Home for a Cowboy (Windsor, Wyoming Book 1)

by Amy Aislin

  “I’ve got a date with Las.” If you could count hanging out in Las’s tent a date.

  “Speaking of Las.” Reid paused for a moment, seeming to consider his words. “Sort of anyway. I put in an application for that apartment above the general store.”

  “Seriously?” Marco found a pair of clean-ish jeans and pulled them on. “That’s awesome.” But what did this sort of have to do with Las? “I didn’t realize you’d started looking.”

  “It’s a two-bedroom apartment.” Reid pushed his container away. “If you’re interested.”

  Mouth dropping open, Marco blinked at him. “Are you for real?”

  Reid shrugged. “You don’t seem like you want to leave either.”

  “Dude.” Laughing, Marco drew him into a hug. “Yes! Of course. I’m in.” With his room and three meals daily provided as part of his Windsor Ranch contract, his expenses were minimal and he’d banked almost the entirety of every paycheck. He probably had enough saved for two- or three-months’ rent, but after that he’d be stuck. He bumped finding a job up on his mental to-do list.

  “Don’t get too excited,” Reid warned. “It’s not ours yet.”

  “Still.” At least the possibility was there. “What’s the place like?”

  Marco got all of the details while he finished dressing and tied his hair back into a knot, a renewed bounce to his step.

  A few minutes later, he was out the door and jogging down the cabin steps. Shaking his head at a cloudless sapphire-blue sky, he huffed a laugh and started the twenty-minute walk to Las’s tent.

  “Hey,” Las said with a smile when Marco stepped into his clearing. Already, there was a fire going. Next to it was what looked like the fixings for s’mores, a cooler containing what Marco hoped was beer, and the telescope from Las’s bedroom. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t make it before dark.”

  “I still had lots of time.” Not strictly true. Night fell incredibly swiftly once the sun disappeared behind the mountains. Twenty minutes later and Marco would’ve been walking through a fully dark forest. The thought of that didn’t creep him out like it once would have. He and Wyoming had bonded under a night sky.

  Stalking right up to Las, Marco cupped his face and kissed him with enthusiasm. Las’s groan was guttural and loud. His arms came around Marco’s waist and found the skin of his back underneath his T-shirt. Marco inserted a leg between both of Las’s, letting Las grind up against him, absurdly pleased when Las kissed him harder, needier, and thrust their pelvises together.

  “Jesus,” Las murmured in a throaty whisper, ripping his mouth away. “What was that for?”

  “Because I felt like it.”

  Because he was happy. And he loved.

  And he thought maybe he was loved too.

  His hands moved from Las’s face to his shoulders and down his back to cup his delicious ass in two hands, grinding their erections together.

  Las’s head fell back, eyes fluttering closed.

  Marco nipped his throat. “Got time for a quickie before s’mores?”

  Las pulled the tie from Marco’s hair, grin wicked and delighted. “Always.”

  “ARE YOU EVER GOING TO tell me where we’re going?”

  Las bit back a smile, flicking a quick glance Marco’s way. “You’ll see soon enough.”

  The truck’s high beams cut across the road, one that Las took slower than normal, conscious that a nocturnal animal could step in front of him at any moment. It was a familiar road that he’d traversed with Ben many times in high school, and he took the winding turns on instinct.

  At the crest of a hill, the high beams sparked off another truck parked in the grass on the side of the road. Las pulled in behind it, turned the engine off, and jumped out.

  “Whose truck is that?” Marco asked.

  Guided by an industrial-strength flashlight, Las removed a couple of bags from the bed of his own truck. Marco was frowning when he joined Las. “What’s all that?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Marco’s huff signaled mild annoyance. Las grinned as he led the way across the grass. He’d never seen Marco anything but relaxed and laidback or excited and awed. Oh, and turned on, of course. The annoyance? It was kind of . . . cute.

  Their footsteps were almost soundless in the short grass in this part of the mountains. Only forty minutes from Windsor, but the landscape was vastly different. Rocky patches sat like islands among the Ireland-green grass. He’d have to remember to bring Marco out here during the day so he could take in the view from here—a three hundred and sixty-degree vista of mountain tops, scraggly trees and wildflowers clinging to their cliff faces. For now, the only view they’d get was the one above, cloudless and star-speckled.

  Marco pulled on the hoodie he’d carried out of the truck with him. “Are you sure we’re not going to step off the side of the mountain?”

  “I’m sure,” Las said with a chuckle. “Trust me.”

  Another huff.

  They walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The wind was barely a caress, the air fresh and clean, the sky silver and indigo.

  “Wait,” Marco said. “Is that Austin?”

  Ahead, a small tent sat silhouetted against the sky, visible only due to the handful of electronic camping lanterns placed on the ground alongside it. Several feet away from the tent, Austin stood in jeans and a thick sweater, fiddling with his camera equipment.

  Las waved his flashlight at Austin to get his attention.

  “Hey! You guys made it.”

  “Made it for what?” Marco asked.

  Austin turned to Las. “You didn’t tell him?”

  “Nope.” Las dropped his bags next to Austin’s tent. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

  Hands on his hips, Marco’s head whipped back and forth between the two of them. “Wanted what to be a surprise?”

  “You remember Carine?” Austin asked. “My assistant? She had her baby a couple of days ago. But I’ve had this night shoot scheduled for weeks, and I need an assistant to help out with some tricky lighting. Thought you might like to help.”

  “Really?” Marco’s hands fell to his sides. He grinned, first at Las—which made Las’s belly jump pleasantly—and then Austin. “Really? Man, this is awesome. What can I do? Where do I start?”

  Trying to set up his own tent in the dark, Las listened with half an ear as Austin explained about wide-angle lenses and long exposures versus short exposures and the importance of tripods in astrophotography and planning night photography expeditions to coincide with new moons.

  “At what point do you use a telescope?” Marco asked. He and Austin each wore a headlamp, making them look like they were about to go cave mining.

  “Usually only for deep-sky photography.”

  “What’s that?”

  Las left them to it and finished setting up his tent, placed a sleeping pad inside, then unrolled two sleeping bags on top. Once finished, he unzipped the last bag, removed the parts of his telescope, assembled it, and set himself up out of Marco and Austin’s way.

  He and Ben used to do this, meet Austin up here on the mountain. It had been different, though. Ben didn’t have an interest in astronomy or photography, so while Austin photographed the night sky—at the time he hadn’t had an assistant—and Las stargazed, Ben had tucked himself into his sleeping bag and went to sleep. Those nights were always peaceful, silent but for their breathing, the wind ruffling tent flaps, the click of the shutter, the rustle of the sleeping bag as Ben got comfortable, the chirp of insects, the call of an occasional bird flying overhead. He and Austin rarely spoke, content with their own pastimes and the pleasure they brought.

  That contentment and pleasure was something he shared with Marco now too. Something unexpected yet made so much sense.

  Months ago, when Marco told him that he’d learned to hover in the background, Las had assumed that meant Marco was quiet and unassuming—and for the most part, he was. At first glance, his height was the first thing
you noticed about him. And when he’d first arrived on the ranch, he’d seemed uncertain about his place here.

  All I know about ranching is . . . nothing. I know literally nothing, Marco had said to him when Las had offered him a job back in April. And it had been obvious in how wide-eyed he’d first been, in how he’d tried so hard to get everything right, going so far as to buy reference books, and in how he’d seemed kind of . . . lost . . . for those first few weeks.

  But he’d thrived. It was like the distance from a family that tried to pressure him into what they wanted for him, distance from big-city life, distance from college courses he didn’t particularly enjoy, distance from the men on his college hockey team, who were no doubt just as loud as his family, had allowed him to find out who he really was. No more hovering in the background. No more biting back words because he couldn’t be bothered to shout to be heard.

  In fact, Las had come to learn that Marco had a lot to say. He didn’t talk a lot and he didn’t fill comfortable silences with empty words. But, if given the space, he had a comment for everything and a kind word for everyone. Marco outshone even the brightest star.

  It was why, when Austin had asked Las if he thought Marco would agree to play assistant for a few hours, Las had agreed to bring Marco here without asking him. As a surprise for Marco. Not a selfish one in a vain effort to show Marco the best Windsor and Wyoming had to offer—but as a gift to Marco because Las wanted to do something nice for him.

  Speaking of Marco, he appeared at Las’s shoulder. “What are you looking at?”

  “Here.” Las moved out of the way, letting Marco take his place. “Take a look.”

  Bending at the knees, Marco crouched slightly to peer into the eyepiece. “Holy shit! Is that Saturn?” He shot Las an astonished look, dropped jaw and all, before going back to the telescope. “You can see its rings!”

  Las could only smile and send a wish to the stars for Marco to stay forever.

  MARCO WAS WALKING OUT OF the advanced-level trail with two Windsor Ranch guests when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He ignored it and led Darcy and Jen Whelen to the waiting six-person Windsor Ranch-branded van with a wave to Reid in the driver’s seat.

  “Thanks again, Marco,” Jen said, hopping in. Darcy followed behind and rolled the door closed behind him. “We don’t usually hire guides for our hikes, but since Darcy and I are doing the expert trail tomorrow, we thought it best to get the lay of the land first.”

  “I hope I helped.” From the passenger seat, Marco handed back two bottles of water and little packets of trail mix.

  “Immensely.” Darcy uncapped his water and poured it into his reusable bottle. “I don’t think either of us realized how much wildlife there is to see here. It’s our first time in the Rockies.”

  “Mine too,” Marco and Reid piped in. They grinned at each other briefly before Reid put the van in gear to bring them back to the ranch.

  “Really?” Jen’s eyebrows flew up.

  “Yeah. He’s from Florida, I’m from Philly.”

  His phone vibrated again, buzzing against his leg. He continued to ignore it, seeing as he was on Windsor Ranch time, and chatted with Darcy and Jen while Reid drove.

  Two months ago, Marco had been so far out of his depth that he couldn’t see how to untangle himself from the brambles. Now he spent eight hours a day leading groups through the trails and rattling off facts about grasses and birds, or pointing out the best lookout spots, or the best locations from which to view wildlife as if he’d been born here. He no longer carried around his reference guides. He’d found apps for those, but that wasn’t the point—the point was that he didn’t need guides or apps. The knowledge was now stored in his head, everything from bird migration patterns in this part of the Rockies to which sort of vegetation was preferred by which species to the communities that the Little Wyoming River provided water for.

  Again his phone rang, startling him out of his reverie. With his guests inside the house, he finally checked it to ensure it wasn’t someone from home calling with an emergency. Instead it was a number he didn’t recognize.

  “What’s area code two-oh-two?” he asked as Reid drove to a separate parking area for Windsor Ranch vehicles and smoothly backed into a spot.

  “Beats me.”

  Marco put his phone away. If it was important, they’d leave a message.

  Except whoever area code 202 was apparently needed to talk to him very badly. His phone continued to buzz intermittently on their walk from the house back to their cabin.

  “Jesus.” Huffing a breath, he paused at the bottom of the stairs and yanked his phone from one of the many pockets of his cargo pants.

  Reid threw a “Good luck” over his shoulder and disappeared into their cabin.

  “Hello?” If Marco’s greeting sounded more like an exasperated What? than anything else, well…

  “Hi there, I’m looking for Marco Ter… Terly… Terlysize?”

  “Terlizzese,” Marco corrected with full Italian inflection—even though he spoke only a few words of accented Italian, he could pronounce his own name like a native.

  “Right, so sorry.” The voice was female, harried, and distracted. “My name’s Angela. I’m calling from Washington, DC. I apologize, I would’ve gotten in touch with your agent, but you don’t have one listed on your registration papers from development camp.”

  Marco blinked into the sun. DC? Agent? Development camp? Holy shit, was the NHL calling? His spine straightened. “I don’t have an agent.”

  “Well, you should think about getting one ASAP. I can forward you the numbers of a few well-respected ones that are used by some of the players on the team here.”

  He opened his mouth to respond; before he could, Angela was already on to the next topic.

  “The reason for my call is that management would like to speak with you about our training camp scheduled for the first week of September. Our coaches saw a lot of potential in you at development camp and they’d like you to attend. This is your shot at proving you can make the cut and be a part of the team. How’s tomorrow at two?”

  “Um…” Shaking his head to clear it, Marco sat heavily on the bottom step. “I’m working.”

  There was a brief pause that Marco imagined was filled with a sarcastic, Really? You can’t call in sick to your day job to talk to the NHL? “Ooooookay. Assuming you work until five, how’s six?”

  “Sure? Will they call me or should I call them?”

  “Oh, no.” There was definitely sarcasm in her little laugh. “Sweetheart, no. This is an in-person meeting. You’ll need to come into our offices.”

  Marco ran a hand over his forehead and into his hair, getting his fingers tangled in the knot of hair tied at the nape of his neck. “I’m in Wyoming.”

  “Wyoming?” The sound of papers rustling. “I thought you were local? Oh no, Philly. I see here.”

  Marco started to explain that he was working here for the summer.

  “Never mind. It’s not important,” Angela said breezily.

  His mouth clacked shut.

  “It just makes things interesting.” A tap-tap-tap that sounded like a keyboard being viciously pounded into submission. “Okay, I’ve got a 7:00 a.m. flight from Jackson Hole, a 6:00 a.m. flight from Cheyenne, or a 6:00 a.m. flight from Laramie. Which airport are you closest to?”

  “Jackson, but—”

  “Perfect. I’m booking it now. I’ll have a driver meet you at the airport when your flight lands. They’ll take you straight to headquarters for your meeting, drive you to your hotel afterward, and then take you to the airport again the following morning. You’ll be back in Wyoming in no time.”

  Marco’s head was still reeling as she went on about dressing appropriately, preferably in a suit, and what to bring and the number to call if he ran into any problems, like delayed flights.

  Angela hung up before Marco had a chance to say anything other than “Okay?” and he was left staring at his phone in wonder and confu
sion and a little bit of reticence.

  Fuck him, but he did not want to go to DC.

  The thought had barely formed when Las pulled up next to him in a Gater. He hopped out with a smile. “Hey. Ready to go?”

  Right. They were spending the night at Las’s tent. “Can I meet you there?” Standing, Marco looked around sightlessly. Everything was the same but different. Why couldn’t he get his thoughts in order? “I have to find Cherie to see if someone’s available to take my hikes tomorrow.”

  “Why?” Concern shadowed Las’s eyes. “Are you sick?” He placed the back of his hand against Marco’s forehead.

  “Huh? No, I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? You’re all . . . sweaty. And not the good kind.”

  “Sorry, I need to…”

  “Talk to Cherie?”

  “Yeah, and . . . pack?”

  “Pack.” Las’s arm fell to his side. “Pack for what?”

  “I’ve gotta go to DC.” Marco turned the phone around and around in his hands, unable to stop. “I think the NHL wants to sign me? Or have me attend training camp and then maybe sign me? I’m not really sure.” He needed a suit. Where the hell could he get a suit in Windsor, Wyoming? He couldn’t borrow one of Las’s; it’d be too tight a fit. Austin maybe?

  “You’re leaving.” Las’s flat expression, the deadened words, the handful of steps he put between them… It triggered Marco like nothing else could.

  “No.” Setting his phone aside, he took a step toward Las, sudden clarity making his heart race. “I mean, yes, but I’ll be back in two days.”

  “But if they want you for training camp, that means you need to leave earlier than expected, right?” The corners of his eyes pinched, Las whispered, “I thought we had more time.”

  “Las, I’m not going to training camp. You know I don’t want to play professionally.”

  “You can’t know that. Not until you talk to them.”

  “I do know. Lassiter—”

  “No.” Las threw up a hand to stop Marco’s forward momentum.

  Ignoring it, done with the too-large expanse of air between them, Marco stepped into Las’s space, cupped his face, and kissed him with all the promise he held in his heart. Las’s fists clenched the back of his T-shirt; his tongue swept into Marco’s mouth, urgent, tasting faintly minty. Marco slowed the kiss down, thumb brushing over one of Las’s cheekbones, the other hand petting his hair, gentling the urgency. There was no reason for the speed, for the desperation. Marco tried telling Las that with his kiss.