by A. M. Arthur
The whole quiet thing had only gotten worse in the last few weeks, ever since Miles stumbled over an ex at Miles’s birthday clubbing celebration. And Wes was convinced Miles hadn’t been eating right since then. He’d started to lose weight. Getting him to come on this trip had been as much about getting Miles out of the city, as it was about keeping his eyes on his friend.
Mack got their wagon turned around, and then they began a long, bumpy ride up the dirt road. Wes took some pictures on his phone, both of his companions and the scenery. He wanted to do an online album of their trip for Sophie and Conrad, something they could share with friends and family on social media. Conrad and Derrick were both nervous about being around the horses, and Wes couldn’t wait to document their first time riding one.
The kids kept trying to get up and move around, so excited to see everything at once. Bless the two ladies who kept wrangling them back into their seats. Wes couldn’t deal with kids and their emotional drama. He could barely deal with the emotional drama of his adult friends, much less meltdowns over bedtime or eating their veggies at dinner.
A building finally rose up to greet them, followed by another as the wagon drew closer to the main part of the ranch. Just like the website photos. Wes took it all in. The big, three-story house to the left with its wide porch and big wood sign proclaiming “Bunk House” in red paint. A smaller, single-story house straight ahead with a smaller Office sign. A big red barn in the distance. Corrals and fencing all over the place, with smaller signposts and arrows directing folks to the various amenities. All of it surrounded by dusty land, tended grass and a gorgeous backdrop of the mountains.
“Holy crap,” Sophie exclaimed. “It’s so pretty.”
Wes silently agreed, without giving her the satisfaction of saying “I told you so.” As her default wedding planner, he’d initially been annoyed at her nontraditional choice of a vacation over a wedding shower. He’d been planning his little sister’s wedding for years, and this wasn’t in the playbook. But she’d been obsessed with the American Old West since she was a teenager and had stumbled over reruns of a Pony Express show called The Young Riders. While Wes appreciated the aesthetic of the mostly male cast—hello, young Josh Brolin!—he didn’t see the appeal of the time period. Lack of running water? No, thank you.
The wagon drew a wide circle, then came to a stop in front of the bunkhouse. An older lady in a blue apron stood on the porch with a white-haired man in overalls and a blue ranch polo. The cook and owner, respectively, if Wes recalled the website’s info correctly. His memory wasn’t eidetic but he was supergood with remembering odd information most people didn’t. It had served him well in learning lines for auditions.
Everyone filed off the wagon. Wes didn’t pretend to trip this time, but he did manage to make eye contact with Mack—dark brown eyes Wes could fall into—for about two seconds before Mack looked away.
Interesting.
Once the group had disembarked and assembled in front of the porch, the white-haired man stepped forward. “Howdy! I’m Arthur Garrett, owner of this here establishment. Welcome to the Clean Slate Ranch!”
The two little boys cheered.
“It’s nice to see some young ones in the group today,” Arthur continued. “We’re a family-friendly place here and always have been.”
Ugh. Wes hated the term “family friendly” because it was usually code for “keep out the queers so the children don’t see them.”
“We’re also an open-minded, tolerant place, and always have been. Everyone is welcome here at Clean Slate as long as they remember that.” Arthur seemed to zero in on the dude-bros. “While we here try to give all our guests the most authentic experience possible, this ain’t the eighteen seventies. Among the injury release forms everyone gets to sign, there’s also a conduct form. Discrimination of any sort will not be tolerated, and we reserve the right to keep your deposit and send you home at any time.”
A series of nods spread around the group. Wes sneaked a glance at the women with the boys. They were smiling at each other so lovingly he defaulted them to couple.
“Now that the serious stuff is said,” Arthur went on, “let’s talk about your stay here at the ranch. This land has been in my family for generations, and I’ll repeat some wisdom that’s also been in my family for generations: respect the land, and the land will respect you.”
“What’s that mean, exactly?” Sophie asked.
“An excellent question, young lady. This ranch has thousands of acres of land, much of it unexplored, most of it unfenced. We have foxes and black bear, among others, so while you’re free to walk the marked trails, do not cross any fence lines unless you are on a guided tour with one of the hands. Your safety is our biggest priority while you’re here. And speaking of safety, you’ve all met my grandson, Mack.”
Mack waved from his spot by the wagon, head ducked low to hide most of his face behind the brim of his hat.
Grandson of the owner. Interesting.
“Mack is considered head cowboy around here. He’s in charge of the horses, and he’ll assign you your rides. Most of our horses are rescues, but we’ve worked extensively with the ones who interact with our guests. Those who aren’t safe to be around are kept at a different part of the ranch where our rescuers tend to them.”
A hand raised in the crowd, and Arthur nodded. “Are we able to tour the rescue?” a female voice asked. “It wasn’t clear on your site if that was an option.”
“We offer guided tours of the rescue, yes. All of the tours and camping experiences are outlined in your welcome packet, which you’ll all get once you’ve signed your waivers.”
“Awesome, thanks.”
Wes pinpointed the voice to one member of the Chick Trio. The idea of learning and remembering everyone’s name was no big deal, really, but he wasn’t here to make new friends and real names were boring. Maybe he could get away with thinking of them as Blonde, Brunette and Stripes. He liked Stripes’s hair, all shades of blue and purple.
“Now, I want to introduce y’all to this fine lady on my right. Miss Patrice is your house mother for the week.” The woman in the blue apron stepped closer to Arthur, a friendly smile on her lined face. “She’ll be cooking your breakfast every day, and your dinner most evenings. We have cold-sandwich options for lunches, and all dietary needs in your reservation information have been recorded.”
“I do my very best to accommodate allergies,” Patrice said, her voice deeper than expected, “and I do my best for picky eaters, but our pantry is somewhat limited. We want to reflect the full experience not only in our bunk rooms, but also in our food. Biscuits and gravy ain’t fine dining, but it’s what the cowboys ate off the chuck wagon, so it’s part of our daily life here on the ranch.
“I’m also around if you have questions about the house, the ranch itself or any of the tours we offer. There’s a communal dining room and living room, and while y’all have free run of the place, I do ask that you leave it as you found it. Put games away, throw away any snacks, put cups in the appropriate basins. We’ve also pre-assigned rooms.”
Wes ignored the creepy sensation of being watched from his flank. Probably the dude-bros hoping he wasn’t in their room to spread his gay cooties. He was hoping the same—his gay cooties were for awesome people only.
As if they’d timed it, a pickup rolled over to the wagon, its bed loaded with their luggage. The cab door opened, and a Hispanic man slid out. Tall, lean, shaggy black hair sticking out from under his cowboy hat.
“Meet Reyes Caldero,” Arthur said. “Another of our horsemen and tour guides.”
Please let every horseman and tour guide be as good-looking as Mack and Reyes.
Reyes waved, then lowered the truck’s gate to unload their stuff. It took a little doing, but eventually they were all reconnected with their luggage, and then ushered into the bunkhouse. The downstairs was more spacious
than it had looked in the picture. Three different seating areas, a bookcase full of games—Monopoly didn’t seem super authentic, but one could only play cards so many times without going insane—a second bookcase full of actual books, and some of the cheesiest log cabin décor he’d ever seen. Two deer heads, a stuffed quail and four sets of antlers on the walls. A bearskin rug on the floor near a massive stone fireplace that was not lit—thank God, because the interior of the place was already uncomfortably warm.
Dear God, what if they don’t have air-conditioning?
Wes hated dirt, but he really, really hated sweating if it wasn’t for a performance or for sex.
He cut his eyes across the room at Mack, who was watching from a distance with Reyes and a blond cowboy who was nearly as handsome as Mack, but in a boyish sort of way. Mack was all manly hotness that probably had a hot wife tucked away someplace. The trio of men were probably studying the people who’d be around their horses this week.
Patrice began calling different people up to sign paperwork and get their welcome packets. The older couple were John and Joan Chamberlain, or JJ for short. The real reason for Mack, Reyes and Cowboy Number Three became clear as the couple was assigned their room. Mack took their suitcases and carried them up a set of wide stairs at the back of the room. Under those stairs was a big square entrance to a large dining room.
Sophie was assigned a room with the Chick Trio. Reyes and Blond Cowboy took their stuff upstairs as Mack came down.
Please, let Mack handle my stuff.
Wes, Miles and the Massey brothers were given a room together, thank God. Mack was assigned to their group, but as guide only. Apparently dudes carried their own shit. The wide stairs led up to a narrow corridor. Two doors on either side, spaced pretty far apart. At the end of the hall was a second staircase, probably to the more private “family quarters” he’d read about on the website.
The four doors in this hall, Wes noted, each had a different animal on it. Mack led them to the second door on the left. Wolf. Or coyote, Wes wasn’t totally sure.
“Here you are, gentlemen,” Mack said in that deep, sexy voice, as he opened the door and stepped aside, allowing them to enter first.
Wes didn’t make eye contact as he passed Mack, but he did glance over his shoulder once he was in the room. A brief look, but enough to catch Mack’s quick up-and-down of Wes’s body.
Holy shit, did he just cruise me?
Nah, grumpy cowboy was just judging Wes’s outfit. Probably didn’t see a lot of neon in a dusty place like this.
“This is kinda cool,” Conrad said.
Oh yeah, the room. It looked like the website pictures. Two sets of bunk beds against opposite walls. A big window with a great view of the pasture. Two more doors, one a shared closet and the other a private bathroom.
“Make yourselves at home.” Mack waved at the bunks. “Look through your packets. Meet the other guests. Look around outside but don’t wander yet. Cold lunch will be ready downstairs at noon.”
Canned speech, but Mack’s gruff voice rolled over Wes’s skin like butter on a hot steak. Sizzling and delicious. “If I wander, will you rescue me?” Wes asked.
Mack hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. “Don’t reckon I’d have to with the flare gun you’re wearing there.” His gaze dropped to Wes’s T-shirt, which yeah, it was lime green and really tight, but Wes didn’t own subtle clothes. “Everyone on the ranch could see you from a mile away.”
Before Wes could defend himself, he noticed something new of interest—Mack’s gaze went even lower, before returning to Wes’s face.
He cruised me. Grumpy bear cowboy really did cruise me.
Wes cocked his hip. “Well, then, I guess I’ll have to take the shirt off.”
Mack’s eyes narrowed.
“Wes, quit.” Miles poked him in the ribs. “Do you have to flirt with everyone?”
“I don’t think he can help himself,” Conrad said. He walked over, hand extended toward Mack. “Don’t pay my future brother-in-law any mind, he doesn’t have a self-edit button. Conrad Massey.”
“Nice to meet you,” Mack replied as he shook.
Conrad introduced Derrick and Miles, and saved the best for last. Except Wes could introduce his own damned self. “Wes Bentley, not the American Beauty actor,” Wes said.
“Not who?” Mack asked.
Miles snickered.
“Anyhow, I’ll leave you folks to settle in,” Mack continued. “If you need anything or forgot your toothbrush, the main office has a small canteen for such stuff.” With a tip of his head, Mack left.
Wes stared at the empty doorway, hands on his hips, a little stunned. Sure, the other Wes wasn’t a big name anymore, but it usually got some sort of reaction. Then again, he was in hick country, not the city.
“Pick your jaw up off the floor and put your stuff away,” Miles said. “You want top or bottom?”
“Bottom,” Conrad said with a laugh.
Wes flipped him off. “Whatever, I’m not picky.”
Conrad raised an eyebrow. “Since when?”
“Shut up.”
Okay, so maybe Wes was picky about the guys he chose to date, but he was also a natural-born flirt. And Conrad had never been dumped as spectacularly, or publicly, as Wes. Sophie had been Conrad’s first serious relationship, and now he was marrying her, the lucky bastard. Sophie got a husband, and Wes got a little brother to bust on as often as possible.
“They always like this?” Derrick faux-whispered to Miles.
“Pretty much, yeah,” Miles replied. “You’d think they were actual siblings or something.”
“We will be soon,” Wes said. “Besides, I’m like this with Sophie, too, and we aren’t blood-related, either.”
Derrick blinked hard. “You aren’t?”
Had Conrad not told his brother this story? “No, our parents adopted me when I was an infant because they were told they couldn’t conceive. Four years later, Sophie shocked the world by showing up the old-fashioned way.”
“Huh. Guess that explains why you don’t really look alike.”
That was putting it mildly. Wes was tall and slender, with a metabolism that let him eat anything he wanted without gaining weight, and wavy white-blond hair, depending on how much sun exposure he got. Sophie, on the other hand, was five-foot-nothing, and had their mom’s dark brown hair and curvy figure. She constantly complained about fitting into her wedding dress.
She’d done it again last night after they’d pigged out on brie and wine. Apparently, suggesting she should have waited to buy her dress until the day before the wedding was not good Best Person advice.
“Guess what they say is true,” Derrick said. “Blood don’t make family.”
“I second that,” Wes replied. He threw his suitcase onto a bottom bunk that no one had claimed, not surprised when Miles took the one above his. “Who wants to explore before lunch?”
“I’d love to take some pictures,” Miles said, raising his camera, which had been looped around his neck since they got on the wagon.
“You guys go, I’m gonna find Sophie,” Conrad said.
“I’m with you, bro.” Derrick slung his arm around Conrad’s neck. “Your girl is in a room full of other perky young ladies.”
Wes rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Go perv on the girls. Come on, Miles.”
Movement in the room across from theirs caught Wes’s eye. The dude-bros. Wonderful. Not that he expected to be able to avoid them all week. The place only had so many rooms. Oh well. The ranch had rules about bullying other guests, so Wes pushed those guys out of his mind and went out to explore his home away from home for the next seven days.
And maybe get another Mack sighting. A gay boy could dream.
Chapter Three
As much as Mack wanted to go into his office, close the door and hide
, today was orientation day, and he had to remain available to the guests in case they had questions or wanted to see the horses. Mack wasn’t the only horseman on staff, but he was in charge and he’d picked up the guests, so he had to be sociable on the first day.
It also made him a perfect target for Reyes and Colt, who both followed him out of the guesthouse once they had the new arrivals settled into their rooms. Carrying luggage for the ladies was an old-fashioned thing, but one Arthur insisted on. Bad luck of the draw had left Mack leading Wes Bentley’s group to their room. Bad, because he kind of wanted to haul Wes over his shoulder and steal away with him—which was exactly why Mack wanted to be alone.
They’d touched exactly once, when Wes tripped getting into the wagon like the city slicker he was, and one touch was enough. Mack needed to back the hell off, dip his head in a horse trough and think about someone else. Anyone else. Wes was too much his type, and that would only lead to trouble.
“What’s up, man?” Colt asked once their trio was halfway to the barn. “You tore out of there like your ass was on fire.”
“I’m fine,” Mack snapped. “Got work to do.”
“Work on his manners, probably,” Reyes added. “I saw how you were looking at that Wes character. How rude to him were you upstairs?”
“Wait, what? Who?” Colt circled in front of Mack, the bigger man cutting off his retreat. Built like a stallion and stubborn as one, Colt crossed his arms and pinned Mack in place with an impressive stare. “Talk.”
Mack glared at Reyes for opening his big mouth, then shrugged. “Nothing’s going on. The tall kid with the bright green shirt? He flirted a bit, and Reyes is reading too much into it. Besides, you know the rule. No flings with the guests.”
“That’s not an official rule, you know.”
“It should be.”
Colt flashed him a cocky grin. “Come on, what’s the harm in a little flirting behind closed doors?”
A lot. There was a lot of harm in flirting, because flirting could lead to more, and Mack couldn’t handle that yet. “Because he’s here for a week, and then back off to Portland or Chicago or wherever he’s from that thinks lime green is an acceptable shirt color.”