by A. M. Arthur
“Yes, sir.” Mack strode over to the porch, shoulders straight.
“You got the sleeping arrangements done for tomorrow?”
“A while ago. I posted it so you could take a peek, but Reyes double-checked me. It’s good.”
“Excellent. Food delivery come okay?”
Mack stifled a sigh; Judson hadn’t talked to him. “It came, but we had a slight hiccup. You under-ordered again. Three staples.”
“Well, shit.” Arthur frowned. “You checked—”
“I checked your original order against the one Juno had on him. They matched. Reyes and I went into town a bit ago to get what extra Patrice needed. You’ll see the charge on the business card.”
“I’m sorry about that. Honest mistake.”
“On flour, bacon and eggs that you’ve been ordering for ten years?”
Arthur’s shoulders slumped. Mack loved his grandfather and hated seeing him upset, but this was about the business. Arthur’s business, and they both had to protect it.
“We fixed it, but this is the third incident in four months,” Mack said. “This coming week, just let me or Judson double-check you before you send the order over. We all need a second set of eyes sometimes. Just like I had Reyes double-check me today.”
“Makes good sense. Better for business.”
“And I think the store will appreciate it. I bought out all of their bacon.”
Arthur’s eyes lit up with silent laughter. “Hopefully no one in town wants a BLT for dinner tonight.”
“They would be shit out of luck.”
“How’s our new batch of guests look?” Arthur descended the four wood steps to stand next to Mack. They had similar heights and builds, and some folks swore they saw Arthur in Mack, but Mack never could.
“Not too bad. Married couple, small family, two groups of friends and a bridal party. Sixteen total.”
“Good, good. You and Colt going out tonight?”
The abrupt conversation shift startled Mack. He’d come out to Arthur years ago, right after Arthur came out to him—gay his entire life, but hiding it for decades until he said fuck it, I’m out. Hence his purple T-shirts and the rainbow flag proudly displayed on their flagpoles each day next to the American flag and the California state flag. The Clean Slate Ranch was gay-friendly and proud of it.
“Yeah,” Mack replied. “Reyes is coming out for a change.”
“You’re never going to meet someone if all you ever do is visit bars and dance clubs.”
Mack shrugged. “I don’t want to meet anyone right now.”
“Hmm. Maybe, maybe not. Why don’t you try those dating apps on your phone?”
“What’s with the sudden urge to marry me off?” That came out with more anger than necessary. “Sorry, I just... I’m not ready.”
“It’s been nearly five years, son.”
“I know how long it’s been, believe me.” Long enough that he could think about Geoff without his heart breaking wide-open, but not long enough that he was ready to risk his heart a second time. Losing Geoff had hurt too damned much.
Arthur sighed. “Why don’t you come have dinner at the house with me and Judson tonight? Reyes and Colt, too.” Also a widower, Judson was the only person who lived in the main house with Arthur. A row of two-man cabins fifty yards north of the house was where the hands lived.
Mack could have had a cabin to himself, but he genuinely didn’t mind sharing with Reyes. He was quiet, tidy, and he’d seemed to really need the companionship when he first moved to the ranch, only a few months after Mack. “Sure, why not?” he replied. “You cooking?” Silly question, because if Arthur loved anything more than his horses, it was cooking. Even if his recipes were pretty basic.
“Certainly. I’ve had a roast in the slow cooker all day.”
Mack sniffed the air, but couldn’t detect the scent of cooking meat over the rest of the odors of the ranch. “Mashed potatoes?”
“Of course. What kind of monster do you think I am?”
“Just checking.” And teasing. Arthur was a tried-and-true meat and potatoes man. Where there was one, there was the other. “I’ll see you around six, then?”
“Six it is.”
“Cool. I have to get a few more things ready for tomorrow’s check-in. See you in a while.”
Mack strode toward the tourist barn and his office. Most of his work for tomorrow was finished, so he bypassed the office and walked down two stalls to his personal horse, Tude. A paint mare with several ugly scars on her flanks, thanks to a brutal previous owner, she’d come into Arthur’s care around the same time as Mack. Mack had fallen in love with the high-strung horse, renamed her Attitude, Tude for short, and Arthur had helped him retrain her.
She nickered at his presence, her big head rising over the stall’s gate. Mack held up a cube of sugar that she greedily picked up with her lips. He rubbed a hand over her smooth nose, up her long forehead. She had big brown eyes that simultaneously said “I like you” and “I dare you.” Attitude.
“What do I need a boyfriend for when I’ve got you, lady?” Mack asked softly, the only sounds in the barn the quiet movements of the other horses.
Tude didn’t have an answer for him.
Chapter Two
“If I survive this week, you owe me Katy Perry concert tickets,” Wes Bentley said as he scoped the sad state of Garrett’s Main Street from behind the wheel of Sophie’s SUV. The place looked exhausted of itself and ready to close up shop at any moment—a thought not helped by the various empty storefronts he drove past.
In the passenger seat, his sister Sophie blew him a raspberry. “You picked the ranch, bro, don’t blame me for the town.”
True story. When Sophie came to him last month demanding that in lieu of a traditional party-and-presents sort of bridal shower, she wanted to take the wedding party to a dude ranch for a vacation, he’d been crazy skeptical. The vacation, she’d said, was to relax everyone before they jumped into the insanity of planning the wedding. Wes was all about doing things outside of the box, but the idea of dusty trails and smelly horses wasn’t his idea of a vacation—until Sophie said the key words: cowboys in tight jeans.
I am all over cowboys in tight jeans, even if I’m only over them in my dreams. Or under them. Whatever.
Besides, Wes could deal with dust and smelly horses and cowboys in order to see Sophie happy. She was the most important person in his life, and she only got one wedding—he hoped—so he’d do whatever she wanted. It wasn’t as if he’d never been around dust and smelly horses before; those memories just weren’t good ones, was all. He could push his dislike aside for a week, though, even if everything around him reminded Wes of Drake.
He angled the rearview to get a look at Sophie’s fiancé, Conrad Massey, whose exaggerated frown at the passing town almost made him laugh. Conrad was a city boy like the rest of them, and he didn’t hide his emotions well—something Wes really liked about him. Wes had no more time for secrets or lying, so he looked forward to having a brother-in-law who spoke his mind and didn’t hold things in.
“The town’s not much,” Wes said to all four of his passengers, “but the pictures from the ranch are amazing.”
“I think the town’s quaint.” The unexpected comment from Miles Arlington surprised Wes into angling the mirror again. He caught a snatch of Miles’s ashy brown hair, but his face was hidden by Wes’s headrest. Conrad’s brother Derrick was squashed into the middle seat, even though Miles was the smallest of the three guys in the back. After they’d packed up the SUV, Miles had pulled Wes aside and flat-out refused to be sandwiched between the two big men for close to an hour.
Wes had acquiesced quickly. Miles had been his coworker for about two years, and roommate for almost a year. He was the quiet to Wes’s loud, the tame to his flashy. And Miles needed a week away from the city more than anyon
e else in the car. Something had been off with him for a couple of weeks now, and Wes was starting to worry.
“Quaint is one word for it,” Sophie said. “It’s like the place went to sleep in 1975 and never woke up again.”
“Like an American Sleeping Beauty, only without the thorns,” Wes added.
“At least there are people. Look.” She pointed at a pair of elderly men hobbling along the sidewalk, each walking a dog on a leash. “That’s adorable. I wonder if they’re a couple.”
Wes snorted. “I doubt it. Why any gay man would live in Podunk, California, when San Fran is so close is too insane to ponder. No, the dog walking is probably their daily exercise regime, followed by checkers at the local park.”
“You think this place is big enough for a park?”
“You guys really gonna rag on the town this whole time?” Derrick asked, speaking for the first time in at least half an hour. Dude sounded kind of annoyed. Wes didn’t know him as well as Conrad, and it dawned on him that the Massey brothers had been born and raised in a Podunk town like this, and Derrick still lived in one. He hadn’t grown up and moved to the glory that was San Francisco like his brother.
“Sorry,” Wes said. He could be overbearing at times, but he was also fully aware of being overbearing. Sophie said it was part of his charm. Wes was pretty sure it was why he was chronically single.
Whatever. Men were too damned complicated, anyway.
Why couldn’t I have been born bi or pan? Women are so chill.
His GPS told him to make a right in half a mile. The directions he’d read online said to look for two big boulders. Sure enough, two big boulders marked either side of a dirt road. The place didn’t have the expected big wooden sign hanging between wooden poles, announcing the name of the place. Instead, the boulder on the right had the name chiseled into it.
He nearly bit his tongue off after he hit the first pothole only a few feet onto the road. “Holy shit.”
“Slow down, your shocks can’t take this,” Conrad said. “Damn, man.”
“Sorry!” Wes eased off the accelerator—not only to be nicer to the vehicle and his passengers, but also to take in the view on both sides of the road. Sprawling grassland, distant mountain peaks, tall trees and swooping birds. It was like something out of the movies, and Wes didn’t usually wax poetic about the outdoors.
A chain-link fence surrounded a big patch of dusty ground that was supposed to be the parking lot. Four other cars were already in the lot. Everyone was supposed to be there by 10:00 a.m. for the ride up to the main ranch, and they were right on time. He’d read about this part, but hadn’t told the others. Surprises were part of the fun.
“Wes, what’s this?” Sophie asked.
“This is where we get picked up.” Wes parked next to a blue minivan, then shut the SUV off with a flourish. “This is as far as we drive, lady and gents.”
“How do we get to the ranch? Are they bussing us?”
“Better.” Wes hated seeing Sophie so confused, but her reaction to their historical transportation would be worth it. He hit the locks, then popped the rear compartment. “Grab your shit.”
They’d picked Sophie’s vehicle for the trip because it had the most space for everyone’s luggage. Wes had agreed to drive in order to secretly soften the blow of planting her baby in a parking lot for a week.
Other folks were milling around the lot, chatting and waiting to be picked up. Wes ignored most of them while he and his friends pulled suitcases and travel bags out of the SUV and piled them with the other luggage under a sign marked Luggage Drop-Off. Miles rescued his digital camera before stepping away from his bag.
An excited screech rose up from near the minivan. A little boy was jumping up and down, waving into the distance. Another boy similar in age joined him, followed by a pair of women who looked extremely similar in appearance. Sisters? Best friends? Wives? The ranch advertised as being LGBT friendly, so anything was possible.
“Is that our ride?” Sophie asked.
Wes followed the direction the boy was pointing. From over a bend in the road, two horses pulled a large, uncovered wagon toward them at a steady pace. “Yup,” he replied. “Old-fashioned experience from the start.”
She nearly tackled him to the ground with the force of her hug. “That’s so cool! I love you.”
“Me, too, sis.” He spun her around once before putting her back down. So far, so good. Bring on the cowboys in tight jeans.
Two men rode on a raised platform at the front of the wagon. The man on the driver’s side was leading the team of horses, and holy Moses, even from a distance he was hot. Older than Wes, about his height, but with swaths of toned muscles that bunched beneath his blue polo marked with the ranch’s logo. A real cowboy hat sat atop his head, hiding his actual hair color, but that was okay because he had a square jaw, a dusting of dark beard and a fucking chin dimple.
Chin dimples were his Kryptonite.
“You’re drooling,” Sophie whispered.
“Why aren’t you?” Wes replied.
The closer the wagon drew, the better Wes could study his cowboy’s face...and the deep scowl on it. Sure, it was kind of hot for May, the sun was beating down like a motherfucker, and he’d just ridden a mile or so down a bumpy road on an equally bumpy-looking wagon, but still. Serious grumpy bear in their midst.
The second cowboy was older. Similar polo, darker brown hat and a lot of silver in his trimmed beard. He had the brown, leathery skin of someone who’d spent his entire life outdoors. Way less hot, but hey, cowboy!
“Ho, there!” the older cowboy called out. “Welcome to the Clean Slate Ranch!”
A small cheer went up around them. Sophie squealed. Miles was staring at the horses with naked terror in his big green eyes. Wes contemplated standing next to him in case Miles decided to bolt back to the car.
The wagon paused on the road, just outside of the parking area, and the older man stood. “Name’s Judson Marvel. I’m ranch foreman. This here silent, surly fellow behind me is Mack Garrett. You wanna work with the horses, chances are you’ll have to face his ugly mug.”
A pair of college-age guys started snickering, which sent ripples of annoyance across Wes’s skin. They had a very dude-bro, know-it-all look to them that turned him right off. Just like the high school bullies who never let Wes forget he was a flaming queer who loved—and excelled at, thank you—acting and musical theater.
“Hush up, now, Judson,” Mack said in a way that sounded practiced. Forced for the audience. Wes was an actor; he could pick bad performances apart in a snap. “Let’s get these folks on board and up to the ranch.”
Both men climbed off the wagon with practiced motions, and yeah, Wes stared at Mack’s ass as he swung down. The gathered crowd of vacationers began moving forward. The back of the wagon had a single wooden step that Mack and Judson stood on either side of, helping their guests up. Wes took a minute to observe the people around him. Besides the pair of women with kids, and the dude-bros, there was an older couple being very handsy with each other, and three chicks in their mid-twenties who kept staring at Mack like they wanted to lick him all over.
They definitely had better odds than Wes. The place was gay friendly, but he had no reason to assume any of the actual cowboys were gay, much less his hot grumpy bear.
“What about our luggage?” Conrad asked.
“We’ll lock the gate before we leave,” Judson replied in a jovial tone. “It’ll be safe enough until one of our men comes back for it with the truck. There’s a brief orientation when we get up there, so you won’t have time to miss it before you’re back in each other’s arms.”
Derrick snickered. “He does love that suitcase.”
“As long as he doesn’t love it more than my sister,” Wes said.
“Ah, the future bride,” Judson said to Sophie, who was tucked under Conrad
’s arm. He winked at Conrad. “You must be the lucky fellow.”
One of the dude-bros made a rude noise that got Wes’s and Derrick’s attention. They were already on the wagon and didn’t look happy about Judson’s comment. Great, a whole week hanging around a pair of racist asshats. At least Sophie and Conrad were too into the attention from Judson to have noticed.
“He is the lucky fellow.” Wes slung one arm across Conrad’s shoulders and the other over Sophie’s. Neither Wes nor his parents had batted an eyelash about Conrad being black, and Wes wasn’t letting anyone give his sister and future brother-in-law shit out here in the middle of nowhere. He glared directly at the dude-bros, who angled away from him.
Good. Assholes.
Wes made sure he got on last, then faux-stumbled on the step so Mack had to grab his arm to steady him. The contact did tingly things to his insides. He winked at Mack. “My hero.”
“Watch your step,” Mack replied in a growly voice that Wes wanted to hear again and again. He let go of Wes’s arm once Wes had both feet firmly in the wagon.
Oh yeah, this week was already looking up.
Two long benches lined both sides of the wagon. Wes squeezed himself in between Miles and one of the chicks. Miles still looked like he wanted to jump out of his own skin, and Wes wasn’t sure if it was the environment, or all the strangers they’d be sharing a house with for the next seven days.
Miles had already been a line cook for several months when Wes was hired on at Gala two years ago, a dinner theater that did live shows six nights a week. It hadn’t been Wes’s dream job, but at least he was acting again, after the spectacular fail that had been his attempt at Hollywood fame. He and Miles had become tentative friends, and then roommates, but the guy was still pretty secretive. Not in a “maybe he’s a CIA operative” way, but more in a “I don’t like talking about myself” way.