by A. M. Arthur
Dallas stared at Mack, but Mack held firm and Dallas blinked first. “Fine.” To Miles he flashed a smirk. “I’ll see you again, sweetheart.”
“Don’t fucking count on it,” Miles retorted. “Come near me again, and my boyfriend will snap your spine in half.”
Anger flared briefly in Dallas’s eyes, but he extinguished it quickly. He’d always been good at hiding his jealousy, pretending to be happy when Miles was dating. Dallas leaned in, and Miles refused to budge. “Bet he doesn’t fuck as good as I do.”
Fury blinded him again, and Miles tried to swing. Mack caught his arm and held him still, while Dallas plucked his shades away and sauntered off.
“Joe, do me a favor,” Mack said, “and make sure that piece of work leaves promptly.”
“Will do,” Joe said, and scurried off.
“Shit, I gotta get back to the kitchen,” Shawn said, leaving Miles and Mack alone.
“What happened?” Mack asked, all calm sympathy now.
“Came out to dump shit into compost,” Miles replied. “I turned around and there he was. I told him to leave, and when he didn’t, I tried to go around. He grabbed me, so I hit him in the face with the bus bin.”
“Nice work with the bin, but how are you doing, seeing him again?”
Miles squeezed his eyes shut a moment, before opening them again. It did nothing to calm his racing heart or boiling temper. “I’m not really sure yet. I don’t think it’s hit me.”
“You need to leave early?”
“No, no I think work is exactly what I need to do. If I go home, I’ll just sit and stew, or pace and worry. I can keep busy here.”
“All right.” Mack put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You need something, you call me or Wes. Or Reyes. He’ll drop what he’s doing to come for you.”
“I know.” The last thing he wanted was to pull Reyes away from the ranch because Miles’s abusive ex decided to show up and threaten him. No, Miles was keeping the threats to himself for now, because what could Dallas possibly have on him? Miles had no criminal record, and considering it was northern California, he couldn’t imagine most people would give a shit that the saloon’s chef was gay. Hell, the town owner was gay.
“Come on.” Mack picked up the bus bin and walked him back to the saloon. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
“I will.” He’d done exactly that by smashing that bin into Dallas’s smarmy face.
Miles went inside and washed up, then checked the tickets. Shawn tossed him a few concerned glances, but didn’t ask about the incident outside, and Miles was grateful. He wanted to get through his day, go home, and forget Dallas had invaded his safe place. His sanctuary.
“Bastard,” he said to the burger he was cooking.
“What did the meat do to you?” Emily asked. She’d come back to collect a pie order, and she paused by the range. “You okay? You look pale.”
“I’m fine, just a little tired.”
She didn’t seem convinced, but left it alone to deliver her plates.
“That guy was your ex, huh?” Shawn asked once they were alone.
Miles sighed, then flipped the burger, listening to it sizzle and sear. “Yeah. It was an unhealthy relationship, and he’s having trouble letting go.”
“I get that.” Shawn took a step closer, his expression grim. “Believe me, I get that. I had an ex who didn’t like being dumped, and it took a restraining order and three nights in jail for them to finally leave me alone.”
His careful way of not gendering the ex didn’t pass Miles’s notice, but it also wasn’t his place to question it. Who Shawn dated was his private business. “I’m glad you got away.”
“Thanks. I hope your stalker gets a clue and leaves you alone.”
“Me, too.”
Miles felt a new kinship with his coworker that day, and he was grateful Shawn had confided in him. He concentrated on work for a while, but during the afternoon lull, dark thoughts started creeping back in. Around four, Wes poked his head in the back door and gave Miles a pointed look. Miles excused himself to take a quick break.
“I’m fine,” Miles said before Wes could ask. He wanted to believe that, too, but he also couldn’t make himself step off the back stoop onto the grass.
“Liar.” Wes slung an arm across his shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Miles. I feel like this is my fault.”
“How is Dallas turning into a stalker your fault?”
“All the online hype about the saloon and your food. And Art Milo? What the fuck was I thinking with that pseudonym?”
“This isn’t your fault, and I don’t blame you, I promise. Honestly, I blame myself for trying to disappear, instead of facing Dallas directly.”
“You did what you had to do to protect yourself.”
“Fat lot of good it did me.” Miles leaned against the back wall of the saloon and crossed his arms. “I’m just pissed he came back and got in my face. He stained this beautiful place with his bullshit.”
“What kind of bullshit? Begging you to get back with him?”
“Not begging. More like threatening.”
Wes went rigid. “He threatened you?”
Miles regretted saying anything right away, but he trusted Wes, and he needed to say something to someone. “I need you to promise this stays between us for now.”
“Miles—”
“Promise me.”
“Fine.” Wes scowled. “I promise to keep whatever you tell me between us.”
“It wasn’t a major threat, but Dallas said he could ruin the life I’ve built here.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.” Miles shrugged. “The worst things I did were in high school ten years ago, but even that was typical teenage troublemaking shit. No one’s going to care I smoked weed when I was fifteen.”
Maybe Dallas was referencing the car accident that had ended Miles’s rebellious streak, but again, he hadn’t been driving. Miles hadn’t been charged with anything, only the driver. Nothing about that could ruin his life now.
“He could have been bluffing,” Wes said. “Trying to trick you into giving him another chance. I wouldn’t put that past him.”
“Neither would I. I won’t put anything past Dallas anymore.”
Shawn poked his head out the back door. “Hey, Miles, I hate to interrupt, but we just got a group of eight who all ordered entrées.”
“No problem,” Miles replied. To Wes, he said, “Thanks for the talk.”
“Anytime.” Wes squeezed his wrist, then wandered away.
Miles heaved a sigh and got back to work.
* * *
Reyes walked into the saloon a few minutes before six, keyed up and trying hard not to show it by stomping or otherwise making a scene. Annabelle and Emily were wiping down tables and putting chairs up, and they both waved as he wove his way toward the kitchen, struggling to keep his facial expression even. Mack had called to fill him in, and he’d spent the past two hours not only working through his own anger at Dallas harassing Miles again, but also the best way to help Miles cope. Now that he knew more about their history, Reyes raged over Dallas thinking he could get within a hundred yards of Miles, much less close enough to grab him.
Miles was furiously scrubbing down the flattop when Reyes walked through the kitchen doors, and he looked up, unsurprised to see who his guest was. Reyes paused, uncertain, until Miles turned and opened his arms. Reyes swept him into a firm hug, noting Miles’s increased heart rate. Miles angled his head for a kiss, too.
“Who called you?” Miles asked. “Mack or Wes?”
“Mack.”
“I would have told you tonight.”
“I know.”
“Go ahead and take off,” Shawn said. “I can take care of cleanup.”
“Are you sure?” Miles asked, untangling himself from
Reyes’s arms.
“Yeah, you can make it up to me sometime. I like collecting favors.”
The friendly grin on Miles’s face was the only reason Reyes didn’t read any deeper into that statement. He didn’t know Shawn well, but Miles trusted him.
“Okay, thanks,” Miles said. “See you Thursday.”
“Yeah, see you then.”
“Thank you,” Reyes said to Shawn as they passed his station on their way to the back door. He held Miles’s hand loosely in his as they left the kitchen, curious if he’d planned the right surprise.
The delighted squawk Miles let out told him he’d done good. Hot Coffee and Tango were waiting for them by the saloon’s west wall, tails swishing, patient as ever with their human companions. “I thought you’d like to ride for a while,” Reyes said. “Get lost in nature.”
“Thank you.” Miles kissed him softly before swinging expertly up into Tango’s saddle. Some of the visible tension around him settled as he reached out to run his hand up and down her neck. “This is perfect.”
“I’m glad.” Reyes mounted Hot Coffee, and this time, he allowed Miles to lead them out into the wilderness. They’d ridden together enough that Miles was beginning to know the grounds, know certain landmarks, and be able to navigate by the positions of the sun and moon. Miles kept them moving mostly north, and Reyes guessed their destination but said nothing.
The entire trip was made in silence. There was no trite “how was your day, dear?” needed between them, not today. Miles was upset, and it was up to Reyes, as his boyfriend, to fix it somehow.
So far, so good.
By the time they reached the bluff peak, where every overnight trip ended, Miles seemed angrier than when they’d left the saloon. As if, by staying silent, he’d allowed all his emotions to boil up and over, coming to a breaking point inside of him. He dismounted and tied his horse to a tree before walking toward the cliff. Reyes did the same, curious and worried by Miles’s persistent silence.
Miles stared out over the vast valley below that ended in a gorgeous peak of mountains and rock. Wilderness that held wildlife and vegetation, and where Reyes would gladly bury Dallas’s body if asked. But that wasn’t who Miles was. He was a kind, forgiving, old soul who wanted to see the best in people, and he’d been taken advantage of. That soul had almost been destroyed, but Miles was stronger that Dallas’s manipulation and violence.
“Fuck you, Dallas,” Miles said to the valley. “Fuck you!”
His voice echoed long into the distance. Reyes stood near him, behind and slightly to the right, not wanting to interrupt. As much as he’d wanted to be the one to fix this for Miles, Miles knew what he needed to find his balance again. Reyes remained silent, ready support if Miles needed him.
“I hate you,” Miles said. His voice was fractured, close to tears, but his profile was stormy. “I hate you for how you treated me. For the things you did to me. You fucking betrayed my trust, and I hate you!”
Reyes’s chest ached for his boyfriend’s pain, but he remained still. Uncertain. He also kept half an eye on the horses, but so far, they seemed oblivious to Miles’s ravings. The sun was getting low to their left, casting long shadows on the ground, and the only thing Reyes heard were Miles’s words and ragged breathing.
“You can’t take anything else from me, you fucking bastard,” Miles said. “Nothing else, because I won’t let you. This is my life! Mine! My life, my job, my family, and you can’t have them. Fuck!”
He dropped to his knees, and Reyes went to him, kneeling next to Miles, but Miles shied from his touch. He turned wet, red eyes onto Reyes, his face twisted in anger. “He gets nothing else, Reyes, nothing. He’s already taken too much.”
“I know. Do you have any idea how proud I am of you right now?”
“You’re proud of me for screaming at the sky?”
“Yes. Because you’re angry.” Reyes reached out, and Miles allowed him to take his hand. Squeeze it tight. “You aren’t resigned or scared anymore, you are furious at how he treated you. And you’re furious at him for bullying his way back into your life, when you have so clearly indicated you’re done with him. Your anger is beautiful.”
“I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate him. I didn’t think it was possible to feel this way about another person.”
“A person who repeatedly betrayed you and broke your trust. A person who physically and emotionally assaulted you. It’s healthy to hate a man like that. Don’t ever feel bad for hating him, because while Dallas doesn’t deserve any of your emotional energy, hate is better than grief or resignation. The man you were last year, dealing with all of this alone, made me sad. The man you are today? Standing up for yourself and pushing back? I’m honored to know and love that man, Miles.”
A single tear trickled down Miles’s cheek. “I want to file a restraining order. I don’t want him near me again.”
“We can head down to the county sheriff’s office tomorrow and see about doing that. I’ll drive, if you want.”
“Don’t you have to be here for the guests?”
“The other guys can handle shit for two hours. This is important, mi alma. Let me be here for you.”
Miles slumped against him, and Reyes held tight, pulling his trembling boyfriend against his chest, trying to simply be there for him while he dealt with this emotional crisis. To stay present and ready to do whatever Miles needed.
“Fuck, I’m so tired right now,” Miles whispered.
“You’ve had an emotional day. You ready to head home?”
“I think so. I love you.”
“Love you, too. Come on.”
They fetched their horses, and Reyes made sure Miles was up and settled in his saddle before mounting Hot Coffee. Their return trip was as silent as the first, but it also lacked the tension. Miles had released a lot of emotion today, and he seemed less agitated, more grounded and steady. Reyes had helped give him that.
In the barn, they untacked and brushed their horses with small touches and gentle nudges that began to feel like real intent on Miles’s part. They held hands on the walk back to their cabin, and once inside, Miles crowded Reyes right against the door and started kissing him. Pulling at clothes, rubbing bare skin.
And then they were in bed, Reyes sheathed in a condom, and after a bit of prep, he was inside his boyfriend. Loving him, pushing them both toward their release. Creating a promise with their bodies that mere words could never match. Saying “I love you” with every thrust and kiss and touch.
Afterward, they lay together, limbs tangled, existing in a perfect moment in time. A moment Reyes hoped to create again and again with this man who’d stolen his heart.
For as long as humanly possible.
Chapter Sixteen
Miles was glad he had two days off to get the restraining order sorted before having to return to work, and he got word Wednesday evening that Dallas had been served with it. Minimum distance of one hundred yards, which meant he couldn’t legally come to Bentley or the ranch ever again as long as Miles was on the property. He solemnly hoped that was the end of it.
And Reyes had, of course, been amazing the past few days. Being attentive but not overbearing. Sensitive to Miles’s mood, which had actually improved a lot since Monday’s scare. The horse ride and screaming at the wilderness had done Miles a world of good, and he looked forward to getting back to the grindstone on Thursday morning.
Going back also reminded him that he’d neglected Art Milo’s social media accounts recently, and chatting with his followers was great publicity for the saloon. Thursday night, while Reyes was working late dealing with a guest emergency, Miles logged on. He answered questions and made jokes with fans, then sorted through the private messages. The blatant come-ons he deleted without responding. Someone else begged for the recipe to the sauce he put on the buffalo burger, and he sent back a cheeky reply
of “butterfly wings and fairy dust.”
Miles liked hiding behind a pseudonym. It gave him a chance to be someone else for a little while and play.
One of the messages was from someone named Greg Garin, and it contained an attachment. Miles usually deleted those without reading them, but the brief text his phone showed wasn’t addressed to Art. It was addressed to Miles A.
Goddamn Dallas, has to be.
Even though he had a no-contact order, Dallas was trying to work around it using the anonymity of the internet.
Miles’s finger hovered over the delete key, but his curiosity won out. He opened the message, which was brief. Miles A., we need to talk. Trust me.
“The fuck we do,” he said, his voice bouncing around the silent cabin. He studied the freeze-frame of the attached video clip, his insides going wormy. It was of the back of a head of very dark hair. Like his own. With a deep inhale, followed by a long exhale, Miles pressed Play.
And nearly vomited on the floor.
The fifteen second clip was of Miles blowing some guy, while Dallas looked on in the background. And fuck, Miles was definitely the one going to town on the guy, but he had no memory of this moment in his life. Had to be last year’s birthday. Not only did Miles not remember that night, but now it looked like he’d been into whatever they’d done.
How could I be into it if I don’t remember? It had to be drugs.
Old shame tried to sneak in on silent feet, but Miles beat it back. Nothing that happened to him that night was his fault. But knowing Dallas had fucking filmed him? New anger and hate blazed through his chest. Miles was pretty sure he hadn’t consented to sex, much less to being filmed. What did Dallas hope to achieve here? Threaten to unleash the video online and destroy his reputation? So the fuck what? Miles lived a quiet life out here, and there was no actual proof linking Miles to Art Milo and the saloon.
And even if there was, he’d quit before he allowed his poor choices to affect Bentley and all the people who depended on that town for their livelihood, including local Garrett business owners.