Long Tall Drink

by L. C. Chase

  Landon was a good man. He deserved someone who would treat him right, be proud to walk down the street at his side, give him what he so clearly wanted. But as much as Ray cared about him, and he did, he just wasn’t that man.

  He checked his tone but didn’t turn around. “Don’t go there, Landon. We both know this was only ever going to be about sex.”

  “I don’t know the story between you two, of course, but it’s plain to see it’s about more than just sex.”

  “Not true.”

  “Really? Then why are we sitting here talking about it instead of having it?”

  Ray opened his mouth to refute, but his vocal chords flatlined. He peered into the glass in his hand, searching for the words he’d lost. Tiny diamonds winked and danced in the amber liquid, promising temporary oblivion instead of wisdom—and a raging hangover come morning.

  “You won’t drown him in alcohol or forget him in another man’s bed,” Landon said close behind Ray. “Not even in mine.”

  Defeat pressed down on Ray’s body like a cement blanket. His limbs felt heavy and cumbersome. He couldn’t deny the truth. Couldn’t deny that he was falling for a man he couldn’t have.

  Warm hands rested lightly on his shoulders, and then Landon’s voice was quiet in his ear. “Don’t drive tonight.” The hands squeezed once, then fell away. “Good-bye, Ray.”

  Distantly Ray was aware Landon had just ended their relationship. Or perhaps it was he. The door clicked shut, and Ray turned around to face an empty room.

  There went Tornado Morgan’s first victim.

  “Shit.”

  Ray sat down hard on the edge of the bed and polished off his whiskey. Even when not present, Travis Morgan was an annoyingly persistent man. There’d be no forgetting him in drink or casual sex tonight. Probably never be anything to make him forget the one man he wanted more than he’d ever thought possible.

  Travis couldn’t focus. He glanced over his shoulder, again, at the empty round pen. Ray had yet to return from wherever he’d torn off to yesterday afternoon, after things had got a little hot and heavy in the tack room.

  After they’d almost had sex.

  Travis knew he was pushing Ray when he’d followed him. Knew what Ray risked, what they both risked. But damn, the man was an irresistible force when he got all riled up. He radiated a power and passion that had Travis’s body shaking with excitement in response. And those incredibly expressive eyes, darkened to a rich espresso, had scalded his skin.

  He hadn’t been disappointed when Ray snapped and slammed him up against the lockers. Kissed him with such intensity, Travis had forgotten to breathe. Every nerve ending had caught fire. And holy hell, he’d nearly come in his jeans right then.

  He could still taste the lingering cinnamon on his tongue.

  “Hey, Trav,” Jesse called out, jarring Travis from his erotic reverie of the tantalizing Ray Ford. “I’m free the rest of the afternoon if you want to start training.”

  “Good.” I need the distraction. “Have some men herd half a dozen steer into the ring for us. I’ll bring a couple horses over.”

  Travis selected two just-broke horses—Little Red, the bold and willing red dun mare he’d taken a shine to, and Wiley Dog, the high-strung buckskin that continued to test him. The mare would be a good mount to start the kid on. She was one of those horses that practically trained themselves.

  “You’re on Red, here,” Travis said as he joined Jesse in the ring. “We’ll do dry groundwork first. Then if things go smoothly, we’ll see how she takes to the cattle.”

  Travis gave Jesse a few basic pointers as they tacked up; then he mounted up and sat comfortably in the saddle while he observed and instructed. The kid was good, and Little Red was a quick study. It was a bit of a cheat starting Jesse on her, but he needed a confident grasp on the basics before he started working a horse with an attitude like Wiley.

  “She’s good on the right turns, but she’s not listening to you on the left. You need to get her off your leg. Give her a little spur and keep her shoulder straight, nose in.”

  Jesse tried to get the mare into a loose turn, but she still resisted on that side.

  “Right toe forward, left foot behind the cinch, heel in,” Travis instructed. “Keep your knee pressure firm.”

  Jesse huffed. “That’s what I’m doing.”

  Travis rode over and dismounted, passing his reins to the kid to hold Wiley while he demonstrated. He walked around to the mare’s right side, sliding his hand over her rump as he went. “Here,” he said as he positioned Jesse’s foot, toe in and forward, tapping Red’s elbow. Then he moved around to the left and positioned the other foot, heel in toward the horse’s barrel. “And here.”

  Then he placed his hand on Jesse’s lower leg and pressed it against Red’s side. She moved off his leg immediately.

  “There. That’s what you want, kid.”

  “Sweet.” Jesse smiled and leaned down to rub the mare’s neck. “But I wish you’d quit calling me ‘kid.’ Twenty-two officially makes me an adult, you know.”

  “Yeah, well. Eleven years my junior means you’re always going to be a kid to me.” Jesse rolled his eyes, and Travis slapped him on the thigh with a laugh. “Get over it. Kid.”

  Travis reclaimed Wiley’s reins, and as he walked around the buckskin to mount up, he saw Sam Davis standing outside the arena gate. Even from across the ring in dim lighting, Travis could see the rigid stance of the man’s body, flushed ruddy cheeks, and killing glare. Travis groaned inwardly. And the day had been going so well…

  Sam yelled furiously, “You get the fuck away from my boy!”

  Travis almost shook his head and dismissed the man but knew that would only fuel an irrational fire. One he really didn’t feel like putting out.

  “And you get the hell out of there, Jesse.”

  “I’m just learning to train, Dad,” Jesse reasoned.

  Travis sighed and handed his reins back to Jesse. “Stay here.”

  “I’m sorry, Trav.”

  Travis shook his head. “We’re good.”

  He made his way to the gate at a deliberate, leisurely pace and stopped a few feet shy. “You have a problem with Jesse learning to train horses, Sam?”

  “Nope, I have a problem with him learning from you.” Sam’s voice was confrontational, and his steely eyes held violent storms.

  Travis spoke without inflection. “And why would that be?”

  “You know damned well why.”

  “No actually, I don’t.” Travis crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I saw your hands on him. Saw you touching my boy.”

  Travis regarded Sam for a long moment. He didn’t want to do this. Really didn’t want to do this. Without pulling his gaze from Sam, he spoke over his shoulder, “Go back to working Red on her left turns, Jess. I’ll be right back.”

  Travis inclined his head. “Let’s step outside so the kid can work.”

  Travis strode past the angry man and headed for the far corner of the barn. A quick scan of the area told him they were without audience. As he came to a stop, he caught a flash of movement in his peripheral. He ducked reflexively and narrowly missed Sam’s sucker punch.

  He knew Sam was no match for him, but he was so tired of fighting, so tired of always being put on the defensive, keeping his guard up 24-7. All he wanted to do was to relax and enjoy his life—his way—in peace. Why something so simple and basic continually proved to be so unattainable, he’d never understand.

  Undeterred, Sam hauled off and launched a right hook that Travis dodged neatly. The missed contact tipped Sam briefly off-balance, and Travis took advantage of the recovery lag. He spun the man around by his arm, twisting it behind his back, and slammed him up against the hard wood siding of the barn. Travis pushed his weight into the armlock and dug the elbow of his other arm into the back of Sam’s neck, effectively immobilizing the irate ranch hand.

  “We. Are not. Doing this,” Travis ground out, giving Sam a lit
tle shove with each clipped sentence.

  “Get off me!” Sam’s voice was just shy of a scream as he struggled in Travis’s unyielding grip. “You fucking perv—”

  “What the hell is going on here?” Ray’s voice snapped across the yard like a bullwhip that left Travis’s ears ringing. He and Sam both froze a heartbeat as Ray rounded the barn and strode toward them. Travis cursed under his breath and stepped back, roughly releasing Sam.

  “Nothing, Ray.” He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. As he replaced it, he said with forced nonchalance, “Just settling a difference of opinion.”

  Ray looked from Travis to Sam and back, his expression shuttered. “Looks like a little more than that from this angle.”

  While Ray waited in apparent calm for an explanation, Travis studied the rancher for what he was more concerned about—clues to his absence. His eyes were bloodshot, skin drawn and pale under an unshaven face, and his rough voice had a jagged edge, like it had been cut with hard liquor.

  So the man had gone and got himself good and drunk last night.

  “One of you want to tell me what’s really going on here?”

  “I’ll tell you,” Sam spat out with clear disdain while rubbing the back of his neck. He glared daggers at Travis as he leaned down to pick up the hat that had been knocked off his head during their scuffle. “Son of a bitch queer was touching my boy. That’s what’s going on here.”

  Other than a slightly raised eyebrow, Ray showed no outward reaction, no signs indicating what was thinking. Travis didn’t miss the nearly imperceptible tick in the man’s jaw, however. Ray wasn’t nearly as calm as he projected.

  “Had his filthy hand on Jesse’s leg.” Sam dusted off the hat against his thigh and continued, “And who knows what kind of twisted poison he’s filling my kid’s head with when I’m not around to protect him.”

  “I’m not a fucking kid, and I don’t need you or anyone else to protect me,” Jesse snapped at Sam as he came out of the arena still astride Little Red. His gaze shifted to Ray. “All he’s doing is teaching me to train. That’s it.”

  “I know, son,” Ray said.

  Then Jesse looked back to Sam, pinned him with a forceful stare, and pointedly said, “Travis is my friend.”

  “You see?” Sam’s voice rose. He flapped an arm in Jesse’s direction. “He’s already infecting my boy.”

  Both of Ray’s eyebrows shot up, surprise clearly evident in his otherwise checked expression. Travis distantly registered the dull thud of nearing hoof beats followed by boot heels hitting the hard ground. Disturbed dust drifted on the breeze and tickled his sinuses. Sam was growing more agitated by the second. Volatile tension radiated off him like a locomotive without brakes on the edge of a long descent. And that was much more concerning than the growing audience.

  “Infecting?” Ray repeated. The sharp, hard edge of his voice sent a shiver up Travis’s spine. “Are you fucking serious?”

  Sam flinched, and his gaze flickered nervously to the hands that had dismounted and discreetly formed a loose horseshoe around them, those still on horseback making up a second line of defense. His jaw worked, but Ray didn’t give him a chance to say anything.

  “What about Ross and Clay? They’re all friends. They sit next to each other at mealtime and hang out after work. Is Travis poisoning them too? And what about me? I work beside the man every fucking day. Am I infected?” Ray spat that last word out like someone had dipped his cinnamon sticks in cow shit.

  “I don’t like him, Ray. He ain’t right.” Having lost a little of his hard edge, Sam’s voice sounded almost petulant. For a second, Travis thought Sam would start stomping his feet like a five-year-old having a temper tantrum.

  “You don’t have to like him. You don’t have to talk to him. Jesus Christ, Sam. You don’t even have to work with him.” Ray continued in a cutting tone. “The man’s here to do a job. Just like you. Simple as that. I don’t see how anything else should be a problem for you. Let alone your concern.”

  “He ain’t right,” Sam argued weakly.

  “So you said. And you’re entitled to your opinion. However. Again. I don’t see how that affects your job here.”

  “He’s bad for the ranch, Ray.” Sam squared his shoulders. “Shouldn’t be here.”

  “The only bad thing for this ranch is your homophobic paranoia,” Jesse cut in, his cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment. “You have no clue about—”

  “Don’t you backtalk me, boy,” Sam threatened as he turned on Jesse with a raised fist. “I’ll give you a lesson you won’t soon forget.”

  The sudden aggressive movement startled Red, who jumped sideways and began a prancing dance on the spot.

  Flashbacks tore through Travis like an explosion: slivers digging into his back, the painful crack of his nose breaking, and the man he’d once called father threatening to kill him. He’d do everything in his power to prevent even one more kid from having to go through something like he had.

  “You son of a bitch,” Travis said to Sam, his voice deathly flat. “You lay one hand on that kid and I swear to God, you’ll regret the day you set foot on this earth.”

  Travis took a step forward, but a hand across his chest stopped him. He glanced at Ray, who shook his head once in warning.

  “Fucking cocksucker.” Sam took that second of distraction to round on him. Travis ducked, but this time Sam’s fist was faster than his reflexes and clipped the edge of his jaw. The horseshoe guard broke rank, and Ross and Clay quickly restrained a raging Sam, who spouted off a string curses and inflammatory slurs.

  Ray stepped forward, putting himself between them, his back to Travis. It was a protective gesture Travis wasn’t sure Ray realized he’d made or how telling it was. He just hoped no one else enjoying this little show was as observant.

  “Settle the fuck down, Sam.” The fury roiling in the bass notes of Ray’s voice was unmistakable, and Sam immediately stopped fighting his hold.

  “Where the fuck does he get off telling me how to reprimand my own kid?”

  “Sam…” The stern warning was clear in Ray’s voice.

  “I ain’t working here with the likes of him, Ray,” Sam continued. “Won’t fucking do it.”

  Ray remained still for a long moment facing Sam, then turned an unreadable glance over his shoulder at Travis. For a second, Travis had the fleeting and disappointing thought that Ray was going to fire him. He wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the way it went. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. What did surprise him was the sharp, stabbing pain in his chest at the prospect of it. He didn’t want to leave the ranch, leave Ray. Not yet.

  Light flickered briefly in Ray’s eyes, and Travis exhaled. If he was reading the man right, he wouldn’t be making an early exit from Ford Creek Ranch.

  “Fine then,” Ray said as he turned back to Sam. His voice level and clear. “You don’t work here anymore. Come by tomorrow morning to pick up your final paycheck in Hollis’s office.”

  Travis tensed, bracing himself for more violence, as did the rest of the men standing guard. Every one of them had a finger on the trigger. Ross and Clay tightened their hold on Sam. But the man’s only visible reaction was the blood that rushed to his face in a frightening flush. The now ex-hand stood rigid, as though his brain was still processing how he’d suddenly ended up out of a job. Travis could feel the fury thrumming off the man’s body as he bore holes through Ray.

  “You’re firing me? Over him? A fucking faggot?” Sam asked incredulously, like it was the most mind-blowing thing the man had ever heard.

  “I’m firing you for your belligerent attitude and fighting on my ranch.”

  Sam clenched his fists. His gaze drifted over the small crowd looking for backup but clearly finding none.

  “We’re done here. Leave quietly, now, or you’ll find yourself with an escort off my property,” Ray said.

  “Fine,” Sam snapped and shrugged angrily at the hands holding him. Ray nodded, and
the men let go but didn’t step out of reach.

  Sam looked over Ray’s shoulder at Travis and said, “You’re going to pay for this. Mark my words.”

  “Enough, Sam,” Ray barked.

  Sam turned his furious gaze back on Ray, then spit on the ground, just missing his boots before he spun around.

  “Get off that horse, Jesse,” he ordered as he began walking away. “We’re leaving.”

  “No.”

  Sam stopped dead in his tracks and spun around. “What did you say to me, boy?” His voice was frighteningly flat.

  “I said no,” Jesse repeated defiantly. “You got fired. I didn’t. I have a job here, and I’m staying.” He glanced nervously at Ray, who gave an assuring nod, then back to his dad and sat a little taller in the saddle.

  Sam turned a homicidal stare back on Travis. The message was clear, and Travis would be ready. He would not back down from the likes of the Sam Davises in the world.

  Without another word, Sam turned on his heel and stormed across the yard to his truck. When the rusted pickup had charged down the long driveway in a cloud of dust and its chugging engine faded into the distance, Ray turned back to the crowd that had formed.

  “Anyone else have an issue here with how I run my ranch or who I employ?”

  Every head shook.

  “Right. Y’all get back to work now.”

  As the men cleared out, Travis found himself rooted to the ground, facing Ray for what felt like hours. Ray had just put himself on the line for Travis, and the gravity of that action wasn’t lost on him.

  “Jaw okay?” Ray asked.

  “Yep.”

  The shutters lifted, and those warm, soulful brown eyes that Travis was coming to love looking into burned a smoldering path straight to his groin. Ray nodded once, then turned and walked back across the yard to the house.

  Chapter Eleven

  Two seats remained empty as Ray and Dot sat down at a rather subdued table for breakfast the next morning. Ray forced back the disappointed sigh building in his lungs. He’d hoped Sam would have let Jesse come back to work. He shouldn’t have to pay for Sam’s issues, and Ray couldn’t help but feel responsible for it. He was the one who’d fired Jesse’s dad, after all.