by J. P. Bowie
“Who said that?”
“I did.”
Epilogue
Josh, sitting astride his horse sighed with pleasure as he looked west towards the setting sun that marked the end of another day at Hope Ranch…the place he now knew was named right. It had been his hope, and was now his home.
Whatever else might have happened in Josh’s life, of one thing he was sure. Even though it meant that he had spent close to eight years behind bars, shut off from society and all that his future might have held, had it not happened he might never have come to this place—might never have met the man who had become everything he now lived for.
So much had taken place in the weeks since Nate Potts’ rampage through all their lives. The questions had been answered, and not all of it was pretty. One could never underestimate the power of a father’s love for his son, despite it being twisted enough to see someone else go to prison for a crime he didn’t commit.
Sheriff Potts had shielded Nate from the crimes his son had perpetrated. He had set aside his grief over his younger son’s death in order not to lose both of them. Whatever justification the sheriff had found in his reasoning had not prevented him from suffering a long and painful illness, ignored by the very one he had risked everything to save.
The facts as they had unfolded were grim, and Josh knew Brett had waited for him to explode with anger at the unjustness of it all. And oh, how he had wanted to bellow to the sky above him, to ask God—why? But in his heart and soul he had been appeased by his own answer…Brett. The man, apart from being beautiful, generous and a great friend, was—as Brett would be happy to hear him say—an even greater fuck. He chuckled as he thought of Brett’s description of their sex life instead of his own more romantic view of what they shared in bed, and a whole lot of other places…
He’d received a written apology from the governor of Wyoming and a promise of compensation—the monetary amount had made his eyes widen in wonder. Now he’d be able to do something for the man he loved. After everything Brett had done for him, giving him the chance to start over, believing in him, loving him, giving him hope —the very least he could do in return was to pay off the debts of Hope Ranch.
Brett had resisted at first but, eventually, he’d agreed to accept Josh’s offer on the condition that Josh got added to the deed as half owner.
“Hey!”
Josh grinned as Brett cantered across the pasture land astride Hoss. “Can I help you, sir?” he asked in a teasing tone.
“You sure can.” Brett grinned back at him. “You can get off that horse, drop ’em and let me suck you off.”
“Brett, do you ever think of anything else?”
“Sure I do, I think about fucking, and rimming, and oh, kissing—can’t forget that. You’re a hot kisser.” Brett leered at him. “Got you hard yet?”
“What do you think?”
“Yippee…” He nudged Hoss closer so he could reach out and stroke Josh’s thigh. “So how ’bout it? Over there under the trees, down by the river… We haven’t done it outdoors yet.”
“The stables kinda feel outdoorsy,” Josh said, chuckling.
“I mean the great outdoors, under the stars and the moon… I could howl at it while you fuck me.”
Josh laughed out loud. “How could anyone resist that?” He grasped Brett’s hand and pulled him over for a kiss. “Okay,” he murmured, tickling Brett’s lips, “let’s go.”
Sometime later, a long drawn-out howl wafted on the night breeze. Anyone who heard it might argue if it really was a wolf or not they’d heard. After all, wolves weren’t usually found in this part of the county. But one thing they would agree on—it sure sounded like a mighty happy wolf.
Also available from Total-E-Bound Publishing:
Happy Ending
J.P. Bowie
Excerpt
Chapter One
Lane Barrett drove his car into the valet parking area outside Roma’s Restaurant and hopped out quickly. Normally he would have used the regular parking, but he was running a little late, and knew that his friends would already be waiting inside for him. Grabbing the valet ticket with a hurried, “Thanks,” he ran inside and was immediately greeted with a chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ from the group of men and women standing around the bar.
“You’re late,” Jack said accusingly, after giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, as he accepted the hugs from his other friends. “I didn’t expect them to have a cake and stuff at the office. They’ve never bothered before.”
“That was nice of them,” Miles remarked.
“Yes, it was.” Lane accepted the glass of Scotch Jack thrust at him. “Cheers.”
For the next two hours or so, he was caught up in the warmth and ambience of the restaurant and his friends’ company. He really was lucky, he’d often thought, to have the kind of good friends who had been so supportive after John’s accident, yet had managed not to invade his privacy when all he’d wanted was to be alone. Now, a year after John’s death, although the pain was still raw, his grief had become somewhat bearable, and he was able to share in conversations that included memories of John without breaking down—most of the time, anyway.
He smiled at Jack as his friend nudged him, his eyes twinkling with some mischief.
“I got you something special, but you can’t open it until you get home,” he whispered, passing an envelope to him.
“But you and Miles already got me a gift card,” Lane said in protest.
“Yeah, well this is a surprise. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll discuss it.”
Lane chuckled. “Now you have me wanting to open it right away. I can’t wait to see what it is.”
“Yes, you can, and you will.” Jack leaned in closer. “You don’t want the others to see it. They’ll probably think it’s inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate?”
“Well, I don’t think Jennifer and Christine would be amused.”
“God, Jack. You’re really making me want to rip this envelope open.”
Jack grabbed his arm. “Save the ripping for later.”
Grinning, Lane slipped the envelope into his jacket’s inside pocket. “Well, thanks, Jack, you shouldn’t have. The gift card was plenty.”
“Gift cards are boring. I wanted to hire a male stripper to sit on your lap, but Miles wouldn’t let me.”
Lane laughed. “Thank goodness.”
“What’s so funny?” Miles asked.
“Jack wanted to get me a male stripper to sit on my lap.”
“Sounds good to me,” Jennifer said. “Long as you passed him around.”
* * * *
When Lane got home he fished the envelope out of his jacket and tore it open. Inside there was a card with the image of a nude male leering up at him. He grimaced and opened the card.
‘Hi Lane, you are the lucky recipient of a two hour massage under the capable hands of Mike Jefferson, masseur extraordinaire—that’s not him on the card, though I have it on the best authority that he’s pretty hunky. Just give him a call to set up an appointment at your convenience. Promise me you’ll call him. I already paid him, and he ain’t cheap!
Your loving buddy, Jack’
Lane groaned aloud and tossed the card onto the kitchen counter. Jack better ask for his money back, ’cause no way would he be calling this ‘masseur extraordinaire’ or any other masseur for that matter. He stretched and popped the tension in his neck. Truth be told, he could use some loosening up. but another man’s hands stroking and kneading his body, other than John’s, was not something he’d want, or need—ever.
He walked into the bedroom and began stripping off his clothes, throwing his shirt, socks and boxer briefs into the laundry basket, hanging up his pants and jacket. Naked, he headed for the bathroom and took a long look at his reflected image in the mirror. At thirty-two, he was still in good shape, still had all his dark brown hair with just a fleck or two of grey. He and John had worke
d out regularly, and now Jack had taken the place of his workout partner, even if Jack’s incessant whispering to ‘look at that hunk’ or ‘man, that guy is hot’ was mildly irritating, to say the least.
Why can’t Jack get it into his head that I’m just not interested in hunky guys? Well, not to the point of getting acquainted anyway. Looking was fine…
Sighing, he began brushing his teeth, then after a quick floss and a splash of cool water on his face he headed for bed. This was always the hard part. The bed he’d shared with John now seemed too big for just him, alone.
* * * *
Jack called him around ten the following morning. “So how d’you like your bonus gift?” he asked with a certain amount of apprehension in his voice.
“Jack, it was very nice of you, but I can’t use it.”
“Why not?”
“Because the last massage I had was the one John gave me. It just wouldn’t feel right somehow to have another guy… Oh crap, this sounds juvenile, I know, but it was something John and I shared, and…”
“I understand. Miles said it was a stupid idea.”
“Not stupid, Jack. It was very thoughtful of you. It’s just that I can’t imagine another man touching me in…in places where… Well, you know. At least, not yet.”
“Okay.” Jack sounded subdued. “But there’s no expiration date on the gift card. You can use it anytime. And, if it’s any help, the guy sounded very nice when I called. Very, uh, gentle.”
Lane smiled. “Where did you find him?”
“Brent told me about him. His doctor recommended therapeutic massage after he dislocated his shoulder playing ice hockey—remember?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“The guy’s legit, Lane. Call Brent if you like.”
“That’s okay. I feel I’m being churlish enough about this without Brent having to approve your gift.”
“Well, like I said, you don’t have to make an appointment right away. Just in your own sweet time.”
“Thanks, Jack.”
Brent called him about an hour later.
What is this—a conspiracy?
“Hey, Jack tells me he got you a session with Mike Jefferson,” Brent said with a great deal of enthusiasm. “Man, you will love it. He is ace!”
Lane laughed. “You and Jack should go into PR for this guy, but I’m really not interested, Brent. I’ll call him and tell him it was just a joke really, and I’ll refund Jack’s money.”
“Are you serious?” Brent sounded incredulous. “Mike has a sports celebrity client list that’d make your eyes bulge.”
“Good for him—”
“What? You’re worried he’ll put some moves on you? He couldn’t be more of a gentleman if he tried—more’s the pity. He is so fuckin’ hot, I’d do him in a heartbeat, but he never crosses the line. He’s not about to ask if you want a happy ending, if that’s what’s bothering you.”
“A happy ending?”
“You know—some masseurs will blow you or give you a hand job for some extra bucks.”
“No, I didn’t know. I guess I’m not as worldly as you, Brent.”
“Well, of course, I’ve never done that, y’know.”
Lane chuckled. He could tell Brent was lying. “Why not? You’re footloose and fancy free.”
“So are you! Oh, shit. Sorry, Lane. I didn’t meant to… Oh, shit.”
“Relax, Brent, it’s okay. Anyway, thanks for the encouragement, but I think I’ll still pass.”
* * * *
Lane fingered the business card that Jack had enclosed with his ‘gift’, then, taking a deep breath, he punched in the numbers on his cell, and listened to a recorded message.
“Hi, this is Mike. Sorry I’m unavailable at the moment. If you’re calling to make an appointment, please leave your name and phone number, and I’ll get back to you quick as I can. Thank you, and have a good day.”
Lane hesitated. Did he want to leave his name and phone number, or should he just call back later? But as the message tone beeped in his ear, he blurted, “Oh hi, this is Lane Barrett. A friend of mine, Jack Holden, prepaid for an appointment as a birthday gift for me. I…uh… Well, it was a bit of a joke actually, so I don’t really want an appointment. But, uh, you don’t have to give back the money…” Shit, did that sound crass? “Um, sorry…what I meant was I’ll reimburse Jack, so you don’t have to.” Shit! “Um…anyway…sorry again and uh… That’s it, I guess. Bye.”
“Jesus Christ!” Lane couldn’t believe how much of a dork he’d sounded. He was even sweating into his shirt. God, how embarrassing. Just as well I’m alone. He sank onto the couch and almost leapt out of his skin when his phone he was still clutching jangled with what seemed ear-splitting clarity.
“Hello?” he croaked, without looking at the caller ID.
“Mr Barrett? This is Mike Jefferson. Sorry, couldn’t find my cell.” His chuckle, along with his voice, was deep and pleasant. “Bad habit of mine. Anyway, got your message. Sorry you don’t want the massage, but I’ll take care of the refund for Mr Holden. You don’t have to reimburse him.”
“No, no, I insist,” Lane said quickly. “No reason you should be out of pocket because I don’t want the massage.”
“May I ask why you don’t want the massage?”
“Well…uh… I…” Lane stumbled over his words, unable to come up with an answer that wouldn’t sound pathetic.
“Have you ever had a massage?” Mike asked.
“Um, well, yeah. My partner John and I used to give each other massages.”
“And you don’t anymore?”
“John was killed in an auto accident a year ago.” Lane hadn’t meant to sound quite so bitter, but he could hear the hard edge in his voice.
“I am so sorry, Mr Barrett. I had no idea, and of course I understand completely why this would not be something you would find enjoyable.”
The sincerity in the young man’s tone was enough to bring Lane close to tears while his deep, warm voice had a soothing effect on Lane’s, at times, fragile ego. Since John’s death, he’d had many moments of low self-esteem. Without John’s eternal optimism and keen wit to bolster him, there had been times when the loneliness had seemed almost too much to bear.
“Mr Barrett, are you still there?”
“Yes…yes, sorry. I… I’m just a bit embarrassed, I guess. I feel like an ass turning down Jack’s gift. Perhaps, uh, maybe I could schedule an appointment with you…uh, you know, just to make Jack happy.”
“Of course. When would you like the session? I have free time tomorrow afternoon if that’s good for you.”
“You work on Sundays?”
“I’m available every day my clients need me.”
“Wow. Okay, then. Tomorrow afternoon sounds good.”
“Say, three o’clock?”
“Fine.” Lane glanced at the business card. “You’re on Melrose.”
“Right—corner of Melrose and Woodstone, apartment eight. You’re okay to park on the street Sundays. See you then, and I’m glad you changed your mind, Mr Barrett.”
“It’s Lane.”
“Lane. And I’m Mike. Look forward to meeting you.”
Lane heaved a long sigh as he turned off his cell. He sat for a few moments wondering why in hell he’d changed his mind. Of course, he could cancel. Maybe he should. But there had been something in Mike’s voice, something calming, serene almost. He just hoped he hadn’t made a big mistake.
What if I freak when the guy touches me, puts his hands on my bare skin, starts rubbing and stroking? Shit, I should cancel. He picked up his cell, his finger about to hit the redial button. Get a grip. Man up, Lane. If it gets uncomfortable, tell him just that. Say ‘Sorry, gotta go’ and leave. He’s not going to tie you to the table, for Chrissakes.
He chuckled aloud at the thought. Man, you are really getting ridiculous.
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About the Author
JP Bowie was born in Scotland and toured British thea
tres in numerous musical shows including Stephen Sondheim’s Company.
Emigrated to the States and worked in Las Vegas, Nevada for the magicians Siegfried and Roy as their Head of Wardrobe at the Mirage Hotel. Currently living in Henderson, Nevada.
Email: [email protected]
JP loves to hear from readers. You can find his contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.
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Happy Ending
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My Vampire and I: My Vampire and I
My Vampire and I: My Vampire Lover
My Vampire and I: Duet in Blood
My Vampire and I: Blood Resurrection
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My Vampire and I: Blood Lust
My Vampire and I: Blood Talisman
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Promoted by the Billionaire: Fly to Him
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Homecoming: Blueprint for Love
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