, down southwest of Fort Worth. We had a big old brawl, and I left, determined to prove I could run my own place.

Wow. That cut you off from your family, then, didn’t it? There was knowing sympathy in Sinjun’s blue