Love in Xxchange: Miles to Go

by Bailey Bradford

“Got us a booth,” Bo said, doing something with his eyes that made Max think the guy had a couple of eyelashes floating around in them. “I hope that’s okay?”

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  Max grunted an assent then followed Bo over to the booth. His gaze drifted over Bo’s lean form as Max wondered what it was that made Bo so…so… Bo.

  “Didn’t know if you’d want tea or beer so I didn’t order you a drink.” Bo slid into the booth and looked up at Max. There was something in his hazel eyes, a question or doubt, Max wasn’t sure but it didn’t look right in those big eyes. “You drank some of both when we played cards and, well, I didn’t know how long it’d take you to get here.”

  The smile on Bo’s faced dimmed slightly as Max remained silent. He wasn’t trying to be an ass, he was simply attempting to work out what was going on with Bo. Which was a waste of time, because he’d only met the man once and didn’t know him, not really.

  “Actually,” Bo frowned and flicked a glance at the table before looking back at Max while he slid into his seat. Bo folded his hands together on top of the faded red tablecloth.

  Max noticed the white tint to the man’s knuckles. Was Bo nervous? “I wasn’t certain you’d show up.”

  The fluttering in his stomach had to be due to lack of food, Max decided. And as for the way his heart pinched, well of course he felt bad for worrying Bo. Max didn’t like to hurt people, not that he thought he had the power to hurt Bo, but still. He tried his easy smile and was relieved when Bo answered with a rather tremulous grin. At least it was better than a frown.

  Max plucked off his cowboy hat and set it beside him. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back as he politely set Bo straight. “‘Course I came. I wouldn’t have said I’d be here then not show up.” Actually, it kind of irritated him that Bo would think so little of him.

  They’d spent hours talking and playing cards— but that doesn’t mean Bo knows me any more than I know him. “Besides, you said chicken fried steak. Those are magic words to a hungry cowboy.”

  Bo’s lips tipped up more, setting off dimples in his cheeks Max didn’t recall seeing before. “Ah, got it. If I want to spend some time with a friend who happens to be a cowboy, all I have to do is mention chicken fried steak. Shame I didn’t learn that sooner.”

  The waitress appeared before Max could think of a witty reply, which was good

  because his brain seemed to have shut off as soon as he saw those dimples. Why, he hadn’t a clue, but he felt warmer, too. Maybe the restaurant had the heat running, although he didn’t think that was necessary considering he hadn’t even needed a jacket this evening. He glanced up and spotted a vent but didn’t feel any heated air coming from it. Probably it was on a MILES TO GO

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  timer or something then, though he couldn’t recall feeling a warm draught at all. He’d just sort of heated up from the inside out, but that didn’t make any sense. It must have had something to do with being middle-aged.

  They placed their orders, waving away the menus beforehand. Max fiddled with his napkin as he waited for his glass of sweet tea to be brought out. His throat was unaccountably dry considering he didn’t feel thirsty.

  Bo propped his elbows on the table, his eyes widening when it wobbled under his

  weight. He jiggled it as if making sure the table would hold then shrugged. “So, Max, have you had any wild and exciting adventures since the last time I saw you?”

  Max nearly snorted at that, which would have made a hell of a mess considering he’d just started to take a big gulp of his tea. Obviously Bo didn’t know him at all if he thought Max ever did anything that could be described as wild or adventurous.

  Max swallowed his drink, his eyes watering when he tried not to cough as an ice cube slid right on down his throat with the sweet liquid. It was no use, and he slapped a hand to his mouth as he hacked and spluttered. Bo’s eyes lit up, the laughter starting there before it spilled from his lips.

  “Sorry.”

  He didn’t sound sorry to Max. Max’s cheeks burned as one of his worst fears came true.

  Bo’s laughter drew the attention of the other diners, and Max wanted to melt right into the vinyl bench. Shit like this was why he didn’t want to go out much in public. He hated being the cause for other people’s amusement. Max had learned at an early age that being mocked and snickered at hurt like hundreds of tiny barbed hooks burying into his heart.

  His hand trembled as he carefully set the glass down. Spilling his tea would just add more fuel to the fire of his personal hell. The best he could hope for now was a dignified exit.

  Max reached for his hat even as he started scooting towards the edge of the booth, keeping his gaze averted from Bo. He muttered something about needed to go home, or at least he hoped that’s what he said. In truth, his heart was pounding so fast he could hear it clear up to his head, making him deaf to everything but the sound of his impending panic ringing in his ears. He absolutely refused to look across the table.

  Which was why he didn’t see Bo move until the man was right there, blocking his exit, making it impossible for Max to stand. Max’s jaw dropped open when he looked up at Bo, then nearly hit the floor when the blond started to sit. Max didn’t have any choice but to slide MILES TO GO

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  back over to the far side of the bench, pressing his shoulder against the wall there, or he’d have himself a lap full of Bo. He managed to plop his hat on the table and cringed inwardly.

  His momma would have walloped his ass for that.

  Max fingered the brim for a minute, trying to smother his embarrassment. His cheeks were so hot they stung, but he forced himself to cock his head and look at Bo out of the corner of his eye. “I should go.” Before he did anything else that got him laughed at.

  Bo shook his head. He leaned over, his shoulder brushing Max’s, and lifted the hat off the table. A slight snap of his wrist sent the Stetson over the table and onto the seat Bo had been occupying seconds before. Bo sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Defensive body language. Max had read that in one of those crime books he’d bought at the grocery store. But what does Bo have to be defensive about? Maybe that was a load of horse shit.

  Maybe it doesn’t mean anything except he wanted to cross his arms. But when Max turned his head further to see Bo better, there was that same doubtful expression on the blond’s face, along with what Max thought was guilt. Bo’s next words confirmed it.

  “I’m sorry, Max. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to leave. I-I didn’t know it’d upset you if I laughed.” Bo nibbled his lower lip for a second, leaving the flesh a deeper rose colour when he released it. “I honestly thought you’d laugh, too. I’m sorry.”

  Some of the tightness in Max’s chest eased even as he acknowledged to himself that a normal person wouldn’t have got all butt hurt over something so stupid. It was just more proof that he was a total mess when it came to being like everyone else.

  Bo nudged him and looked increasingly worried. “You know, that whole ‘laugh and the world laughs with you’ thing? I wasn’t laughing at you, I was laughing with you. Come on,”

  Bo pleaded softly in a voice that seemed to feather over Max’s skin. “Help me out here, Max.

  I didn’t mean to screw up. I-I was hoping we could be friends. I guess after that night we played cards and got on so well, I thought, maybe…”

  Well now I feel like a complete jerk. Max finally unstuck his tongue from the roof of his dry mouth long enough to lick at his equally dry lips. He was kind of afraid to try drinking his tea again. His voice scraped past parched tissue and sounded squeakier than he would have liked, but at least he finally got the words out.

  “It’s fine. I just…” Max lifted his head a little and peered around the room, unable to keep looking into Bo’s intense eyes. “I get nervous, don’t feel
comfortable around many people.” Max gave in and picked up the glass, slick with moisture. He concentrated on not MILES TO GO

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  dropping it while he took another sip, this time barely parting his lips to keep from choking on another ice cube.

  It almost didn’t matter. He could feel Bo watching him. Max cut the man a glance as he swallowed and nearly spluttered all over again when Bo licked his lips. Unless Max was wrong, Bo was watching his throat as Max drank. He forced the sweet liquid down and kept his eyes on Bo in what he hoped was a discreet manner. Max took another swallow. Bo’s gaze seemed to follow the liquid’s path right down Max’s throat, which was weird, and a little unsettling. Maybe Bo’s just really thirsty, too.

  If Max’s hand shook a bit when he set his glass back down, he figured it was from nerves. He was still concerned about doing something foolish. It had nothing to do with the way Bo’s cheeks had pinked or the strange light in his eyes that made it look like Bo glowed from the inside out.

  Thirsty, Max thought, and he reached across the table for Bo’s sweaty glass of tea.

  Instead of picking it up, Max slid it over until it bumped Bo’s fingertips. Bo blinked and shook his head then turned away to grab his drink.

  “Thanks,” Bo murmured.

  Max nodded. The man obviously needed to whet his whistle. “It’s good tea, not too sweet.” And could he get more pathetic, talking about tea instead of something a little more interesting? Max racked his brain and finally found something not so asinine to talk about.

  “So, what have you been up to? You on your way home?”

  What tension had remained in Max slowly bled out as he sat back and listened to Bo talk. The man sure could chatter, which Max was glad of since it saved him from having to try to do much talking.

  After they finished their dinner and were waiting for the waitress to bring them their slices of pecan pie, Bo leant back and rubbed his stomach. He’d moved back across the table shortly before their chicken fried steaks had arrived, and now Max found himself watching for the reappearance of Bo’s hand as he made slow circles over his belly.

  What with the table in the way, Max could only catch sight of part of that hand, and it didn’t occur to him until he started to lean over a bit, to question why he was so fascinated by what Bo was doing. What was wrong with him? Max pressed his shoulders against the back of the seat. Bo would think he was some kind of weirdo if he kept it up. And he really needed to tune in to what Bo was saying, something about going to a club—

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  “…but if you can take a couple of days off, you could drive to San Antonio and we can hang out. I’ll take you down to the River Walk, every tourist has to go there. There’s this great chocolate store there, they have the best toffee and these caramel apples that are bigger than my fist.” Bo held up one clenched hand and waved it around. The man looked so happy and hopeful, but Max shook his head.

  “I can’t, Bo. We got a couple mares ready to deliver any time now, I’m sorry.” Max was, but he was also relieved to have a legitimate excuse for saying no. As foreman at the Galloway Ranch, it was his responsibility to make sure the births went smoothly, and even though the vet was on call if she was needed, Max just didn’t want to risk not being there when those foals were born. Seeing those little babies stand up on their wobbly legs was one of the best things Max ever got to experience. And yeah, it got him out of having to leave his comfort zone, but that really was secondary in this case.

  Bo seemed to lose some of that sparkle even as he nodded and dropped his hand back to the table. “Yeah, I understand. Maybe another time then.” He didn’t look like he was holding out much hope for it though, and Max just wasn’t up to offering him any. Luckily the waitress arrived with their pie then and the subject was dropped as the two men enjoyed their dessert.

  Later that night, as Max laid in bed, he kept puzzling over the way Bo had seemed so disappointed when Max had said he couldn’t go to San Antonio. That bothered him almost as much as the way he’d been so fascinated with Bo rubbing his stomach. Max huffed and rolled onto his back. Behind his closed lids, Max kept seeing that hand caressing Bo’s shirt, pressing lightly to rub against the muscles underneath.

  Without really thinking about it, he brought his hand up and mimicked the movement.

  He guessed it felt okay, but probably not the same as if he’d been doing it to Bo, or if it’d been Bo’s hand touching him—Max’s eyes snapped open at the shocking thought. It wasn’t the idea of a man touching him that shocked him, Max’s reaction would have been the same if Bo was a woman—which kind of didn’t make sense, but the fact was, he’d never really thought about anyone touching him like that, not for a long, long time. And he didn’t quite know what to make of it now that he had.

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  Max was in the barn the next morning when he heard the arguing. Already exhausted from another sleepless night, he tried to ignore the squabbling, because siblings argued, didn’t they? But Rory and Annabelle weren’t getting any quieter, their voices rising and anger edging each word they spewed at each other. It made Max’s stomach roil and his chest tighten, and his fight or flight instincts were trying their best to take over.

  A particularly loud shout from Annabelle made Max’s head spin with memories, and his hands tightened on the pitchfork until his grip caused pain to shoot up his forearms. He wanted to run and hide, and therefore, he wouldn’t, though he just might go snap some sense into those two kids.

  Setting the pitchfork down carefully, Max took a deep breath and forced himself to relax, pushing away the unpleasant memories that seemed more determined lately to rise to the surface. He pasted a smile on his face and stepped out of the barn, intending to put an end to the bickering. A big hand clamping down on his shoulder nearly made him squeak, and Max glanced behind him to find Chance shaking his head at him.

  “They’ll work it out,” Chance murmured, nodding at Rory and Annabelle.

  Max looked at the two siblings, who were flapping their hands in the air as if to emphasise that their opinion was the right one. “The hell they going on about?”

  Chance squeezed his shoulder then patted it before removing his hand. “Well…”

  Something about the man’s hesitation had Max slowly turning to face him. “Well,

  what?”

  Chance glanced at the scene the two younger people were putting on, grimacing when Annabelle’s loud refusal to cave in to her brother’s demands punctuated the air. “It seems that Annabelle doesn’t feel right about staying in the house any longer—with us.”

  That would explain the comment—the loud comment—that Max had heard moments

  ago. Annabelle had proclaimed that she was perfectly capable of making her own decisions about where to stay, and Max had wondered what the hell she was talking about. Now he knew, sort of. Then he wondered why.

  “She got a problem with you and Rory?” Max glanced at Annabelle, trying to envision that. She’d seemed more than happy about her brother’s choice of a partner when she’d arrived, and the same at the few dinners Max had attended up at the big house.

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  “Nah, nothing like that,” Chance assured him. “She just thinks that if she’s going to be working here, she should be treated like any other employee when it comes to her living quarters. Any other employee being you, of course.”

  Max thought it might be more than that, like maybe Annabelle didn’t want to impose on her brother and Chance’s privacy, but he wasn’t going to butt in here. Then it dawned on him where she’d be staying.

  “You’re gonna put a woman in the bunkhouse with me?” Max burst out before

  thinking. The unwanted image of Gloria Steinem driving a spike through his balls flashed through his head and he cringed.
“I don’t mean it bad, just…” He couldn’t figure out a good way to finish that sentence, so he shut up.

  Chance snickered and slapped him on the back. “I know what you mean, it isn’t

  something that you’ve ever had happen to you, but neither is working for a gay man and his partner, is it? I’d think a woman in the bunkhouse would be easier to accept…” Chance paused and gave him a considering look. “Or maybe you’re worried about something happening there?”

  Max could feel the blush burning his cheeks, but he looked Chance straight in the eyes.

  “No, sir, I wouldn’t dare mess with Rory’s sister. I like my job.”

  “Well, then.” Chance grinned, and Max felt more than a little trepidation shoot down his spine. “Looks like you’re getting a bunkhouse-mate.” With that and a wink, he walked over to Rory and pulled his lover aside, effectively shutting down Rory’s rant.

  Annabelle glanced his way and Max nodded, letting his usual grin slip into place. She bounced down the porch steps and jogged towards Max.

  “I’m sorry about the pissing contest,” Annabelle said as soon as she was close enough to be heard easily. “I wouldn’t have thought my brother would be so old-fashioned.”

  “I’m sure he was just worried about you,” Max replied, then wondered exactly what it was Rory had objected to. The idea of his sister living with Max? Or was it just that he wanted better for Annabelle than a bunkhouse?

  “Do you have a problem with it?” Annabelle’s eyes were as dark a blue as her brother’s, and she held Max in place with the power of her midnight gaze.

  Max wanted to be diplomatic, and not make Rory or Annabelle mad. He didn’t really have a problem with a woman sharing the bunkhouse with him—it wasn’t like he found Annabelle attractive, though she was cute and everything. It’d just surprised him, but as MILES TO GO

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  Chance had said, it was actually easy to accept. “It ain’t up to me, but if you decide that the bunkhouse is where you want to stay, I don’t have a problem with it.”