They arrived at Blake‘s place by late morning. Clint had met Seth Blake on a number of occasions, along with his wife, Mary. He‘d called ahead to ask if he could stop by and now Mary, a tall willowy woman in her late fifties came out of the farm house, wiping her hands on a large apron that covered her T-shirt and shorts.
Howdy Clint, she said. You‘re looking fine as ever.
Clint smiled. Nice to see you, Mary. This here‘s Tyler Sutton, a friend of mine all the way from Austin.
Mary smiled at Tyler, inclining her head in welcome. It‘s right nice to meet you. Turning to Clint, she added, How‘s Joe and Tildy? I‘ve been meaning to have them over to supper one of these days but time just gets away from a body.
Clint filled her in on the health of his boss and the boss‘s wife and they exchanged other small talk for a while about mutual acquaintances. Finally Mary said, Seth‘s out at the milking barn. He said to go on back when you got here.
Clint nodded his thanks and the two of them walked along the path toward the barns, the pungent smell of cow manure and fresh cut hay wafting toward them in the warm air. Seth was in with his dairy cows. He was a large man with plenty of weight around his middle and ruddy complexion.
Clint Darrow! he exclaimed, stepping out of the barn and moving toward them as he wiped a bandana over his sweating brow. Good to see you again, buddy. It‘s been too long. They shook hands and Clint introduced Tyler.
They exchanged small talk about the price of milk, the state of ranching and innocuous gossip about mutual friends before Clint ventured to the reason he‘d come. I was talkin‘ to Hoss Johnson and Jared Smith over at Jack‘s honky-tonk last night. They mentioned you were one of the folks as had some bull semen go missing. We had a pretty significant theft back at our place a few days back. I thought, seein‘ as I was in the area, I‘d come check it out. See if we could maybe piece together some kind of pattern.
It was the damnedest thing! Seth knitted his brow, his face clouding. I‘ve been in the cattle business for nigh on thirty years and I ain‘t never had nobody steal bull semen before. It‘s not like our semen is even valuable. Just basic seed to keep my cows breeding when we don‘t have a bull handy. I might not have even noticed it was missin‘, except Doc Crawford was here the other day to do a regular check and he noticed one of the cows was showin‘ signs of goin‘ into heat. I went to fetch one of the liquid nitrogen canisters and damn if two of them hadn‘t gone missin‘. Them canisters don‘t come cheap neither.
The three of them talked for a while about the possibilities, speculating what might have happened. Seth tried to think if there‘d been any mysterious strangers prowling round the ranch lately, but came up with nothing. Tyler scribbled on his notepad and Clint found himself hoping they‘d solve this mystery, not just to recover the stolen property, but so Tyler would have a good story for his magazine.
A bell began to ring, the kind used in old one-room school houses to call the children in from recess. Seth looked toward the house. Day starts at dawn. We eat early round here. I hope you got time to join us for lunch.
Clint glanced at his watch. It was a little past eleven. Though they weren‘t really on any schedule, Clint had to admit to himself he felt possessive of his time with Tyler, not certain how much longer they had together. He didn‘t want to spend an extra moment in the company of others, except as it pertained to the investigation. We got a kind of late start, he said, smiling apologetically. If we‘re goin‘ to cover more ground before nightfall, we best be movin‘ on. Tyler nodded his agreement, which pleased Clint, though he warned himself not to assume it meant anything.
Suit yourself. Seth patted his ample gut. More for me. Mary makes a mighty fine brisket.
The three of them walked back to the house, where Mary, too, tried to get them to stay for the midday meal. They again declined politely, but accepted the sandwiches she insisted on making them for the road.
Along the highway Clint pulled in at a gas station and filled the truck‘s tank while Tyler waited in the cab, checking his cell phone voice mail, since reception was spotty out in the country. Clint went inside to pay and came out with a small Styrofoam cooler he‘d stocked with ice and soda. He put the cooler on the floor by Tyler‘s feet, keeping out two bottles. He held one of the bottles toward Tyler. Thirsty?
Tyler took the bottle, examining it with a low, appreciative whistle. Dr. Pepper, huh? I grew up on this stuff. I haven‘t seen glass bottles like this in years.
Clint smiled back. You got to know where to look. He held up a bottle, the oldfashioned eight-ounce kind, the thick glass tinted green. Best soda on the planet earth. Puts all others to shame.
Where we headed now? Tyler asked, as he twisted open his bottle.
Harding Ranch is a couple hours from here. I figured we could stop for lunch somewhere along the way. Take our time. He glanced at Tyler, enjoying the sight of his Adam‘s apple bobbing as he tipped the bottle and drank. Tyler was wearing a button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled just below the elbow, several buttons open to reveal his chest, smooth save for a light down of golden-blond hair.
They listened to country music, keeping the conversation light, though a steady, undeniable sexual tension hummed between them right along with the torque of the truck engine.
After about an hour, Clint pointed toward a sign that indicated a rest area. The area contained a small cement building with restrooms and vending machines behind which there was copse of trees with picnic tables scattered beneath it.
The parking lot contained a few cars and trucks, as well as some eighteen-wheelers. Folks were seated at various tables enjoying their lunches. A few children were running between the trees, laughing and calling to each other.
After they used the facilities, Clint and Tyler settled at an empty table, seating themselves on opposite sides. They ate their sandwiches, neither saying much. The day had been cloudy, and getting more so as the afternoon progressed, the heavy fat underbellies of the clouds darkening with potential rain.
The clouds parted for a moment, a shaft of sunlight penetrating the foliage overhead, illuminating Tyler‘s features in soft, buttery gold. He glanced up at Clint at that moment, a tentative smile moving over his lips and Clint realized he was smiling too, just for the sheer pleasure of looking at the handsome man sitting across from him. His cock was apparently appreciating the view as well; he could feel it lengthening, the balls tightening beneath it.
A twinge of pain moved through his knee and he shifted as a sudden, deliciously evil idea moved into his head. Extending his leg, he said, I need to stretch out a bit. He positioned his leg so that his booted foot rested between Tyler‘s legs on the bench. He pressed the sole of his boot lightly against Tyler‘s bulge.
Hey! Tyler said, his eyes skittering from side to side at the people nearby. No one was close enough to overhear them, or really see what was going on beneath the table, but Clint could sense Tyler‘s sudden panic.
He offered a slow smile. Tyler started to pull back, but Clint‘s words stopped him. You stay put, boy. I‘m just restin‘ my bum leg. He pressed harder, the point of his boot digging into Tyler‘s crotch. A flush had started up Tyler‘s cheeks and his hands were clenched in fists on the table, but he didn‘t move.
He glanced around, swiveling his head as he swallowed nervously. Focus on me, Clint admonished gently. Only on me. Forget about them other folk. They don‘t exist. Tyler turned his head back toward Clint. His eyes were wide, the pupils dilated and he‘d caught his lower lip between his teeth. Clint could feel Tyler‘s agitation, and his excitement.
I want you hard, Clint told him. Is your cock hard, boy?
Tyler nodded, swallowing again.
Speak up, boy. I didn‘t hear you. Clint pressed harder against Tyler‘s crotch. Tyler winced but didn‘t pull away.
Yeah, Tyler managed.
Clint nodded. He kept his foot there, watching the conflict of emotions move over Tyler‘s face. He both liked and didn‘t like what Clint
was doing to him. The fact he was staying put said more than any protests could have.
Satisfied, Clint let his leg fall. He stood, grabbing their trash and the empty soda bottles. Let‘s go.
I can‘t. Not quite yet.
Clint suppressed a smile, pretending he didn‘t understand. Sure you can. Just stand up and walk. Easy as pie.
Tyler‘s flush darkened. I can‘t. Folks will see…
Clint laughed, a small, low growl of mirth. You think too much of yourself, boy. Ain‘t nobody lookin‘ at you but me. And I like what I see. Very much. So move that hot ass of yours to the truck. Now. He added steel to his tone, the same steel he used when admonishing some lazy ranch hand.
Tyler stood, the bulge at his crotch leaving no doubt as to his state of arousal. They walked toward the truck, Clint taking his time, Tyler moving quickly in front of him. Once back in the cab, Clint started the engine and eased the truck out of its parking spot in front of the restrooms. Instead of driving back out onto the highway, he rolled the truck down to the back of the rest area, parking it beside a clump of bushes, partially obscured by two large dumpsters. They were mostly hidden from view, though it was still public enough to add a hint of danger to what Clint had in mind.
Why‘re we parking here? Tyler asked, glancing nervously around them.
Clint didn‘t answer. He reached into the cooler and pulled out an icy cold bottle of Dr. Pepper. Idling the engine, he turned to face Tyler. Open your zipper and pull out that hard cock for me.
Tyler hesitated, licking his lips.
Go on, Clint urged. Do what I tell you.
He waited for the protest, but was pleased when, instead, Tyler shifted, lifting his hips as he unzipped his jeans. He reached into the fly of his underwear and pulled out the rigid shaft, glancing nervously out the windows.
Someone‘s gonna see, he murmured anxiously.
You let me worry about that. You just look at me and do what I say. Tyler was breathing a little too fast and again his lower lip was caught between his teeth, but he didn‘t argue. He locked eyes with Clint. Clint could feel his fire, which matched Clint‘s own.
Sit on your hands, Clint ordered. And keep em there, no matter what I do. You hear?
Tyler nodded, sliding his hands beneath his thighs, his cock bobbing at his groin. Clint reached for him, pressing his fingers in past the cotton of Tyler‘s underwear. He cupped and gently yanked Tyler‘s balls out of his underwear.
Jesus, Clint, Tyler groaned. Someone‘s gonna see.
Shh, Clint replied. He fondled Tyler‘s balls and cock, his own cock pressing hard against his jeans. Close your eyes.
Tyler waited a beat before obeying, but then his eyes fluttered shut, thick golden lashes shadowing his cheekbones. Taking the cold bottle of soda, Clint pressed it against Tyler‘s cock and balls.
Tyler gasped, his eyes flying open. What the fuck…? His protest was belied by the fact that he stayed in position, hands firmly beneath his legs. The state of his cock was telling as well, still hard as bone.
Take it for me, boy. It‘s what I want. Sufferin‘ is good for the soul. Suffer for me. Tyler shuddered as Clint moved the cold glass over his cock and balls, but still he stayed in position.
Clint moved the bottle away, reaching for Tyler‘s shaft with his hand. He gripped it and pulled upward, drawing a groan from Tyler‘s lips. He played with Tyler‘s cock, alternating between the cold bottle and the hot, tight grip of his hand. Pushing the cooler lid aside, he grabbed a handful of ice and held it for several seconds before dropping it. When he cupped Tyler‘s balls with his freezing fingers, Tyler winced and drew in a sharp breath, jerking upright.
Clint kept his icy fingers on Tyler‘s balls while he stroked him with the other hand until Tyler fell back limp against the seat, his breathing ragged, his chest heaving. I want you to come for me, Clint told him. Somebody might come by. Somebody might see you. That don‘t matter a lick, you hear? You‘re gonna come for me because that‘s what I want, and more important, it‘s what you want. You showed me last night with your actions that you were born to serve, no matter how much you tried to deny it with your words, and now I‘m goin‘ to prove it to you.
Clint pulled his hand away long enough to spit on his fingers and reached again for Tyler‘s shaft, gliding up and down with a firm, steady stroke. Tyler responded with muffled grunts and sighs, arching his body toward Clint‘s hand, his own hands still pinned beneath him. Jesus, Clint, he murmured. I‘m gonna come.
Good. That‘s what I want, Clint answered. Clint placed the still cold glass bottle against Tyler‘s balls as he continued to stroke his cock.
Tyler gasped and shuddered, his eyes opening as he turned to face Clint with a pleading expression. I can‘t, Tyler groaned, shrinking back from the cold glass. Not with that on me.
Do it, Clint commanded. Keeping the bottle in place, Clint jerked steadily at Tyler‘s cock. He knew the combination of heat, friction, cold and wet, along with the sensual overlay of his dominating words, would soon overload Ty‘s senses and send him over the edge. Work through the discomfort. Focus on the orgasm. Come in spite of the cold. Come because I want you to.
Tyler‘s eyes slid shut again, his head falling back as his lips parted. He was panting, his body tensing. A man was approaching the area from a distance, a large trash bag in his hands, no doubt heading for the dumpsters.
Come for me, boy, Clint urged. Now.
Tyler arched forward with a small cry, his body spasming as ribbons of creamy white cum splattered the dash board. Clint waited as long as he dared, savoring the sight of the spent, sexy man beside him, his chest heaving, his cock dripping with cum. Clint was aching to fuck him. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to flip Tyler over, right there on the cab seat, and use him until his own need was satisfied.
The man was nearly upon them. Though Clint knew the added dash of danger that they might be witnessed had contributed to the intensity of the little scene they‘d just played out, he would never knowingly subject his sub to danger of any kind. Forcing down his raw lust, he cleared his throat. Better rope that stallion back into the corral, boy. We got company.
Chapter 4
By the time they arrived at Lucky Harding‘s place, the sky had opened, the fat, heavy clouds giving up their loads with cracking thunder and streaks of lightening against the gunmetal sky.
After a dash from the truck to the front door, Clint and Tyler stood on the ranch house porch, waiting for the door to open. Though it was only going on five o‘clock, the sky was dark, vividly illuminated by a flash of lightning that preceded a rejoining boom of thunder.
Clint had told Tyler he‘d met Lucky Harding over the years at various state fairs and bull breeding events. The Harding Ranch was regarded as one of the premier breeders in West Texas, on par with the Ransom Ranch.
They‘re like us, with prize semen that‘s a whole lot more valuable than the stuff Blake lost. I was hopin‘ to get a look around the place and see if we can‘t come up with some clues. But ain‘t no way we‘re goin‘ to do any investigatin‘ in this downpour.
The door finally opened, a small, plump woman with silver hair pulled back in a bun and rosy cheeks smiling up in confusion at them. Can I help you boys? Behind her they could hear shouts and laughter of children and the thumping of feet.
Ma‘am, I‘m Clint Darrow, from the Ransom Ranch, and this is my friend, Tyler Sutton. He waved his dripping cowboy hat toward Tyler. I spoke with Lucky this mornin‘ about stoppin‘ by. You must be Mrs. Harding?
The woman nodded. Please, call me Mabel. Lucky did mention that phone call but I guess he forgot all about it. She peered up at Clint. You‘re the cowboy poet, ain‘t that right? I saw you last year at the rodeo. You got a right pretty way of spinnin‘ words.
Thank you, ma‘am. Much obliged for the compliment. Clint ducked his head modestly. Did Lucky happen to mention anything about some missin‘ bull semen tanks?
He sure did. He said a number of places h
ave been hit in the area. She shook her head. Ain‘t it a shame what the world‘s comin‘ to? We never had anything like this happen before. I can‘t imagine who would have done such a thing. She clucked disapprovingly, then added. I‘m right sorry, Clint, but Lucky‘s not here right now. He and the boys decided to get an early start, before the bad weather hit. They went to pick up a prize bull across the border. He won‘t be back till morning.
There were sudden childish shrieks behind Mabel, and the sound of china crashing to the ground. She spun around, crying, Jacob Aaron, Brendan Robert! What‘s got into you boys? Sit down at the table right this second before I tan both your hides. The sound of a baby wailing somewhere in the distance added to the cacophony.
She turned back toward the men, her expression harried and apologetic. Come on in out of the rain, she said. I got my hands full with my grandkids—they‘re visitin‘ for the week and between you, me and the wall, I‘ve had about all I can take. There was another crash and the woman hurried away, calling behind her that she‘d be right back.
Clint turned to Tyler. Oh well, he grinned. Guess we‘ll have to head on into town and see if we can‘t find a place to stay for the night. Nothin‘ we could do around here today anyway, not in this weather. That suit you?
Tyler felt Clint‘s gaze moving over him, raking his body as if Tyler were buck naked in front of him, the look in his eyes that of a hungry wolf. Tyler‘s cock responded and he half-turned away, willing his erection to subside before Mabel returned to the front hall.
She came back a moment later, holding a fat baby on her hip. The child‘s face was still tear-streaked, though she seemed content enough for the moment, sucking loudly on a pacifier, her dimpled fingers curled tight around a bit of pink blanket.
Just then a peal of thunder cracked so close the house actually shook. The baby‘s eyes opened in startled surprised, the pacifier falling from her mouth as she began to howl. Tyler bent and retrieved the pacifier, wiping it on his jeans before handing it to the grandmother, who gave it another wipe on her apron before trying to reinsert it into the crying child‘s mouth. The baby twisted her head away, her face scrunched and reddening.
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