Dreamspinner Press Year Six Greatest Hits

by JD Ruskin

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “I’ll watch for ya.”

  He hung up and I did too.

  After stepping from the phone booth, I walked back over to one of the benches. It was out of the rain under the overhang, and I took a seat. I pulled the gray straw cowboy hat down low over my eyes, and flipped the collar up on my shearling-lined denim jacket. I would definitely need something heavier for Alaska and had been thinking of stopping in Oregon and working for a couple of weeks to pack away at least a thousand dollars in cash for essentials. I needed boots for the snow as well as a parka and gloves. I had to figure out the timing of everything as I needed to be to Aidan’s brother’s place before Christmas. I had two weeks to get there, and as I thought about it more, I realized that I would probably only be able to stay one night with Cyrus, two at the very most. It made no sense to stop, but the desire to see the man’s face had outweighed everything else. If I could, whenever I could, I had to see him. There was never a question.

  Chapter Two

  I SAW the familiar sleek, black four-door BMW roll up, and I waved as he got out of the car and came around the front to step up on the curb to reach me. Watching him stride toward me took my breath away. He looked like he belonged in a fashion magazine, he was so perfect. The short, thick chestnut hair was styled back from his face, the cashmere and wool topcoat accentuated the breadth of his shoulders, and the heavy wool scarf was wrapped once around his neck and hung down between the lapels of the expensive piece of outerwear. The sweater and jeans underneath, the polished boots, he was a vision, and he was intent on reaching me. In contrast, I looked like some homeless guy he was going to give some loose change to.

  It felt like I’d made a mistake, and I was embarrassed of how I looked, how I smelled, and I knew in that second that I shouldn’t have called.

  “Web,” he cried out.

  Until he called my name.

  Nothing mattered after that.

  I dropped my hiking backpack and lifted my arms to him, for him, waiting.

  He rushed forward and lunged at me, hitting my chest hard, face pressed to the side of my neck as he wrapped me up so tight.

  “Why’re you shaking?” I asked into his hair, squeezing him, loving the feel of the hard body plastered to mine, his lips opening on my throat.

  “Because I missed you, idiot.” He clutched at me, lifting his head to meet my gaze. “Can you get in the car so I can kiss you?”

  “Why, yessir,” I assured him.

  He stepped back, took off one of his leather gloves, grabbed my hand, and laced his fingers into mine. I had no idea how cold my hands were until he touched me.

  At the car, he let go of me, and I tossed my pack in the back seat as he got in and then climbed into the passenger seat. It smelled like leather inside and was, of course, immaculate.

  “Nice,” I complimented him as I let the warm air wrap around me.

  He hit the lock on the door, making escape impossible, and I turned to give him a grin over the transparent action.

  When I saw his chin quiver, I reached for him.

  My fingers wrapped gently around his throat. My thumb smoothed over his jaw as I leaned him toward me. “Lemme take a long hot shower when I get to your place, okay? Then once I’m clean, I can get in your bed.”

  He squinted fast, and I could tell he was on the verge of tears.

  “Since when do you cry for me?” I teased him, trying to jolt him out of his mood.

  “Since I never thought I’d see you again.”

  “That’ll never happen,” I assured him. “And when I finally find a home, maybe you would even consider coming to see me.”

  “Or maybe you could just stay here.”

  “Cy, don’t—”

  “Stop,” he barked at me, hands on my face, drawing me forward, leaning in at the same time so that we met in a rough kiss, hard and furious, the action filled with how much he had missed me.

  I felt the same. Whenever we were separated, I ached for him.

  His lips parted instantly for my tongue, and I reacquainted myself with his hot mouth, savoring his presence, intoxicated with him that fast.

  He crawled over the console between us and was in my lap, all six feet one of him, twisting, turning, straddling my hips, shoving his hard groin into my abdomen. I was grinding my own painful erection along his crease as his breath got choppy. There were hands fumbling fast, tongues tangling, my long deep moan and the answering tightness in him. It felt so good the way he clutched at me, bit my bottom lip and pressed his chest to mine.

  “Missed you,” he choked out. “Always.”

  I reached up, my hands on his face leaning him back, gazing up at him. “Me too. Take me home before I fuck you in the car.”

  His eyes were slits of need, and when I lifted up, a low, sexy sound, a purring growl, rose out of him. “The car sounds fine.”

  I arched an eyebrow for him. “Does it, Dr. Benning?” I teased him, enunciating his title. “And do you think we’d make the society page?”

  “Leave it to you to be the one thinking of my career at a time like this.”

  I laughed, grabbing him tight, crushing him to me and letting out a deep breath as I did it.

  “How long can you stay?”

  “Couple days,” I said, closing my eyes, the warmth of his body, how hard he was hugging me back, and his breath down the side of my neck making me want to remain there and never move. “God, I love holdin’ you.”

  He didn’t say anything, just squeezed me back.

  HE WAS quiet on the ride to Potrero Hill, where he lived. I loved his house and his sleepy neighborhood, which was far enough out to be away from the hustle and bustle of downtown San Francisco but still close to the hospital where he worked. I always enjoyed my visits to him, sporadic though they were, over the past three years.

  As we sat in silence, the rain hitting the windshield the only noise there was, I reached for his hand.

  “Don’t you wanna talk to me none?” I asked him, lacing my fingers into his as I rested our clasped hands on my thigh.

  “No, Web,” he said, his voice gravelly. “I want to drug you and keep you locked in my bedroom for the rest of your life, that’s what I want.”

  I chuckled. “You’d get sick of me right quick if I was here all the time.”

  He shook his head. “That’s the part you don’t get—I could never tire of you.”

  I scoffed at him as he turned onto his street. “You don’t know from— Who’s that in your driveway?”

  “What?”

  “Look.”

  As he turned in, hitting the electric garage door opener, we both saw the light go on in the monster SUV as a woman got out of the driver’s side and the two back doors were thrown open. I saw the three kids get out, like steps from biggest to smallest, and all dash into the garage to get out of the rain as the door slowly rose. Cy pulled in and parked, and we both got out as the woman came toward him.

  “Cy,” she gasped, and I could tell two things just from glancing at her. First, that she’d been crying, and second, that she was Cyrus’s sister.

  She looked like her brother—same delicate, fragile, sharply cut features; thick, wavy chestnut brown hair; bottomless gold-brown eyes fringed in long curling lashes; and golden skin. Because she looked like him, I felt that immediate kinship.

  “Oh.” She sucked in her breath when she saw me. “I didn’t know you had comp—”

  “Are you a cowboy,” the smallest boy asked me, head tilted all the way back as he looked up at me.

  I knelt down on one knee in front of him, tipping my own hat back, taking in the red felt one he was wearing, the boots he had on along with his flannel pajamas, and the rope he was carrying. “I am. And I see you are as well.”

  He nodded, lifting his boot for me. “I don’t have spurs, though.”

  “You don’t need none,” I assured him seriously. “Real cowboys can guide their horses with just the pressure from their
legs and thighs. Cowboys only wear spurs in the movies.”

  His eyes lit up as he walked forward, hand on my thigh as he looked into my face. “Really?”

  “Oh, yessir.”

  “You ever go to a rodeo?” The oldest asked, moving closer as the middle one, who was just staring at me, edged in.

  “Yessir,” I told him. “I’m a bull rider. You?”

  “Me?” he said like I was stupid. “I’m not old enough to be in a rodeo.”

  I nodded. “How old are you?”

  The middle one reached out and touched the brim of my hat as the oldest ran his eyes all over me before answering.

  “I’m eight.”

  “Oh,” I shrugged. “Yeah you’re right, I didn’t do no barrel racin’ until I was ten.”

  “I’ve seen the barrel racing on TV. You did that when you were ten?”

  “Yep. My brother had a beautiful quarter horse named Dave, and he let me ride him.”

  “Dave’s a weird name for a horse.”

  “Don’t I know it, but you couldn’t tell that to Spencer.”

  “Who’s Spencer?”

  “My brother.”

  “So your brother named his horse Dave.”

  “Yessir, he did, and the rest of us just had to just go along with it.”

  “Where’s your brother now?”

  “He died in the war,” I told him. “Over there in Iraq.”

  “We learned about the war at school.”

  I smiled at him.

  “My name’s Tristan,” he told me, “but you can call me Tris.”

  “Well it’s good to meet you, Tris,” I said, offering him my hand. “I’m Weber Yates.”

  He took my hand and shook it.

  “I’m Pip,” the little one said, putting out his hand too, the other sliding over the top of my thigh, petting me, though it was doubtful he was even paying attention to what he was doing.

  “His name’s Phillip,” Tristan told me. “He just has trouble saying his name.”

  I nodded, taking the sticky little hand in mine before I turned my head to the little boy now leaning against me. “And who is this?”

  “That’s Micah. He doesn’t talk anymore. He used to, but he stopped.”

  Tristan and Phillip had dark midnight-blue eyes, deep cobalt. Micah’s eyes were lighter, brighter, almost the color of the bluebonnets I had grown up with in Texas. They were all three as cute as they could be.

  “You don’t never talk?” I asked Micah.

  He shook his head.

  “Well, that’s all right, talkin’s overrated anyhow. You hungry?”

  He nodded and put an arm around my neck, leaning heavily.

  I looked up at Cyrus and his sister then, and to my surprise, they both looked sort of startled and at a loss. “Sorry, I got caught up,” I apologized, rising, bringing Micah up with me since it seemed like that was what he wanted. “My name’s Weber Yates, ma’am,” I said, touching the brim of my hat. “It’s nice to meet you and your boys.”

  Her mouth was open, but no sound came out. She was staring at me and then Micah and then back to me.

  “Web, this is my sister, Carolyn Easton. Lyn, this is Weber, that I told you about.”

  She was nodding. “Oh, yes, the cowboy.”

  “Yes.”

  “Can we feed y’all?” I asked her. “Would that be all right?”

  “That would be fine,” she told me, her voice dropping out on her. “But, uhm, they don’t eat anything. They’re the worst eaters ever.”

  “Yeah, but,” I began, turning to Micah so we were staring at each other’s faces from very close proximity. “Cowboys always eat breakfast. Y’all will eat that, right? Some pancakes and eggs and bacon and such?”

  He nodded.

  “I will,” Tristan told me.

  “Pancakes!” Phillip yelled loudly.

  “I can make that,” I told Cyrus, turning to look at him.

  “I’ll make it,” he assured me. “You need to take a shower and get out of your wet clothes before you catch pneumonia.”

  I smiled at him because the man never stopped worrying.

  “And you need to just sit down and relax.”

  “Well, maybe just a quick shower, and then the boys can show me how your game thing works that you got last time I was here.”

  “The Wii.” He chuckled.

  “Yeah, that,” I told him as Micah started fiddling with the collar of my jacket and Phillip slipped his hand into mine.

  “That sounds good.” He smiled at me, and I saw his eyes were filling suddenly.

  “Looks like you had a long day yourself.” I smiled at him, leaning forward to kiss his forehead.

  “Oh!” Tristan gasped. “You kissed Uncle Cyrus.”

  I looked down at him. “I did. But that don’t bother you none, does it?”

  He thought about it a minute. “No. Josie Dole has two moms. She’s in the same class as me, and Jake Finnegan, he has two dads, but he’s in Mr. Wong’s class.”

  “Well see there, you know all about this sort of thing since you’re a man of the world.”

  “You think I’m a man?”

  “You’re eight, ain’t ya?” I squinted at him.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Well then.”

  He nodded fast, smiling big.

  I looked back at their mother. “I reckon we’re ready to go in. Cy, will you grab my pack?”

  “Course.” He sucked in a breath. “Everybody in.”

  The house was huge. He had 7400 square feet: five bedrooms, four bathrooms in a house that looked more like it belonged on the edge of the ocean than on the end of the street. I always thought beach house when I was in it, from how light and airy it felt inside. But even though it was huge, the views of the city out of the enormous windows, along with the masculine feel of the house, never failed to make me feel welcome. As much as it made no sense, as much as I could never stay (there was no need for cowboys in San Francisco), it felt like home every time I walked through the front door. It smelled good too. Between the leather furniture and polished wood floors, I felt the calm sink into me like it never failed to.

  I put Micah down on the couch and smiled at all three boys. “Y’all, I have to shower, but you get the machine there warmed up and I’ll be back out to sit with ya. Your uncle said he’d cook, so we all need to thank him.”

  And the two boys did with Micah looking over at him.

  “Thanks, guys.” Cyrus smiled at them and then looked at Micah. “And I heard you, okay?”

  Micah nodded and then looked back up at me.

  “Be right back,” I told him before I walked toward the hall that led to the bedrooms, stopping only to bend and grab my pack.

  I walked to Cyrus’s bedroom, put the pack on the floor, and was shedding articles of clothing on my way to the shower, starting with my boots. Under the hot spray minutes later, I heard the snick of the door before I turned my head and smiled at my host.

  “You can’t come in.” I chuckled. “Go make breakfast for them boys.”

  “Jesus, Weber.” He scowled at me, looking me over. “You’re skin and bones.”

  I glared back. “I don’t think so.” I turned so he could see my chest. “Put your hands on me. I’m all muscle.”

  “You’re six three. You should weigh at least a hundred and ninety to two hundred pounds. What do you weigh now, like one seventy?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Well you need to eat, a lot. And… come here.”

  I moved so he could touch me and smiled as I saw him wince looking at the fresh bruises I was sporting, the new scar that ran down the side of my ribs on the left side, and the healing gash that was now soft pink skin bisecting my right pectoral.

  He shivered.

  “Bull almost had me,” I teased him, waggling my eyebrows at him.

  “You think it’s funny?”

  From the stricken look on his face, I was guessing not. “Cy—”

&nb
sp; “Shut up.”

  I didn’t know whether to go back to soaping my body or just continue to stand there.

  “God, look at you,” he groaned after a second.

  I grunted. “Not pretty enough to fuck, huh? Freckles and moles and white pasty skin don’t do it for you no more?”

  His eyes finally lifted to mine. “You’re such an idiot. Don’t you know I love all your freckles, and your body is beautiful and powerful and… I just want to be under you right now.”

  “Well unfortunately”—I grinned—“we’re gonna have to wait on that, darlin’.”

  His sigh was loud and deep like he just didn’t know what to do with me.

  “I, uhm, don’t have nothin’ clean to wear. I don’t suppose you have—”

  “I have the sweats I bought the last time you were here and the long-sleeved T-shirts you like to sleep in. Just let me find them.”

  “You didn’t throw them out?”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “I’m glad.” I smiled at him. “Now close the door, ’cause I’m freezin’, and go find out what the hell is wrong with your sister.”

  But he didn’t move.

  “You all right?”

  “You cut your hair.”

  I had chopped it off ages ago and now made sure to keep it short. “It’s too much trouble to take care of long hair on the road.”

  “It looks darker.”

  “Still just plain old red.” I smiled at him. “Like it’s always been.”

  “Nothing plain about you,” he said, leaning forward.

  I met him halfway, the kiss soft but firm, sucking his bottom lip into my mouth for just a moment.

  “I love that you kissed me in front of the kids,” he told me.

  “Course.”

  “Course,” he repeated, before he turned and left me.

  Sometimes the man was just so odd.

  When I got out, my pack was empty, the clothes all gone, and my wallet was on the nightstand on what was my side of the bed (closest to the door) whenever I was there. I found sweats, thick, heavy crew socks, and a long-sleeved T-shirt on the bed waiting for me. After I dried myself off, I pulled it all on and walked back out to the kitchen.

  “Weber!” Phillip—Pip—yelled, flying at me going full speed and leaping at the last minute.