New Vocations

by T. A. Chase

  Carl, Randy and Les climbed down from the stands then strolled over to the gate where Layne and Tigger stood. Carl took Tigger’s reins then glanced at Layne.

  “Are you going to ride him over the rails in a western saddle?”

  Layne shrugged. “I didn’t bring his English one. Wasn’t really expecting to be showing Tigger’s moves off.”

  “I have a saddle. It’s not going to be fitted to him, but it’s for one of my horses, and they’re around the same size. It’ll work for what little you’re doing today,” Les spoke up then looked at Randy. “Could you run and grab it from the truck?”

  Randy nodded before he took off. Carl walked around, cooling Tigger down slightly. He rested his hand on the gelding’s shoulder while he did so, keeping track of the horse’s temperature.

  “What did you think?” Layne asked as he and Les wandered over to where Carl walked.

  “He’s gorgeous and has great bloodlines. As long as he looks as good going over the rails, I think you might have a sale. Tammy was impressed with Snack. She’s always looking for good barrel racers.” Les held out his hand. “Can I walk him? Just to get a feel for his stride.”

  “Sure.” Carl handed over the reins.

  He and Layne watched Les walk off with the chestnut. Layne bumped Carl’s hip with his.

  “What did you think of Tigger?”

  Carl shot a quick glance around to make sure they were alone. After entwining his arm around Layne’s waist, he tugged the man closer to him then brushed a kiss over his cheek. “I thought you were amazing. I love a horse that really enjoys what he does, and it’s obvious cutting is a great new job for Tigger, but something tells me he’ll be even better at jumping.”

  “Honestly? I think he’d be a wonderful eventer. He’s got the flash for dressage, the speed and stamina for cross country and the scope for jumping. I’ll suggest that to Les after I show him.” Layne motioned to where Randy was striding back toward them, carrying an English saddle and bridle.

  “Won’t Les want to try him?”

  Layne shook his head. “Les only rides horses that he’s a hundred percent sure of. He used to be one of the top riders in the world until an accident cut his career short. He has to be very careful when he gets on now.”

  “I get that,” Carl muttered, rubbing his thigh right above the scars.

  They joined Randy and Les, helping them tack Tigger up. The gelding danced around then Carl took a hold of the bridle, bringing Tigger’s head down so he could stare into the horse’s eyes. He murmured nonsense words to keep Tigger paying attention to him and not to what the others were doing.

  “Thanks, Carl.” Randy tapped his shoulder. “Layne’s ready to go.”

  Carl gave Layne a leg up then he motioned for Randy to follow him. “There were jumping exhibitions early today, so we can set up a few jumps.”

  “Cool.”

  Randy helped him build four different jumps, not very high since Tigger was just learning how to tuck his legs so he didn’t knock the rails out of the cups. There was one rail on the ground. One a little higher. One a little higher than that and the last one was three feet.

  Tigger could jump higher than that, but he was green, so Carl knew Layne wouldn’t want to give him a chance to fail. While training horses for new disciplines, it was important to keep their confidence up.

  He strolled back to the fence where Les stood. Randy stayed closer in case Tigger knocked a rail down. Layne cantered Tigger in circles at the other end of the arena, warming him up.

  “He moves beautifully,” Les commented.

  Carl tilted his head while he studied Tigger’s stride. “He’s a little stiff in the right hind hock. Might be an old racing injury.”

  Les grunted, but didn’t say anything. The longer Layne kept Tigger moving, the smoother his gait became. Carl nodded. “Guess you’ll have to make sure he’s warmed up properly before you jump him.”

  “That’s not a bad thing. With horses like Tigger, he needs to get his mind focused on the job. A longer warm-up will help him.” Les took out his phone then pulled up the video screen. “I’m going to record this to show to some of my clients.”

  Carl shrugged. He figured Layne probably already had videos of Tigger, if he was thinking of selling him. Layne straightened Tigger out as they approached the rail. He allowed the gelding to get a good look at the rail on the ground and Tigger popped right over without any issue. He took the other three fences. On the last one, he leaped so high, there was a good foot between Tigger’s hooves and the top rail.

  “Layne’s right. He’s got scope and power. A natural for either jumping or eventing. I’ll be buying Tigger and taking him home with us.” Les shot Randy a grin.

  Randy snorted. “This is my shocked face.”

  Chuckling, Carl took a hold of Tigger’s bridle when Layne rode the gelding over. “Why don’t you let me cool him down while you and Les talk?”

  Layne dismounted then handed the reins to him. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll take the saddle and bridle. Here’s his halter and a lead.” Randy stripped the equipment off then said, “It was nice meeting you, Carl.”

  “You too, Randy.” Carl slid on Tigger’s halter before walking away from the others. After about ten minutes, he whistled softly to draw Layne’s attention then motioned toward the stabling area. Layne nodded.

  “Let’s go, big boy. It’s time to take you back and get you settled for the night.” He rested his hand on Tigger’s shoulder and smiled at the normal warmth. “You were great out there. I think you’ll be going home to a new place. It’ll be nice there. You’ll be able to jump as much as you want.”

  Tigger snorted as though he understood everything Carl said. He danced a little and Carl let him while keeping a tight grip on the rope. Boom and Snack whinnied as they approached.

  “Your buddies are happy to see you,” Carl teased. He put Tigger in the stall then removed the halter. After petting the other geldings, Carl grabbed the curry comb, going back to brush Tigger.

  Once Tigger and his stall were clean, Carl fed all three horses before wiping down the saddle and the bridle Tigger had worn for the cutting demo. When he was done, he gave each a treat then headed back to where he’d left Layne and Les.

  The two men were shaking hands when Carl got there. Les nodded at him as he walked by. Layne grabbed Carl’s arm then tugged him close. Their lips met in a hard kiss. Carl encircled Layne’s waist, holding him while he swept his tongue inside.

  Humming, Layne opened for him. Carl pushed him back against the wall. The thud of Layne’s head hitting it startled them and they broke apart.

  “Probably not the best place for this,” Layne said, panting slightly.

  “Right. How about we head back to my room?” He stepped away, but kept a hold of Layne’s hand.

  “We can order room service and celebrate. Les bought Tigger. He’ll be taking him home when they leave at the end of the event.” Layne grinned. “I knew Les would be the perfect person for Tigger. He’ll find the best forever home, plus train him the right way.”

  Carl dragged Layne toward the exit. “Congratulations. Do you sell most of the Thoroughbreds you adopt—or buy?”

  Layne nodded. “Yes. I can’t keep them all, but I can retrain and start them in new lives. It’s better than them being sent to slaughter houses, which is where a lot of them end up. I vet all the buyers. If I don’t trust them, I won’t sell. I’ve known Les for a while. He’s a good guy.”

  He didn’t doubt that. “Sounds like a win for everyone. Now, let’s go. I have an urge to see you naked on my bed.”

  “Carl,” Layne said as he pulled him to a stop. “Will you come back to the ranch with me? Work with me? I’d love to see if what we’re doing together is more than just lust.”

  “What if we discover we’re not that compatible after hanging around each other?”

  Layne cradled his face in his hands. “You’ll still work with me. I wouldn’t take your job jus
t because we weren’t sleeping together anymore. I’m not that kind of guy.”

  He pressed a kiss into the palm of Layne’s hand. “All right. I’ll come home with you. See where this is heading. I’d like to find a new home. Maybe I can find a new vocation as well.”

  “You can. As my lover.” Layne hugged him before dragging him to the curb, flagging down a cab.

  Carl inhaled, realizing he had to take a chance on the possibility. Layne was all about giving horses a second chance at a new life. It seemed he was willing to do that for Carl as well.

  Also available from Pride Publishing:

  Threadbare Gypsy Souls

  T.A. Chase

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  The roar of a powerful engine drew everyone’s attention on that fine spring day in Fallen Creek, Wyoming. The town was way off the beaten track, so visitors were rare, and no one remembered any other citizen from the area having a car that sounded like that.

  Windows rattled and people stopped what they were doing to watch the big motorcycle rumble down Main Street. The rider was hidden behind a black helmet and leathers. One concerned townsperson called the sheriff, alerting him to the invasion of their town, like he hadn’t heard the noise.

  By the time the bike stopped in front of The Watering Hole, Fallen Creek’s most popular bar, the sheriff was there, waiting. He studied the man, who climbed off the bike and stretched. He spied the small wince as the stranger removed his helmet.

  “I should’ve known there’d be a welcoming committee at some point,” the blond man drawled as he nodded toward the sheriff.

  “We don’t get many visitors, son, and it’s not like you snuck in or anything like that. Your bike there could wake up the dead around here.” Sheriff Carter gestured in the direction of the Harley.

  “True. It’s better to get this over with right away, anyway. Instead of letting it fester until you arrest me for something stupid.” The man set his helmet on the seat before stripping off his leather jacket.

  Again, Carter noticed a grimace of pain, and he wondered what kind of injuries the newest arrival to Fallen Creek had and how he’d gotten them. He straightened from where he leaned against his truck when the man approached.

  “Here’s my wallet. It’s got my license in it, and I’m sure you’ll want to run it. My name is Nash Rhodes, and while I got into some trouble a while back, I’m not going to cause any around here.” Nash held out a black leather wallet that looked hand-tooled and had a skull etched into it.

  Carter took it and glanced at the skull. He’d seen something like that before but couldn’t remember where. It would come to him eventually. He flipped open the wallet, ignored the large wad of money it held, and looked at Rhodes’ license.

  His name was Nashville Rocky Rhodes. Carter winced. “Hell of a name to saddle a kid with,” he commented.

  “Mom has a wicked sense of humor,” Nash said, sounding like it was something he was used to talking about.

  “I guess so.”

  Rhodes was from Nashville, Tennessee, and had hit his thirty-second birthday a week ago. Reading Nashville jarred another hidden memory, and Carter knew he’d be heading back to the office to find out why. It might have something to do with the police reports he’d been going over earlier that morning.

  “You’re a long way from home, Rhodes.”

  Carter handed back the wallet and propped his hands on his hips. Nash stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans. He held himself stiffly, making Carter wonder if Nash expected trouble, or if he was in pain.

  “Yes, sir. Heading out to Santa Monica. My mom lives out there, and I decided to take a road trip to visit her.”

  Nash pressed his hand against his left ribs, and the sheriff determined that was one injury, but he had the feeling there were others. He wouldn’t be surprised to find out Nash was only a week or two out of the hospital.

  “And you aren’t planning on causing any problems while you’re here?” Carter asked.

  Nash’s laugh was cut short, and he braced his hand on Carter’s truck. “Do your best to trust me, Sheriff Carter. I don’t plan on doing anything except relaxing and resting for a week or two before I continue on. I thought I’d be able to basically drive straight through, but all those months in the hospital drained my reserves, I guess.”

  “What were you doing in the hospital?”

  Shaking his head, Nash smiled. “You can find out on your own, Sheriff. I’m going to go get a drink and something to eat. After which, I’m going to find a room to crash in for a while.”

  “Sounds like a good idea. Did your doctors talk to you about taking it easy for a while? Seems like you’ve had some rough times lately.” Carter studied Nash, seeing the flash of annoyance in the man’s eyes.

  Nash stood straight and held out his hand. “It was nice meeting you, Sheriff. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around town.”

  They shook hands, and Carter watched the man stroll into The Watering Hole. After the door shut behind him, the sheriff climbed into his truck and headed back to his office.

  Nash walked away from the window, where he’d been making sure the sheriff was leaving. Once he was gone, Nash went to the bar and sat, leaning his elbows on the bar top and taking a deep breath.

  “What’s your poison?”

  He looked up to see a tall redhead smiling at him. She was around fifty, and there was something about her that reminded him of his mother.

  “I’d like a beer and a glass of water, please.”

  With the medication he was on, he probably shouldn’t be drinking, but one beer shouldn’t cause a problem. He didn’t plan on driving any time soon. He needed to rest because every part of his body ached.

  His doctors had protested his leaving, but he’d needed to get out of Nashville before he got sucked back into the club. After they’d released him from the hospital, he’d taken a few minutes to throw some clothes into his saddlebags, then he’d taken off. He didn’t want to see anyone from the club until he’d straightened out his path. Two hours out of Nashville and he’d known it wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had.

  “You look like ten miles of bad road, mister.” She set the glasses in front of him and smiled. “Are you sure you should be out and about?”

  Nash chuckled. “Probably not, ma’am, but I’ve never been good at listening to authority figures.”

  “You remind me of several guys I’ve known, and none of them took orders well either. I’m Jeanette and I own this place.”

  “Good to meet you, ma’am. It’s a nice place.” Nash glanced around, finishing his glass of water in a few gulps.

  He was telling the truth. The Watering Hole might have been a bar, but it wasn’t a dive like some of the places Nash had hung out at in Nashville. Those businesses were dark and smelled of sweat, smoke and fear. Jeanette’s place was airy and gave off a feeling of welcome, like he could spend several hours there without worrying about catching some kind of disease.

  “Thanks. It serves its purpose.” She nodded at the beer. “Flag me down if you want another.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He sipped the beer and sighed. It wasn’t his drink of choice, but he’d learned the hard way that whiskey did bad things to his judgment. So he’d stick to beer and maybe manage to keep out of trouble for a while.

  Nash was working on finishing his beer when the door slammed open and a man almost fell into the bar, catching himself at the last moment. He braced his hand against the doorframe and stared over at Jeanette, his bleary eyes trying to focus.

  “Well, it’s about time you showed up, you no-good, drunken idiot.” Jeanette propped her hands on her hips and glared at the stranger.

  “Shut up, woman. I’m here now.”

  Nash turned and leaned his elbows on the bar, watching as the man staggered across the floor to a stool. He collapsed onto it and rested his head on his hands.

  “Why don’t you get me some food and water, woman? Instead of ha
rping at me all the time.”

  Jeanette huffed and, with anger and finality clear in her voice, she said, “You’re done, Clay. I told you the last time this happened, I wasn’t dealing with your drunkenness and your rude-ass attitude. I’m running a business here, and you not showing up for work doesn’t help me.”

  “Shut up, bitch. You’re not going to fire me. There isn’t anyone else to do the work, and Robinson won’t be happy if you let me go,” Clay growled at Jeanette.

  “Maybe I’ll have to work twenty-four-seven, but you know what? I’d rather work myself into the grave than deal with you any longer. Get out of here, Clay, and I don’t want to see you in here until you’ve dealt with your problems.”

  Nash tensed as Jeanette came around the bar and approached Clay. He could tell the man wasn’t going to go without a fight, and Nash couldn’t let Jeanette bear the brunt of the man’s anger. Pushing to his feet, he knew he was going to regret his chivalry, but his mom hadn’t raised him to ignore a damsel in distress.

  Before he could say anything, Jeanette reached out to grab Clay’s arm, and Clay swung around, backhanding her. Nash rushed across the floor and caught the man’s wrist as he was swinging again.

  Jeanette touched the red mark on her cheek and snarled, “I’m calling Carter and telling him to throw your ass in jail, Clay. Being Robinson’s brother isn’t going to get you out of this. I won’t tolerate being hit.”

  “Try it,” Nash warned Clay when he struggled to get free. “I’ll let a lot of things slide, but laying hands on a woman isn’t one of them.”

  “Fuck you, asshole. Do you know who I am?”

  Clay’s spittle hit Nash in the face, and he grimaced. Christ, the man smelled like he’d been on a week-long binge without showering. Nash looked over at Jeanette.

  “Where do you want me to put him until the sheriff comes?”