Keeping his arm around Jason's waist, Casa held him steady. All at once, a keen slash of awareness swept through him. As dark eyes met hazel, Casa saw Jason felt it, too. He'd already experienced a warm joy knowing Jason had chosen to call him instead of one of the others. The trust that choice implied meant a great deal. Now, standing intimately close, near enough to feel each other's suddenly accelerating heartbeats and quickened breath, that warmth escalated to a searing heat.
Casa lifted his free arm, brushed his fingertips along the lightly stubbled line of Jason's jaw. He looked into the clear steady eyes inches from his and saw the tangled emotions mirroring his own. Jason's lips quirked, one corner lifting in a crooked grin. Beneath Casa's other hand, the bare skin of Jason's back felt warm and inviting.
"Hey, is this a simple case of proximity and maybe goin' without too long...or something else?" Jason's words seemed to be meant as a joke, yet they still sounded intense, laden with meaning.
Against his hip, Casa felt the throb of Jason's cock through the layers of denim. His own had gone iron-hard in seconds and strained against his fly. Blood surging everywhere but his head left him dizzy. If he let go of Jason, he'd likely end up on that floor himself.
As Jason's question soaked in, Casa gulped. Was he ready to make a confession? Could he risk blurting the long-withheld words that crowded his throat? Once said they could not be recalled. In a flash, he decided against it. This wasn't the time. He wanted to be sure Jason knew sympathy or pity had absolutely nothing to do with this attraction. When the time was right, if it ever came, he'd spill it all, but not now, not here.
Risking letting go instead of acting on his powerful urges, Casa lowered his arm and stepped back. He concentrated grimly on keeping his own footing while he watched to be sure Jason was able to do the same.
After a moment, he had both his physical and mental balance back. "A touch of the hornies, I 'spect." He forced a chuckle. "We'll survive. You okay now? I left ole Splash with three shoes off and one still on. Best get back and take care of that if you're all right."
Jason nodded, took a cautious step toward his desk and then another. "Yep, I'll be a little more deliberate when I go to move from now on. Thanks." He paused. "I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this to yourself, okay?"
Casa nodded. "You bet." He waited to be sure Jason got to his desk without incident. Then he hiked back to the barn and resumed his farrier task.
Even concentrating on the job he could not quite tear his thoughts away from the sensations of Jason's strong body pressed against his side, the fierce current that had flowed for a short time between them. He might be crazy, but something told him Jason felt at least a hint of the powerful longing Casa had nurtured in secret for five years.
Wow. Oh man. What if...
He didn't dare think that notion through, but even the slightest trace of it sent a sizzle of raw energy along every nerve. Then he felt a stir of defiance.
Well, why not? Spark has his Italian Stallion and Stace got his Hollywood Hero, so why not someone for me?
But for that someone to be Jason? The thought both scared and elated him. After admiring and lusting after Jason from a distance for so long, it was hard to visualize a real connection, coming together to discover what Casa saw his two buddies had gained. He'd managed to tame the burgeoning hard-on before he got back to the barn, knowing Spark would give him all kinds of hell if he noticed and want to know what was going on. That was the last thing Casa wanted to deal with right now. Private dreams were simply that, private. That's what they needed to remain for the time being, too.
Chapter 3
A couple of weeks later, the three cowboys again sat in the bunkhouse, chugging the daybreak dose of caffeine they needed to get going. Stace had returned late the prior evening from two days and nights in Las Cruces. Casa couldn't miss the satisfied grin the African American cowboy tried, without success, to suppress.
"Must've been good," Casa said, with a wink.
Stace didn't quite blush.
"Er, yup. I reckon it was." He took on a faraway stare for a breath and then brought his attention back to the present. "Coming back last night, I all at once got an idea. Let me run something by you guys and see what you think. You know how much Jared resembles Jason, right? We all noticed it when he was here last fall. I can't get him to say right out, although he kind of hinted. Still, I know they gotta be related somehow.
"I have this hunch something happened between them and they've been at odds for a long time, but neither one is happy about it. You remember how Jason took off when Jared came for his vacation, when me and him first got together. I'd like to get them face to face. Maybe they'd be able to work this out. I think they'd both feel a lot better without this bad blood between them, whatever it's about. You know what I'm saying?"
Casa shifted his gaze to Spark. The Texan always seemed to have a good grasp on people stuff, which made his reaction important. And Spark wasn't as close to either Jared or Jason, so he ought to be a little more objective.
For Casa's part, anything that made Jason feel happier, more comfortable or less alone would have a high priority in his plans. But was the idea sound or might they only make things worse? He knew Jason never spoke of family, except an occasional oblique comment about his father, who apparently had died years ago.
Spark frowned, deep in thought. "I dunno," he said. "It might work, but it might cause a big dust up, too. Jason's a mighty proud man, not much of one to back down or make nice, you know? Not that he isn't a swell guy, good-hearted and all, but kind of stern and unbending. He could get mad as hell at all of us!"
"I know," Stace said, a mournful tone creeping into his words. "But still, I have this hunch. They're both deep down sorry over whatever happened, but neither one will make the first move. If we got them together, they'd have to do something."
"Like try and beat the shit out of each other?" Casa watched his concern sink in on the others.
After a moment, Spark shook his head. "I doubt it would come to that. Jason's pretty civilized, and Jared seems to be, too. At worst, they might act like strangers and kind of ignore each other after a few mandatory words."
Stace shrugged. "Yeah, could be, but then again... Anyway, I know Jared wants to do something to celebrate the fact we're really hooked up and looking to staying that way for a long time. We settled that this weekend. Spark, I bet Lou'd like to do something similar for the two of you.
"I was thinking we could throw a barbeque in between guests, for the crew here and our friends, like this next weekend. I know Jared would be happy to kick in for food and drinks and stuff, maybe give Dough Boy a thank you gift if he'll do the honors of fixing up a real feast. I bet Lou would be happy to do his share that way, too."
This time Spark nodded. "Yeah, that'd be fun and it could work. Kind of do it behind Jason's back since he's still not out and around too much with his bum leg. Let it be a surprise to be sure he doesn't try to take off. He's left us in charge until he gets back to normal, so it wouldn't seem like we've gone over his head. He might even have that cast off by next weekend, if I heard right." He looked at Casa for confirmation.
"He seemed to think it was a good chance after his last doctor's visit." Casa grinned. "He sure hates not to be able to drive. I know he's getting antsy as hell and can't say I blame him. Dragging that chunk of fiberglass around has to get old fast, and he really misses riding and being out in the middle of everything from what he's said."
"Well, that settles it. We've got lots of stuff to celebrate, so let's see what we can whip up here." Stace looked at his two friends. "Who's going to talk to Dough Boy? He can be a real SOB if you don't hit him right, but a little sweet talking should get to his pride and make him want to show off his gourmet cookin' with a little bonus to sweeten the deal."
After thinking a moment, Casa grinned. "We can get Miguel to do it. He calls the old fart mi tio especial and flatters him all the time. He can get about anything he wants."
/> "Special uncle, my ass! But if it works, I'm good with it," Spark said.
Stace agreed. "As long as I don't have to do the honors. Catch him wrong and ole Dough Boy will chew you a new ass."
* * * *
Friday afternoon, Casa again drove Jason to Silver City. Waiting in the truck, he watched Jason stump into the doctor's office, each step heavy enough to bust the cast to smithereens. Casa shook his head. If he don't get that blamed thing off today, he's liable to take a chisel or a saw and do the job himself. He grinned. Not that he wouldn't be equally anxious and irritable in the same circumstances.
However, when Jason emerged some forty minutes later, the cast was gone and he wore a grin that threatened to split his face. When he climbed into the truck on the passenger side, Casa wondered if it had become a habit now.
"Don't you wanna drive?"
"No, you better do it this time. I've got to do some exercises to loosen up the joints and get the muscles back to work, the doc said. I might not be able to control my leg enough yet to be safe. But how about we stop at the Buckhorn for a beer? I sure feel like celebrating."
Casa returned Jason's grin. "You betcha, boss-man. This calls for a cold one or two for sure, but as designated driver I better limit myself to one."
A lot of ranch folks made it to town on Friday afternoons and the favorite rustic hangout was filling fast. Casa followed Jason to the bar with several stops to talk with local people who knew about the accident and offered congratulations on his recovery. Jason took some joshing, too, but his cheerful demeanor did not slip a notch. When they finally made it to the bar, he ordered two Buds for them.
While Jason downed the first one and two more, Casa leaned on the bar and sipped his single beer slowly. It sure felt good to stand shoulder to shoulder there as if they were not boss and employee, but partners. Not that Jason ever talked down to those who worked for him. He never said or did a single thing to demean anyone, really. That was part of what Casa admired. He knew a lot of men as well off as Jason clearly was who never let their workers forget who was top dog. And being Mexican, Casa had endured his full share of put downs and outright prejudice.
Finally, Jason glanced at his watch. "Guess we'd better get our butts back to the ranch. Chores go on no matter what, don't they?"
Their departure went almost as slowly as the entrance, but eventually they made it back to the truck.
"Shit fire," Jason exclaimed as he glanced at the sun, almost ready to drop behind the distant mountains in Arizona. "It's later than I figured." He turned to grin at Casa. "You shoulda grabbed me by the arm and hauled my lazy ass out of there."
Casa shook his head. "No way. I was having too much fun listening to everyone hoo-rahing you about being too old to ride a rank bull and all the rest. When that wild daughter of ole Hank Lee's asked you to dance, I almost laughed my butt off."
Jason chuckled too. "Yeah, they say she's hell on roller skates. I'm not quite up to dancin' yet and prob'ly wouldn't do it with her anyway. Wouldn't do much with her to tell the truth. But then you and me would look pretty strange out there two-stepping, wouldn't we?"
Casa was torn between mirth and consternation as he visualized the situation Jason described. He went hot and cold thinking about them holding each other in the intimate embrace a dance required, but the heat won. "Cut that out, boss," he said. "You're about half lit and talking crazy here."
"Me, drunk on three beers? I don't think so. I'm fifty pounds lighter than I was a few hours ago and it's got me high as a kite."
They fell silent for a few minutes. Then Casa had to say something to fill the quiet in the cab. "I'd have danced with you if you asked, you know. I'd do it anytime or anywhere."
Now it seemed it was Jason's turn to feel disconcerted. He waited a beat before he responded. "Would you really? Damn, I appreciate that, more than you know. We might get a chance one of these days. I bet you could dance the boots off a statue of John Wayne."
Casa had to laugh at that ludicrous notion. "Not quite, but they threw some hellacious bailes down on the big ranch in Texas when I was a kid. I started dancing almost as soon as I could walk."
He almost went on to blurt out the plan for a barbeque, but caught himself in time. However, he'd talk to Stace and Spark soon about adding some music. That was one thing they hadn't considered and would certainly give some special flavor to the party. Of course, he and Spark both played guitar and sang a bit and on occasion Stace added a melodic baritone harmony. This event might even call for hiring one of the local bands that played for dances and get-togethers. Such events were well attended by local ranch families and even some folks from town, and Casa liked the music he had heard.
Before he was quite ready, they pulled into the ranch yard. After Jason got out, Casa tossed him the keys. "Here. You'll be driving yourself again from now on, I reckon."
Jason caught them neatly. Already he seemed to be past the brief but heady mix of beer and post-cast euphoria. He nodded. "Thanks for playing chauffer for me the past few weeks. It's been hard, not being able to do that and a lot more, but I'll be up to speed soon."
Casa nodded, trying not to let the end of this brief period of closeness bother him. It had been too good to last. "Yep, can't keep a good man down..."
As he started away, he was anything but and he didn't dare look back to see if Jason had a similar reaction. If there had been a few more miles between town and the ranch, who knows what might have happened. A couple of times he had sensed Jason was about to reach across the cab and-- But no, that was foolish, wishful thinking.
He picked up his pace almost to a trot, thinking ahead to more plans for the barbeque with his buddies. At first, he'd had some doubts, but could be Stace was right. Getting Jason and Jared together, forcing them to interact might be the best thing they could possibly do.
* * * *
Meanwhile, Jason headed up the low steps to the veranda of the big house, trying not to let the stiffness of his right knee and ankle show in his gait. He glanced back once, but Casa was striding briskly toward the bunkhouse, almost to the open door where a beam of light shone out into the dusk.
He exhaled in a slow sigh, mixing relief and regret. Don't even think of calling him back. Whatever was going on while we were coming back from town was mostly beer talking, beer and relief from getting out of that fuckin' cast. Be glad you didn't get stupid and say or do something you can't undo. Life doesn't have a rewind or a delete key.
He could not help but wonder, though. What if he'd given in to the urge to reach across and lay a hand on Casa's muscular rider's thigh, told him to pull off onto one of the dirt roads branching from the highway. He'd have stopped the truck in the shadows and...
At the thought, he went so hard he ached, even worse than on the drive home. I've gotta get myself in hand here. Things may be changing for the ranch, but not that much and not yet. If Stace and Spark actually leave, some of the younger wranglers take over the special guests, and Casa is still hanging around... He shook his head. That was counting way too many unhatched chickens.
* * * *
"Hey, that's a great idea, Casa. Why didn't I think of it?" Spark's enthusiasm revealed he really liked the idea of hiring a band. "It's kinda short notice, but I haven't heard of any local dances that weekend so we can probably get the Wagon Wheel Wranglers."
Stace nodded, grinning. "Yeah, here at the ranch, nobody's gonna think anything of it if we dance with each other. After all, there prob'ly won't be any women around, anyway."
"Back in the old days," Spark added, "the miners and cowboys would dance with each other. Read it in a book once and they did it in that movie Paint Your Wagon my sister used to watch all the time."
Miguel had cozied up to Dough Boy and gotten him to agree to cook for the event. They'd already ordered a quarter of beef to barbeque and a twenty-five pound bag of beans. The beans could simmer in two huge Dutch ovens over the same coals that cooked the meat in a twelve-hour session. There would be big
bowls of coleslaw, piles of biscuits, and probably some sides of tamales, tacos and enchiladas. For dessert, plenty of homemade ice cream and pans of peach cobbler.
Casa's mouth watered at the vision of all that good food. Of course, they'd have plenty of cold sodas and beer as well, and the ever-present five-gallon camp coffeepot would be full and hot for those who preferred their caffeine that way. Now that spring had arrived for real, even the evenings were warm enough to be comfortable outside. The courtyard between the wings of the big house was a perfect place to eat, drink and enjoy.
He smiled in anticipation. Then he did something he had not done in a long time. He whispered a silent prayer for the meeting between Jason and Jared to go well and not put a damper on the party. He couldn't help worrying about that. Two strong, proud men with bad blood between them made a risky situation. The fact they were probably related made it even dicier.
Santa Madre, por favor, I may only be a dumb cowboy and a sinner, but I'm askin' this for more than just myself. Please do it for us all, especially Jason.
* * * *
The day of the barbeque dawned clear and warm. Since the festivities did not get underway until noon, Stace and Spark had slipped off to Las Cruces and the Double-D to collect their new partners, trying to make things look as if there was nothing unusual about the day. Of course, Dough Boy's kitchen hummed with activity, but then he often fixed a special meal on Sunday or made up dishes to freeze or save for later in the week. If Jason noticed, he chose not to say anything. Casa went through his chores on pins and needles, wanting badly to say something, but scared he'd mess things up. Damn Stace anyway for this ass-dumb idea!
The old cook might grumble, but he also admitted preferring to stay busy. He seemed to have no life outside the ranch and his chosen career. An old-fashioned turntable perched on a shelf in one corner of the kitchen and when he worked, he usually had some classic country and western music playing, which he said was the only suitable sounds to accompany making a peach cobbler, a pot of slow-cooked beans or any of his other specialties. He swore modern rap and hip-hop would sour milk, keep dough from rising and make meat tough.
The Wild Bunch 3 Casa Page 3