Hard Lovin'

by Desiree Holt

  It would be nice if he could also find a woman to lose himself in, preferably one whose sexual tastes matched his. Who didn’t mind a little kink. He’d been without one for far too long, afraid his nightmares would descend on him at the wrong time. He was lonely, though. He’d cut his ties with everyone he knew when he left the East Coast, tired of their pity and sick of seeing everyone else’s perfect life. He wasn’t even sure anymore what he wanted, but he figured he’d know it if it came up and slapped him in the face.

  He climbed off the bike and stretched his tall, rangy body, working out the kinks as he surveyed the scene around him. His attention was caught by a store directly across the street. The sign, hand carved, said The Bootery, and even from here, he could see the display of Western boots in the window. Years ago, when he was a kid—Really? He could recall that far back?—he and his friends had played Wild West. More than anything, he’d wanted a pair of fancy cowboy boots. Maybe it was time to indulge himself.

  He stopped to study the display for a moment, mesmerized by the intricate design on some of the boots and the different shadings of the leather. Just do it, he told himself. When he opened the door, a bell rang over the lintel, and a man behind the counter looked up, a curious expression on his face. Another man stood there, paying for a purchase. Clint nodded and found a smile somewhere.

  “Afternoon.” The man he assumed was the owner smiled at him. “Come on in. You looking for a pair of boots?”

  Feeling suddenly uncomfortable in the small store, Clint debated leaving. Then he thought, What the hell.

  “Yeah. Figured I’d give myself a treat.”

  “Let me finish up with Dan here and I’ll take care of you. Meanwhile, have a look around.”

  Clint liked the dark wood paneling lining the walls, the boots displayed on wooden shoe shelves. He saw the little metal signs indicating the best known brands—Tony Lama, Lucchese, Ariat, Frye. He picked up one in different shades of brown, the leather soft and supple in his hand.

  The shopkeeper finished attending to business and came over to stand beside him. “You want them to ride a horse or that beast you parked across the street?”

  Clint frowned. “Is there a difference?”

  “Could be.” He came out from behind the counter. “Might have one that could do for both.” He held out his hand. “Paul Grady.”

  Clint shook the proffered hand. “Clint Gorman. Saw your shop and decided to buy myself a present.”

  “You staying around a while or just passing through?”

  The customer holding his new purchase burst into a laugh. “Paul, you don’t need his pedigree to sell him a damn pair of boots.”

  “Just being friendly,” Paul grumped. “Him being a stranger and all.”

  Clint looked at the other man, nearly as tall as he was but leaner, with dark hair. “I guess strangers stick out here.”

  “You know how small towns are.” Another handshake. “Dan Franklin. Welcome to town. If you’re looking for a good pair of boots, Paul can fix you up fine.”

  Clint wasn’t surprised at how much went into selecting the proper Western boot. The same process applied to a really good motorcycle boot. Fit, comfort, durability, all major points. He had two pairs he’d spent a good bit of money on, but since he practically lived in them, they were worth the expense. He hoped he could say the same about the Luccheses Paul brought out for him to try on. Especially when he looked on the boxes and saw the price.

  “It only hurts for a minute,” Dan joked when he saw where Clint was looking. “Trust me, good boots are worth every penny.”

  And truly, once he slipped on the supple leather, stood, and walked around the store, he agreed. Just like his motorcycle boots, you got what you paid for. He finally settled on a pair that cost too much but felt too good not to buy. If he stayed in town for a few days, he’d have time to break them in.

  Dan Franklin opened the door for him and followed him outside.

  “It’s noon, and I’m about to grab a meal at Creekside Diner. How about letting me show you some local hospitality and buy you lunch?”

  Clint stared at him. “Why would you want to do that?”

  Dan shrugged. “You’re a traveler in town, you look like a nice guy, and I don’t like to eat alone.”

  Clint lifted an eyebrow. “And you don’t have anyone else to eat with? I find that hard to believe. I’ll bet everyone in town knows you.”

  Dan threw back his head and laughed. “Sometimes that’s the problem. Come on. I’m harmless, I promise.”

  Clint hesitated a moment. Dan Franklin looked to be about his own age, thirty-five. He didn’t know the man from Adam, but something about him made Clint feel comfortable. At ease. Maybe his relaxed stance or the humor sparking in his eyes. Maybe his smile or the air of confidence he wore like a shirt. Hell, he hadn’t had a conversation with anyone but himself since he’d headed west. Besides, if he did decide to stay here awhile, it would be nice to know someone, especially someone who wasn’t aware of certain parts of his history.

  “Sure,” he said at last. “That would be nice. Thanks.”

  He waited while Dan climbed into his pickup at the curb then cranked up the beast and followed him along Main Street. They were almost out of the shopping district when Dan made a right turn, Clint right on his bumper. At the end of a short block sat a stone building with a wide front porch. The parking lot was pretty full, but they found space at the side of the building. Behind it, a short lawn sloped down to an actual creek bubbling along over a rocky bottom. The sound was so soothing, he wanted to stand there for a moment and let it wrap itself around him.

  “So there really is a Whistling Creek,” he commented.

  “Sure is.” Dan grinned. “Of course, I’ve never heard it whistle, but there are some old timers who say it does. Anyway, come on inside, and we’ll see if we can grab a table.”

  They found a booth, tucked away in a corner, being cleared, and eased themselves into it. Clint took in his surroundings. It looked like every small-town restaurant he’d stopped in along the way—warm, welcoming, filled with people smiling and gabbing. In the others, he’d felt like such an outsider, but here, he had an immediate sense of belonging. What was it about this place, anyway? Had something been pulling him here all along?

  Dan exchanged greetings with the waitress who handed them plastic-covered menus, and they ordered coffee.

  “So.” Dan relaxed in his seat. “What brings you on the journey that landed you here? Looking for someplace to settle or just passing through?”

  After the waitress filled two mugs, Clint picked his up and took a sip. “I’m not exactly sure how to answer.”

  Dan studied him over the rim of his coffee mug. “Footloose and fancy free? No one waiting at home for you to get rid of the wanderlust?”

  Clint had been very careful to watch his conversation with people at his other stops. Reveal little or nothing about himself. But he seemed to have an invisible link with the dark, quiet man sitting across from him. For the first time since he’d returned to the states, he was relaxed, at ease, a very unusual state for him.

  “Three months ago, I finished my third tour in Afghanistan.” He fiddled with the spoon in front of him.

  “A long stretch,” Dan commented. “Must have been really tough.”

  Clint took another sip of coffee as he gathered his thoughts. “You could say that. Yeah, you could definitely say that.”

  “So, you’re looking for, what, someplace to settle? No family waiting back home?”

  “I needed to get away from everyone.” He looked directly at Dan across the table. “Too many questions, too much sympathy. Know what I mean?”

  “I do.” He nodded then seemed content to wait for Clint to speak again.

  The hum of chatter was loud enough their conversation wasn’t likely to be overheard, and that, too, helped Clint relax.

  “I think I need a place to just park my bike for a while, where I can heal and get my b
rains together. I’m not sure I’m fit for civilian life yet.”

  “Whistling Creek’s a nice place to hang out. You looking for work, by any chance?”

  Clint shook his head. “Not at the moment. Leastways not until I know if I want to plant myself. I’ve got plenty of combat pay I haven’t spent, so I’m set for money.” He gave a half laugh. “What I’m really looking for is a woman.”

  Damn it, Clint. You just met the guy.

  Yet, already on this short acquaintance, Dan Franklin made him feel comfortable in his own skin, a most unusual sensation for him. And, damn it! Good, hot, kinky sex could really take his edge off.

  “Well, I have to say, at least you put it out there.” Dan’s chuckle was low and deep. “Any special type or will anyone do?”

  Before he could answer, the waitress materialized next to their booth.

  “You guys decide what you want yet?”

  They both ordered. Clint was still turning things over in his mind when she said, “Be out in just a few minutes.” She refilled their mugs and hurried off to put in their order.

  Clint realized Dan was still watching him, waiting quietly for him to go on. Could he tell him what his tastes really were? What if the guy thought him a weirdo, got up and walked out? Well, as long as he didn’t punch his lights out Clint guessed he’d be no worse off than he was.

  “I, uh, have some very specific tastes.” He looked down at his hands wrapped around his mug. “Some might even say kinky.”

  Dan laughed again. “I think that term leaves a lot of room for interpretation. I’d say as long as there aren’t any animals in the mix or any type of mayhem, you’re entitled to do whatever you like.”

  Clint raked his fingers through his hair. “I can’t even believe I’m talking about this with you, a total stranger.” And he couldn’t. Him, the most closemouthed man in the world.

  “Sometimes those are the best people. So, what’s your deal, Clint? Bondage? Voyeurism? Ménage?”

  He gave a brief nod of his head. “Yeah. All of it. Crazy, right?”

  Dan didn’t say a word for a moment, and Clint’s stomach muscles knotted. Had he made a big mistake here? Yeah, probably should have kept his mouth shut. Wouldn’t he ever learn? He sat in silence while the waitress placed their food on the table, but he’d suddenly lost his appetite.

  “Don’t let that great steak sandwich go to waste.” Dan pointed a french fry at him. “Anyway, you might need your strength.”

  “To get on my bike and hightail it out of town?” He snorted. “I knew I should have kept my mouth shut.” When Dan just sat and watched him for a moment, chewing thoughtfully, he pushed his plate away and reached for his wallet. “Yeah, bad idea.”

  “Sit.” Dan’s voice was sharp. “”Like I said, eat your lunch.”

  “But—”

  “But you should never jump to conclusions. What is it people say about an accident of fate?” He grinned. “Oh, yeah, I think it was Napoleon who said there’s no such thing as an accident; it is fate misnamed.”

  “First of all, Napoleon in Whistling Creek, Texas? Really?”

  “At least I got something out of my college education besides a degree in agribusiness.”

  “That what you do for a living?” Clint asked.

  “Sort of. Got a little piece of property outside of town. So, bringing up the kinky stuff was first. What’s second?”

  “Second, are you trying to say it’s fate I ended up here when I did?”

  “Could be. Maybe we were both looking for something. The same something.”

  Clint wasn’t sure what to say, so he took a bite of his sandwich and chewed slowly. Dan was right. It was excellent. But right now, he was more interested in things besides food.

  “I’m trying to feed a need and wipe away Afghanistan,” he told the other man.

  “Maybe the first part applies to me, too.” Dan studied him over his food. “It’s very hard in a small town like this, in the heart of conservative ranching country, to find an outlet for, shall we say, extreme desires.”

  “And you have them?” Clint stared at the man.

  “My wife and I, well, sometimes we like to have someone watch. Know what I mean?”

  Heat traveled up Clint’s body to his face. “I do.”

  “That the kind of thing that appeals to you?”

  “One of them.”

  “Sometimes we like to have someone join us.”

  His cock suddenly became too hard and too swollen for his jeans to contain. He shifted in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. In the privacy beneath the table, he adjusted his fly as best he could.

  Dan grinned. “Got your juices flowing?”

  “You know it.” He growled low in his throat.

  “We’ve got a few more interesting twists to throw in, but we can’t exactly put an ad in the local paper. Or even ask any of our friends or neighbors.”

  Clint grinned. “No, I’d guess not. But a stranger is safe? You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know I get good feelings from you, good vibes. I know we have compatible interests. And I know you landed right here in my town at this exact moment for a reason.” He cocked his head. “You don’t have any diseases I should know about, do you?”

  “No, man. I had a complete physical when I left the service. They screened every cell in my body.” And then some.

  “No one after you with a gun? No wives or ex-wives or former girlfriends chasing you?”

  “Hell, no.” Clint laughed and picked up a french fry. “At this point, I might even let one catch me.”

  “In that case, I think we might be able to do each other some good.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “I’m going to give my wife a call. Think you might like to spend the afternoon with us?”

  “Don’t you have work to do?”

  Dan shrugged. “I can take a few hours off. So what’s it going to be, yes or no?”

  Clint drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. This was so weird, yet it felt so right. “Yes. It’s yes.”

  Dan speed dialed a number. “Hey, Kylie? Yeah, it’s me, honey. Guess what? I’m bringing home a guest. No, I’m not kidding. Not one bit. And, sweetheart? You’re gonna love him.” He looked across the table at Clint. “Eat up. You’ll need all your strength.”

  Clint’s body buzzed with excitement, his blood pumped in his veins, and his balls ached with need. He hoped he wasn’t about to make a huge mistake.