Home for a Cowboy (Windsor, Wyoming Book 1)

by Amy Aislin

  Las whimpered when Marco pulled back, fear dancing in his eyes.

  “I’m coming back,” Marco murmured, resting their foreheads together. “You believe me, don’t you?”

  It was clear that Las didn’t but that he wanted to.

  “It’s okay.” Marco kissed him again, brief and soft, a whisper of lips. “I’ll show you.”

  He would. He’d prove to Las he wasn’t going anywhere. Las didn’t believe because he didn’t know that Marco wanted to stay. Not just to fulfill the terms of his contract—but forever.

  Las’s breathing was choppy when he pulled Marco’s hands away from his face. “I need to go.”

  A pit yawned open in Marco’s stomach. “Lassiter…”

  “I just…” Las backed up slowly until his backside hit the front of the Gater. “Need to be alone right now.”

  “Okay.” Marco shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders falling, the taste of Las still on his lips. “Lassiter.” He waited until Las looked him in the eye from the driver’s seat. “I’ll see you in two days.”

  Las nodded once, disbelieving, gaze lingering on Marco’s face for a moment as if he was getting one last look. Then he was gone, and Marco was left staring after him, the chug of the engine fading into the distance.

  LAS WOKE EARLY THE NEXT morning, face buried in his pillow. Outside his tent, the river gently tumbled over rocks, birds sang, small animals chittered, and leaves rustled gently in the breeze. Sounds that normally invigorated him.

  Today they made him sad. He’d spent so much time at his tent with Marco that being here without him wasn’t the same. It was like completing a puzzle with missing corner pieces. He didn’t quite fit anymore. Marco had made this place special with his enthusiasm and steady presence. Knowing that he’d be going away soon made the trees duller, the birdsong and animal chittering shriller, the trickle of the river blunter.

  He’d known Marco would leave; he just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. They should’ve had a month left together. Now they had what? Maybe two weeks? That was if Marco wasn’t needed beforehand for press and promo stuff or whatever.

  And instead of holding him close for what could be one of the last times, Las had reverted to protective turtle-shell mode, hiding away in his own corner of the world as if he could protect himself by putting distance between them. As if he hadn’t already fallen hard and fast.

  Swallowing roughly, Las squeezed his eyes shut and reached a hand out to where Marco usually slept. Nothing but dead air and an empty sleeping bag. It was Ben all over again, leaving him for bigger and better opportunities.

  Deep down he’d known this would happen, that hockey would pull Marco away from him. The man might dislike a lot about professional hockey, but he loved the sport—it was obvious every time he talked about it, in the way his hands moved as he spoke, the way his words came faster, stronger, punchier, and in the smile that played around his lips. He might not agree with all of it, but why would he give up something he loved so much?

  Forcing himself up, he unzipped the tent and stepped out into the foggy dawn to relieve himself . . . and found a deer next to the fire pit. They had a stare-down for a minute, and then the deer looked away, behind Las, as if wondering where the other guy who usually greeted him was.

  God damn it. Don’t cry, you asshole. He didn’t have time for tears. He had shit to do today, and crying over some guy wasn’t on the menu.

  Not that Marco was some guy. Marco was the guy. But they were living two different lives that had converged for the merest moment, the briefest summer before they’d be going in separate directions again.

  Something niggled the back of his mind as the deer bounded away. Something his mom had said about home not being a place on a map but rather the place your heart was. Well, Las’s heart was with Marco and it was flying to DC right along with him.

  Could he do it though? Leave Windsor and move across the country for—no, with—Marco? What would he do there? Everything he knew was tied up in ranching. Besides, he’d followed someone across the country before and look how that had turned out.

  Comparing Marco to Ben made him feel like a jerk but he couldn’t let go of the similarities: two men whose futures lay elsewhere. Yes, Marco had admitted he didn’t want to play professional hockey, but how would that stand up once he got a load of what he’d be getting into? The fame, the fortune, the perks, the fun, the camaraderie. It wasn’t hardworking ranch life, that was for sure.

  Relieving himself onto a nearby tree, Las promised himself five whole minutes without thinking of Marco. He managed thirty seconds—there was a hoodie of Marco’s folded in with Las’s clothes in his tent. Las buried his face in it before pulling it on even though the day would no doubt be too warm for sweatshirts. It eased an ache inside him to know that he’d have at least a little piece of Marco close by.

  The fog thickened as he walked through the forest and emerged into the clearing where he’d left the Gater. Since he was in full grumpy asshole mode, he briefly hoped the fog prevented Marco’s flight from taking off, which made him feel so guilty that he tried to wipe the thought from his mind like erasing a chalkboard.

  Fog clung to the mountaintops, soupy and gray, and hovered over the cow pastures. Once he’d crossed the highway and driven up the long driveway to his house, he parked the cart along the side of the house. First, he needed to take Harriet out, needed the sound of hooves pounding grass, the stillness and quiet that was the east pastures, the sense of being at one with his land.

  As he was heading for the barn, nodding hellos to the ranch hands already working, he spotted Austin leaning against the fence of the empty corral, forearms propped on the top rung. Staring into the distance, he didn’t seem to notice when Las settled in next to him.

  “You’ve sure been spending a lot of time here lately.” It was barely six. What was he doing here so early?

  “Hm?” Austin turned to him and raked him head to toe. “Why do you look like your best friend just died?” He frowned, seemingly to himself. “That’s a bad comparison considering my brother’s your best friend. Or was. Is still? Never mind. What’s up?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Really? Your sad sack appearance has nothing to do with a certain long-haired trail guide who’s suddenly off to DC?”

  Sad sack? “How do you know about that?”

  “He came by last night to borrow a suit.”

  “For what?”

  “For his fancy East Coast meeting, what else?”

  “Right.” Had Marco not brought one to Wyoming with him? Then again, why would he? “How did he seem?” he asked, because he was back in fifth grade and trying to date via intermediary. “Actually, don’t answer that.”

  “He seemed confused,” Austin answered because, of course, he would. “Like he couldn’t wrap his mind around what was happening. What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Las grumbled, rubbing a hand over his chest. Poor Marco. He really had seemed confused when Las had arrived at his cabin to pick him up last night. And instead of reassuring him that everything would be fine, that he’d do great in his meeting, that this was an amazing opportunity, Las had taken his fear and run with it.

  “Uh-huh.” Austin bumped their shoulders. “Cheer up. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “I know.” But for how long?

  Gaze back on the murky horizon, Austin said, “Why don’t you look like you believe it?”

  “Because I sort of…” Las inspected his toes. “Pushed him away.”

  Austin slow-panned in his direction. “Why would you do that?”

  Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, Las shrugged.

  “Instead of giving him a reason to stay, you sent him away?”

  “I didn’t send him—” He broke off under Austin’s hard look. Shaking his head, he hooked a foot over the bottom rung of the fence. “I can’t just ask him to stay, Austin. He has to want to be here for more than me. If we break up, I don’t want him
resenting me. It’s easier if I start putting distance between us now.”

  Austin’s expression softened. “Yeah, preventing yourself from getting hurt is often easier than dealing with the hard stuff.”

  Las winced, unable to imagine the kind of hurt Austin had gone through when his wife died.

  “Do you know the average life expectancy in the United States is something like seventy-eight years?” Austin asked, the topic coming out of nowhere.

  “Okay?”

  “You’re young. Only twenty-two. Seventy-eight probably feels like forever from now. But even if you and Marco do break up—next week, next month, next year, hell, twenty years from now—do you really want to spend even one of those remaining years without him?”

  No. No, he didn’t. Just the thought threatened to take him to his knees. Folding his arms over the top rung, he propped his chin on them and blew out a breath. Austin was right—Las hadn’t given Marco a reason to stay. In fact, Las had all but pushed him into the arms of the NHL.

  Marco had, however, mentioned more than once that he didn’t want to play hockey professionally. So why was he even flying to DC then? That was what Las should’ve asked yesterday, along with What do you need? and How can I help?

  He had to trust that Marco was coming back tomorrow, that he’d be around until the end of his contract at least. After that, well… They could always try the long-distance thing, although Las hadn’t had any success with that either.

  “The guy’s dying for you to ask him to stay.”

  Las whipped his head around. “He told you that?”

  “No,” Austin admitted. “But it’s clear as day whenever he talks about you or looks at you.”

  “He talks about me?”

  Austin smiled, and it took Las a second to realize that it wasn’t because of what he’d said, but because of the man on horseback who emerged from the fog like a hero breaking through a battle-torn city to save the day. Huh. When had that become a thing?

  Except it very obviously wasn’t a thing. Cal pulled Dash up to them with a nod hello for Austin, totally oblivious to Austin’s megawatt grin and mooney eyes.

  So when had it become a thing for Austin then?

  “Tell me that’s not what you’re wearing for the meeting.” From atop his horse, Cal frowned at Las’s sweats and hoodie.

  “Meeting?” The only meeting he could think of was Marco’s. “What mee—Oh fuck, I forgot!”

  Cal’s eyebrows lowered further. “You forgot about the meeting you helped orchestrate with USNC?”

  “With everything else going on…”

  Cal turned to Austin. “Everything else?”

  “Marco had to go to DC for a couple of days,” Austin explained.

  Now those eyebrows flew up. “You’re crying because your boyfriend’s going to be out of town for two days?”

  “I’m not crying. And fuck you both,” he finished with a mumble when he caught sight of their twin smirks. “I’m taking Harriet out and then I’ll shower and change.”

  “The USNC folks are expected at nine,” Cal reminded him.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Las waved over his shoulder and headed for the barn.

  To his back, Austin called, “Think about what I said!”

  Which part? Las almost asked. But he was done with conversation. He wanted his horse and his mountains.

  And Marco. Always Marco.

  The fog lifted slowly as Reid drove Marco north to the Jackson Hole airport. Resting an elbow on the windowsill, Marco held his head in his hand and forced his eyes to remain open. After a sleepless night tossing and turning, wishing for Las’s arms around him, the gray morning wasn’t helping any.

  The last twelve hours had been surreal, and his mind kept going around and around in circles. Being railroaded into flying to DC. The green pieces of jewelry Las often wore. Feeling like a dog on display at development camp last month. Stargazing with Las from the back of his dad’s truck or from Las’s tent. The constant pressure from coaches to be better, do better, play better. Las’s apparent aversion to coffee even though he’d bought himself one every Thursday from the Coffee Cart on campus.

  His parents’ wishes for his future. Problem was, it wasn’t what he wanted for his own future. Never had been. Sure, it’d be nice to have the money to repay his parents for all of the hockey lessons, and hell, everything else—a roof over his head, food on the table, clothes and books and toiletries.

  “Marco,” his sister, Floriana, had said when he’d called her last night. “If you had kids, would you expect them to pay you back for raising them?”

  “Well, no. But it sort of seems like Mom and Dad expect me to with all the pressure to play pro hockey and bring in the big bucks.”

  “Oh, hun, I’m sure that’s not how they meant it.”

  Maybe not, but that didn’t mean the constant pressure didn’t make his hands clench. On top of that, add Angela barely letting him get a word in before she’d booked his flight, and he had a feeling that if he did sign a contract, the rest of his formative years would be spent kowtowing to coaches and management.

  He didn’t want that for himself. So why was he getting on this flight? So he could do the sensible thing and hear them out before telling them no? What was the point?

  “I don’t want to play professional hockey,” he announced in the silence of the car.

  Reid briefly glanced away from the winding road. “So why are you going to DC?”

  “Fuck if I know. Turn this thing around.”

  Grinning, Reid performed a U-turn right there in the middle of the empty highway. Marco took a deep breath, free of other peoples’ wants, his chest expanding in weightlessness. It felt fucking amazing to have made this decision not to go. As if a new world of opportunities had opened up for him. It was how he’d felt when he’d arrived in Windsor for the first time—like he could finally breathe.

  His former college teammates would kill him when they found out what he’d given up. That was the thing, though—he didn’t see it as giving anything up, but as moving toward something else.

  On the drive back to Windsor, Marco called the number Angela had given him and left a message that he wouldn’t be making this—or any other—flight.

  “Lots of people would kill for this chance,” Reid pointed out.

  “Well, someone else can have it. I just want to live in the mountains with Las and take pictures. And just what exactly are you smiling at?”

  Reid’s shrug was very smug. “I had a feeling this was how today would go.”

  Grunting, Marco rested his head back against the headrest. “I wish Las had your confidence.”

  “He’s been left behind before.”

  “Yeah, but I forwarded him my flight info. He knew I’d have been back tomorrow by dinnertime.”

  “And Ben was only supposed to be gone a semester,” Reid pointed out reasonably with the air of a man who’d also been hurt in the past. “He knows that things—people—can change.”

  People did change. Only two months in Windsor and Marco already knew he was different. He knew what he wanted now, for starters, and he’d found the place where he fit in. Not just with Las, but in these mountains and its forests and wide, dark sky. He wanted to keep stargazing with Las, learning photography under Austin’s guidance. He wanted to sign up for the recreational hockey league at the Windsor Community Center, browse the Saturday morning markets in the square. He wanted to visit Las in Laramie while Las was in grad school and find new favorite sightseeing overlooks on the way.

  Las had changed too. He was more open with himself, allowing Marco to see the very best and the very worst of him. And there was still so much of him yet to learn.

  Marco knew they’d re-entered Windsor Ranch land when cows started dotting the landscape to his left. Where would he find Las right now? Early riser that he was, he was no doubt already somewhere out in the pastures or helping out in the horse or cattle barns. At least until the representatives from USNC arrived at
nine. Marco had zero hope of finding Las among the ranch’s three thousand acres and wouldn’t bother him anyway if he did—he didn’t want to be a distraction, not today.

  But he knew where Las would be later.

  He turned to Reid. “Are you in a rush to get back?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Can we make a stop?”

  Las was blowing it. He, his mom, and Cal were taking the USNC troop—one of whom was Las’s potential future thesis advisor—on a tour of the south pastures on horseback, and all Las could think about was that Marco was somewhere high above flying away from him.

  Along with Las’s advisor was USNC’s lead biologist for this area of Wyoming, the senior development officer of corporate partnerships, and the president and CEO and his executive assistant. Important people Las’s distracted mind couldn’t keep straight.

  “Hey.” Cal pulled up beside him and spoke quietly. “You good?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. My mind keeps wandering.”

  “You campaigned hard for this. Get your head in the game.”

  “I know, I know.” Removing his hat, Las ran a hand through his hair. The fog had lifted and yet the day was still gray and overcast, clouds hanging low enough to touch.

  “We’re almost done here,” Cal said. “And then you can go and do some menial task and think about Marco some more.”

  “You’re hilarious,” Las said dryly. “I don’t need menial tasks; I need a distraction. Don’t suppose you have another heifer in labor I can help with?”

  Cal pursed his lips. “No. But I do need someone to run into town to pick up our order of grain for the steers.”

  “Sure, fine.”