Long Tall Drink

by L. C. Chase

  “Well, that was fun,” Dot said with laughter in her voice when the truck’s screaming engine faded into the wind. She flipped the safety interlock on and rested the long barrel of the rifle over her shoulder. “Come on then, gentlemen. Show’s over, and dinner’s ready.”

  As the men followed Dot into the house, Ray leveled a telling stare at Travis. It wasn’t difficult to decipher the man’s see-what-I-mean? look, not that Travis was really paying any attention. He desperately needed to release the fury poisoning his veins and clouding his mind. Decisively. Something was going to have to break dramatically.

  “And next time you go gallivanting off without telling anyone, take a two-way,” Ray snapped, then turned and disappeared inside the house.

  Ray flipped over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Again. He turned his head and groaned. The digital clock radio on his night table flashed 2:57 a.m. in obnoxious glowing green numbers. He hadn’t slept well for two days now, and tonight he hadn’t been able to sleep at all.

  Travis hadn’t come in for dinner after their unpleasant visit from Sam and friends. According to Jesse, he hadn’t joined the men for after-work beers around the fire pit either. He’d just silently disappeared inside his cabin and pulled the shades after moving a whole wall of baled hay from one side of the loft to the other.

  Ray knew why, but dammit, there was just too much at risk—and it went deeper than his reputation now. Landon was right; it was more than sex with Travis, and Ray hadn’t even seen that one coming until it hit him upside the head. He couldn’t deny it any longer. He was falling for the man, hard. Getting more involved now was only going to leave a bigger hole when Travis left. A crater.

  Travis showing his colors earlier, that he was just in it for the sex and would be moving on once the horses were trained, settled Ray’s resolve. Even though what they’d done the other night was reckless, he couldn’t regret it. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told Travis it was beautiful. It was. He was. But situations like that were going to get him found out, and they’d already had a close call in the tack room last week.

  It couldn’t go any further. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself it was just sex, he knew it wasn’t. With that man it never would be. If he stopped it here, now, he would still be able to let Travis go. But even that felt like a lie.

  Ray sighed and rolled onto his side. He stared out the bedroom window at stars hanging brightly on a midnight canvas. A full moon cast pale luminescence over the grooved edges of the worn mullion. Warm orange light flickered in the curve of the metal window catch and reflected on clear panes. Horses whinnied in the distance.

  An uneasy feeling settled over him, and goose bumps spread across his skin. The night felt too alive for this hour. Something disturbed the silence, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. His gaze fell on the flickering window catch again.

  What on the ranch gave off a yellow-orange glow?

  And why were the horses so restless?

  Ray jumped from his bed and strode to the window as his pulse sped up. That warm flickering light emanated from the other side of the barn, brighter lower to the ground. Tiny red lights rose and mingled with the bright white of the stars on a swirling black thread.

  “Shit.”

  Ray spun around and reached for his jeans, hopping into them as he grabbed a shirt and punched his arms into the sleeves. He swung his door open, yelled out to Jesse and Dot that they had a fire, and quickly padded barefoot down the hallway, haphazardly buttoning his shirt.

  Ray was still pulling his boots on when he opened the front door, and Jesse crashed into the foyer, half-asleep with his shirt hanging open. He didn’t wait for the kid and bolted across the yard. Men’s voices were growing louder and more frantic as he neared the far side of the barn. He staggered to a horrified stop when he rounded the corner. One of the cabins was almost completely engulfed in flames: Travis’s cabin.

  Two men were throwing buckets of water at the wall of fire, which only seemed to anger it more. Even from here Ray could smell the pungent bite of gasoline. No way was this an accident, and Ray had no doubt about exactly how it had started—and who started it.

  Clay ran past him, carrying another useless bucket of water.

  “Clay,” Ray called, fighting the panic growing in his chest. “Where’s Travis?”

  “Inside,” Clay shouted. “He’s still fucking inside.”

  Ray cursed silently, his mouth suddenly dry and heart racing like a thoroughbred. He grabbed the bucket from Clay’s hands. “It’s a gas fire. Water won’t stop it. Go get the fire extinguishers from the barn. Go!”

  Clay turned and ran with Ross on his heels.

  The smell of gasoline this close was strong enough to burn his nostrils, and his stomach bottomed out. He swallowed back rising fear through a constricted throat.

  Travis was in there.

  Ray cursed as he paced the perimeter of the fire with a dull pain in his chest. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, trickle down his spine, and his shirt clung uncomfortably to his skin. Travis was trapped inside that inferno, and there wasn’t a fucking thing he could do to help him.

  Goddammit, what was taking Clay and Ross so long with the fire extinguishers?

  Just then Ray caught a flash of movement on the other side of the window. He yelled Travis’s name and rushed forward, oblivious to the angry tongues of hell that lashed out and singed his skin. And then something locked on his arm and yanked him backward as his feet struggled for purchase to fight back. He couldn’t go back; he had to go forward, to Travis.

  “Are you insane?” Hollis yelled at him. “Getting yourself lit up like a candle isn’t going to save him.”

  “He’s going to fucking die in there, Hollis,” Ray yelled and then fell into a short coughing fit. Black smoke hung heavy and choking in the air. It sucked the oxygen from his lungs and grated his throat. His skin burned; his eyes watered.

  “We’re going to get him out, Ray,” Hollis said with convincing determination.

  Then the cabin window exploded outward from the force of a large, shapeless form tearing through it. Glass shattered and cascaded to the ground, glittering like gold confetti in the firelight. The dark form came to a hard crash on the edge of the small porch and rolled off, hitting the dirt with a loud oof.

  Travis lay on the ground wrapped in a wet blanket, groaning and racked by a spasm of painful-sounding coughs.

  But he was alive.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The sun was cresting the horizon, painting the world in a soft orange-pink hue with masterful brush strokes when the ranch hands finally cleared out of the kitchen. Ray had given the men a flex day; it was up to them if they felt like working today or not. It had already been a long morning, and the sun was only just rising. Most had chosen to go back to bed for a few hours.

  They hadn’t been able to keep Travis’s cabin from burning to the ground, but they’d been able to prevent the fire from spreading to the other cabins.

  Hollis had called the police and fire department nonemergency lines to report the fire after they’d put it out. Essential services were all volunteer this far from town, and they didn’t see the need to ruin everyone’s night. The sheriff and fire investigator would come to the ranch later that afternoon to collect their statements and examine what was left of the cabin. If they confirmed it was arson, they would pull Sam in for questioning.

  Now that it was just the four of them in the house—he, Travis, and Dot sitting at the small kitchen table, and Jesse standing against the wall near the doorway—the adrenaline had dissipated and fatigue began settling deep into Ray’s bones. He was too old for shit like this. He wearily ran a hand through his hair. They were all tired and achy and even after showers, they still stank like smoke.

  Fortunately Travis’s injuries had not been serious. Other than relatively minor smoke inhalation, a massive bruise was forming on his shoulder from the impact of his hard landing outside the cabin
. It was his quick thinking in soaking the bedspread in the shower and wrapping it around himself that had prevented any burns or cuts during his escape. And probably the only thing that saved his life.

  He sat in a chair across from Ray with an ice pack on his bare shoulder; a trail of melting ice twisted a path down his biceps and dripped off his bent elbow. All he had on was an old pair of Ray’s jeans Dot had found for him. His eyes were bloodshot, and his voice was a deep rasp. Dot had fixed a mug of hot water with lemon and honey to soothe his throat. It seemed to be helping in that he wasn’t coughing as much. It’d probably be a few days until his voice was once again velvet smooth.

  “Thank you, Dot. Everyone,” Travis said quietly, the weariness in his voice evident on his face. “I think I’m good to go now. I’ll make up a bed”—he paused to take a sip from his mug—“in one of the empty stalls and get a little shut-eye.”

  Travis stood slowly and placed the ice pack on the table. He hadn’t yet noticed the incredulous expression on Dot’s face.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, young man,” Dot said. “You’re moving into the house. The downstairs room at the end of the hall is empty and all yours.”

  “No.” Travis protested a little too vehemently and fell into another coughing fit.

  Dot raised an eyebrow and looked to Ray.

  Ray knew it would be hell with Travis under the same roof—it was bad enough having him on the same ranch—but there was no way he was going to let the man sleep in the barn. Not after what happened tonight. Not after Sam tried to kill him.

  “It’d be best if you stay here, Travis,” Ray said.

  “No, really,” Travis said weakly. “I can sleep anywhere, and the barn’s as good a place as any.”

  “Nonsense,” Dot said, dismissing the idea out of hand. “You sit down, put that ice back on your shoulder, and drink your hot water. I’ll go make up the bed and find you some clothes.”

  Travis looked to him, then Jesse and back to Dot. Seeing there would be no arguing his way out, he sat down in defeat. His shoulders slumped, and his chin dipped to his chest.

  “I’m so sorry, Trav,” Jesse said in a small voice, not leaving his perch near the dining room door. “This is my fault. I know my dad did this, and I can’t let anything else happen to you. So, I-I’m going to quit.” He shot his gaze to Ray. “And leave the ranch.”

  “Nope. This is not your fault,” Travis rasped firmly. “Don’t even think that for a second.” Travis paused with a wince and took a sip from his cup. It was obvious how much it hurt him to talk. “This is all on your dad… He’d have come after me… Regardless.”

  “He’s right.” Ray took over. “Even if you’d left with your dad when I fired him, he’d still have come after Travis. And if not him, then someone else. You know that as well as we do.”

  “Maybe, but—”

  “No maybe. No but,” Ray interrupted. “You live here. You work here. And more importantly, we want you here.”

  Jesse looked from Ray to Travis, who nodded emphatically.

  “Okay. I didn’t really want to leave anyway,” he said with a timorous smile.

  Travis started to laugh, but it morphed quickly into a coughing fit.

  “Will you still teach me to train horses, Trav?” Jesse asked when Travis had the coughing under control.

  “Of course,” Travis said. “Not going anywhere.”

  Ray’s eyebrows shot up, and a surge of anger-laced jealousy flooded his veins. What the hell did Travis mean he’s “not going anywhere”? And why was he saying it to the kid and not him?

  “Good,” Jesse chirped. His tone turned solemn when he added, “I’m real happy you’re okay, Travis. I was so scared.”

  Travis nodded and flashed one of his magazine smiles at Jesse. Another wave of envy washed over Ray. Jesse said good night as he left the kitchen, and Ray waited until Jesse’s footsteps faded before he turned to Travis.

  “I don’t appreciate you making promises you know you’re not going to keep,” Ray said in a low, sharp voice.

  Travis stared at Ray for a long moment, his tired eyes searching. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “You know damn well what that means, Travis. You can’t tell Jesse you’ll be here for him when you won’t. You’re leaving.”

  “Maybe I’ll stick around,” Travis bit out.

  Ray huffed. “That’d be great. Then we’d both be screwed up the ass. And not in a good way.”

  “Maybe not,” Travis countered, but there was no fight in his voice.

  “Really? You’ve already made it clear you’re just looking for sex while you’re here.” Ray paused to check his rising voice while trying to ignore the flash of pain that flitted across Travis’s rugged face. “The second someone catches wind of what’s going on, we both know you’ll disappear faster than an eight-second whistle.”

  “That’s not—” Whatever Travis was going to say was interrupted by Dot coming through the kitchen door.

  “Here we are, son,” she said cheerily, oblivious to the glares he and Travis were leveling at each other. Dot dropped a small pile of clothes on the tabletop beside Travis’s elbow. He cleared his throat with slow, deliberate care and shifted his attention to Dot.

  “These are some of Ray’s old clothes I’ve been meaning to drop off at Goodwill,” Dot continued. “You two are close enough in size that his shirts will do you fine. Jeans might be a smidge short, but they’ll keep you clothed until we get you to town to buy your own.”

  “Thank you, Dot,” Travis said quietly. “I appreciate it.”

  She nodded and smiled warmly at him, then laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Your room is ready. Go sleep as long as you need.”

  Travis nodded, and his gaze dropped to the clothing. His shoulders hunched forward just enough to make him look tired and beaten down. Something in his demeanor shifted infinitesimally, and he seemed lost, vulnerable. Ray just wanted to pull him into his arms and make him smile, make those heavy-hearted eyes dance.

  “Good night, boys,” Dot said as she turned and left the kitchen.

  “’Night, Dot,” they returned in unison.

  Travis didn’t move for a moment, and Ray wasn’t quite sure what to say or do. Clearly their interrupted conversation had lost its momentum and looked like it wasn’t going to be continued. Travis had retreated inward, out of Ray’s reach.

  Travis lifted his free hand and ran it over the shirt on top of the folded pile. It had been one of Ray’s favorites, with blues and greens running in thick vertical bars. The material had softened with age and had always felt warm and comfortable, like coming home. The elbows had blown out, but Dot had patched them with a square of soft leather.

  Ray watched Travis’s hand as it traced a lazy S over the shirt like a caress. He carefully lifted the garment, slid his arms slowly into the sleeves, and buttoned it up with deliberate focus. He rolled his shoulders back and ran his hands down each forearm, smoothing the material.

  Seeing Travis in his shirt shifted something inside. Something he couldn’t quite name that had been off-kilter before and now seemed to have locked back into place, where it belonged.

  Then Travis raised his eyes—still magnetic, even smoke burned and bloodshot—and they collided with Ray’s gaze. The moment stretched with visible energy, and Ray felt like he was still standing at the edge of the fire again. Blood rushed south; the muscles in his lower abdomen clenched sharply. He cleared his throat and abruptly stood from the table, breaking the charged connection.

  “Well, I’ll let you get settled then.” Ray groaned inwardly at the ragged sound of his voice. Without risking eye contact again, he nodded and made his way to the door. He paused before going through and over his shoulder said, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  Ray took four deep pulls of refreshingly cool water and mentally followed its path as it quenched his mouth, raced down his throat like a waterfall, and splashed into his stomach. He placed the glass on the counter beside the sink an
d leaned against the edge, hands splayed on the grooved tile surface, as he stared out the kitchen window.

  Twenty-four hours had passed, and still he hadn’t slept more than a few of those hours in fits and starts.

  The moon was shining in all her brilliant glory again tonight. Stars glittered and sparkled in the heavens like tiny diamonds scattered on a bed of black silk. The night was still, the earth and all its beings in quiet repose. Except for him.

  How the hell was he supposed to sleep, knowing Travis Morgan lay just down the hallway? All bare skin and hard muscle stretched out and inviting. Ray dropped his head and bunched his shoulders. He wanted the man. God, how he wanted the man. He wanted him to stay, wanted him to want to—if it were possible, if it were a perfect world.

  But it wasn’t a perfect world, and he wouldn’t take the risk, wouldn’t ask. Even if he did, Travis would either pick up and leave anyway, or worse, he’d stay and eventually resent Ray for it, and then leave. No matter how he spun it, it all came back to Travis leaving. That cowboy just wasn’t made to stick.

  And why the hell did he keep torturing himself over something that couldn’t be? Something he shouldn’t—didn’t—want anyway?

  He promptly squelched the little voice in the back of his mind that knew a lie when it heard one. He didn’t want to think on that.

  Ray inhaled a long, deep breath, held it for a three-beat, and then exhaled just as slowly. Somehow, someway, he had to distance himself from the sexy cowboy. Just two more months, surely he could endure that. After all, he’d been denying himself for more than three decades. Another sixty days or so should be a drop in the bucket. He huffed out a weak laugh. Who did he think he was kidding? He’d already lost the battle and now it was only a matter of limiting the casualties.

  Letting his shoulders drop back down, he picked up his glass and swallowed the last mouthful of water, then rinsed out the glass and placed it in the dish rack. He turned away from the counter, took one step, and froze.