by A. M. Arthur
“The grumpy one does have a point,” Reyes said. “Long distance sucks.”
“Says the guy who never dates,” Colt retorted.
“I’m not dating anyone,” Mack snapped. “Not now, not anytime in the near future.”
Both of his friends quieted down, only for Reyes to break the silence with “It’s been five years. It’s okay to move on.”
Mack grunted, and then groaned when a flash of green caught his peripheral vision. Wes and his quiet friend—Miles?—ambled down the well-trodden path from the guesthouse toward the barn. Miles never seemed to stop pointing his camera at things, but Wes was intently focused on their trio.
Fucking great. I’ve got a stalker.
“Let’s go,” Colt whispered to Reyes.
“Fuck that, I wanna watch this,” Reyes replied.
Mack growled at his friends. Trying to avoid or ignore Wes would only shine more light on the issue, and all he wanted was for the too-cute guy sashaying down the path to keep right on walking and ignore Mack completely. And Mack was more likely to start farting rainbows than for that to happen.
Wes did stop in front of the trio of cowboys, but he actually did ignore Mack completely, his attention on Colt instead. “I saw you in the guesthouse earlier,” Wes said, “but no one introduced us.” A ripple of irritation worked down Mack’s spine.
Colt laid on an easy smile and a thick accent when he said, “Well, now, that’s a damned shame. Name’s Colt Woods.”
“Wes Bentley, and this is my pal Miles Arlington.”
“It’s a right pleasure.” Colt made a show of shaking both men’s hands. Wes held contact for an unnecessarily long time. Miles gave a fast squeeze, then returned to snapping photos. “Welcome to the ranch.”
“Thanks very much. There’s quite a lot to see around here.”
“That there is,” Colt replied. His open flirting had captured Wes’s undivided attention, and Mack wasn’t sure what to do with that. He had absolutely no claim on Wes—and he was not about to go the fourth-grade route of claiming ownership based on having seen him first—so there was no reason for the banter to irritate him like this.
None. And he wasn’t irritated. Not at all.
“I don’t suppose you cowboys do private, guided tours?” Wes asked.
Colt’s gentle laughter had seduced more than one guy over the course of their friendship, and Mack nearly strangled him on the spot. “We can do group tours, but management frowns on us going out solo with the guests,” Colt replied.
“Shame.” Wes hooked his thumbs in his belt loops as he blatantly cruised Colt. Then he turned slightly, eyes widening as he took in Mack. “Oh, hi.”
Mack narrowed his eyes. “Colt’s not a horseman.” Now why the hell had that come out of his mouth?
Reyes tried to hide a snicker behind his hand.
“He’s not?” Wes asked with wide-eyed surprise. “Cowboy hat’s for fun?”
“It’s practical. Keeps the sun out of his eyes. He’s more of a ranch handyman. Rides, but doesn’t work with the horses.”
“Shame.” Wes leaned in dangerously close. “Wouldn’t have minded a ride with him,” he stage-whispered. “You available instead?”
Mack opened his mouth to retort, then shut it again as it hit him. The little shit was baiting him, trying to get a response. Two could play that game. “If you’re interested in viewing the horses, Reyes there can show you the barn. See you at lunch.”
He pivoted and walked toward the main house, leaving a slightly openmouthed Wes behind.
* * *
Wes squinted at the very pleasant sight of Mack’s departing backside—not happy that Mack was leaving, but he had a great ass, perfectly showcased in very worn denim. His plan hadn’t worked quite as he’d expected. Mack had definitely cruised him earlier, but he’d basically ignored him now, even with Wes flirting up a storm with Colt.
And Colt was a pretty accurate name for the guy. All blond hair and bright smiles, he had an excitability about him that made Wes think of a pony. A pony he wouldn’t mind riding if he hadn’t already set his sights on roping Mack. Maybe a nice roll in the hay with a real cowboy would help him bury Drake’s betrayal for good.
“So you were using me to make Mack jealous, huh?” Colt said. He chuckled. “I don’t know if I should be honored or offended.”
“I couldn’t help myself,” Wes replied. “No hard feelings?”
“None at all. I’ve known Mack for...hell, almost eight years now, and trust me, you got under his skin. Well done.”
“You think so? How can you tell?” Mack had barely twitched a muscle during the whole exchange. Wes was very good at aiming his attention in one direction while keeping his peripheral attention on those around him. It had served him well dancing around onstage. But he still couldn’t get a read on Mack Garrett.
“Easy,” Colt said. “He walked away.”
“Him walking off with a sour expression is a good thing?”
“Mack’s not afraid of confrontation. And he ain’t afraid of rowdy guests.”
“Are you an actor?” Reyes asked.
The quiet one’s question came out of the blue, but Wes still answered him. “Yes. Not the one who was in American Beauty, obvi, but an actor nonetheless. Did a stint in Hollywood, like, a decade ago, as Westin Bentley, but mostly I do local stuff in San Francisco.”
Reyes groaned. “God, do us all a favor and leave Mack alone.”
Wes straightened his spine. “Excuse me? He’s got something against actors?”
Colt and Reyes shared a look that said, yeah, Mack had something against actors. Wes harrumphed. “Well, as his friends, I’m sure you won’t tell me why he doesn’t like actors, but maybe you can give him a message? We aren’t all the same vapid, self-aggrandizing stereotype that gets played out in the media. I’m a person first, actor, like, third.”
“What are you second?” Colt asked.
Wes cocked a hip. “Absolutely fabulous.”
“Obviously. And it’s not that he doesn’t like actors, exactly. He, uh...” Colt glanced at Reyes, who offered him no help. He also didn’t tell Colt to shut up, which was interesting. “Look, he got his heart broken by an actor once.”
Him and me both.
“That sucks,” Wes said, silently grateful for the confirmation that Mack swung his way. “And I don’t want to date the guy, but a little harmless flirting never hurt anyone. He needs to loosen up.”
Colt chuckled. “You’ve never seen him on the dance floor at the Badlands.”
“You guys go to Badlands!” Jesus, had he actually lucked into two gay cowboys in this place? “Does Mack wear the cowboy hat and boots?”
“No, he wears regular club clothes, believe it or not. None of us are born and bred cowboys, we just kind of...fell into the jobs here at the ranch.”
Not real cowboys? Bummer.
Also? Good to know. Drake wasn’t a real cowboy, either, but he’d been close enough, considering his role on the show.
The comment also seemed to have pulled Miles into the conversation. He stood slightly behind Wes, to his right, but was close enough now to ask, “What did you do before the ranch?”
“Los Angeles County SWAT, same as Mack,” Colt replied. He fixed on a crooked smile. “Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got the prettiest green eyes in Northern California?”
“No. Uh, I’m going to keep taking pictures.” Miles scampered a few feet away, his camera up and trained at the barn.
Reyes, Wes couldn’t help note, tracked him and didn’t look away immediately.
Huh.
“So you guys were both SWAT,” Wes said. “That’s hella sexy. Why’d you quit?”
Colt shrugged. “It sounds sexy on paper, but it’s a hell of a lot of work, and it’s dangerous. We both reached our breaking points. Mack fi
rst, but it didn’t take more than a few months before I followed him here.”
Wes got the feeling that these guys didn’t open up about their personal lives to every guest who asked, so it made him wonder why he was special. Maybe they didn’t get a lot of gay guests with whom they could be open about it. Maybe they liked the idea of their friend Mack having a fling with a guest, to scratch whatever itch might be bothering him.
Mack was for sure his favorite type: big, muscles, broody and probably hairy, if the thin pelt on his forearms was any indication.
“How long have you been here?” Wes asked.
“Four years, give or take,” Colt replied.
“What about you, Reyes?” The guy was eerily quiet, and Wes was pretty sure he was still side-eyeing Miles. He didn’t know Reyes well enough to guess if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
Reyes turned his dark gaze to Wes. “Used to be a firefighter. Quit.” He cut his eyes at Colt, as if daring his friend to offer up more information.
Wes could take a very unsubtle hint. “So, Colt, any hints for me about how to snare Mack’s attention?”
“Be yourself,” Colt replied. “Mack hates fake people.”
“I have absolutely no problem being myself. Haven’t been able to hide who I am since I was in diapers, or so my mother tells me.”
Colt laughed. “You are going to make this week highly entertaining, Wes Bentley, not the American Beauty actor.”
“Well, I live to entertain.” He tossed Colt a sunny smile, then went to join Miles near the barn.
* * *
Cold sandwiches and side salads weren’t the most authentic Old West lunch food ever, but Wes was starving by the time Patrice walked out onto the guesthouse porch and rang a big old bell, then hollered for lunch. The dining table was loaded with four kinds of bread, six lunch meats, two cheeses and a host of condiments. Wes dove in and piled a plate with two ham and cheese on white, both slathered in mustard and sliced tomatoes, plus a big scoop of potato salad.
As this wasn’t a formal meal, he and his group took over one of the seating areas and settled in. They were quickly joined by the Girl Trio, who introduced themselves as Amanda, Alex and Sheryl. Sheryl had the awesome blue and purple hair. Apparently Sophie and the girls had already bonded over the ten minutes it had taken to nest in their assigned room. They were all squeals over Sophie being engaged, seemed to think Conrad was the greatest human being ever, and they even fawned over Derrick, Miles and Wes.
Miles looked like he’d rather eat alone in their room than continue enduring the barrage of chatter from the four women, and Wes started second-guessing inviting the girls to eat with them. Miles hadn’t always been this flighty and timid. Sure, he was pretty quiet on the line when he cooked, shouting about food and not much else, but this was a whole other kind of social anxiety.
At one point, the dude-bros tried to move in on their group, probably because of the girls, but they were quickly shut out. Eventually they stopped trying and went outside to eat on the porch.
“So are you two secret boyfriends?” Sheryl asked, pointing her fork between Wes and Miles, who were sitting side by side on the sofa.
Miles nearly dropped his plain turkey sandwich. “What? No.”
Wes placed a hand over his heart and jokingly said, “What’s wrong? I’m not good enough for you?”
“Asshole.” No bite to it, so he wasn’t mad at the teasing. “Quit.”
“What makes you think so?” Wes asked Sheryl. “Not all gays are attracted to each other, you know.”
Sheryl shrugged. “It’s the way you guys stick together, and you seem kind of protective of him. You keep glancing at him, like you’re checking to make sure he’s still there.”
I’m doing that? Huh.
Miles looked like he wanted to melt into the sofa.
“Jesus, Sheryl, shut up,” Amanda said with a grin. “She’s a psychology major, so she thinks she has to deconstruct every person she meets.”
“You’re going to be a shrink?” Wes asked Sheryl.
“Yup,” she replied. “I come from a long line of therapists with various degrees in stuff like anxiety disorders and counseling. I want to work with kids when I get my PhD.”
“Wow, doctorate and all. Good for you.”
“Did you go to college, Wes?”
“No, I made my parents extremely anxious when I forewent college in favor of pursuing an acting career in Hollywood. It didn’t go very well, so I came home to San Fran, and I’ve been working there ever since. It’s how I met Miles, actually. We work at the same dinner theater. I act and he cooks.”
“Oh my God, really?” Sheryl went off on a tangent about some dinner theater production she’d recently seen in Sacramento that Wes kind of tuned out. And Miles seemed relieved to no longer be the center of attention, so Wes let his gaze wander.
It wandered to the very rear of the dining room, where a small archway led into the kitchen. Mack stood in that archway, shoulder pressed to the wood, one hand holding a sandwich of some kind. Their eyes met and a little thrill shot through Wes. Mack held eye contact for several long, glorious seconds before turning and disappearing into the kitchen.
A kitchen which was, at Patrice’s decree, off-limits to guests, damn it. But Mack was watching him, which suggested interest. Maybe Wes wouldn’t have to work that hard to snare his cowboy after all.
Chapter Four
“This is going to be the longest week of my life,” Mack said.
Tude nickered in response. He continued to brush her flanks, wiping off dust from the stables. Despite her name, she was the best horse they had for kids, and both of the Reynolds kids wanted to learn to ride. Reyes was nearby, getting his own horse, Hot Coffee, ready for the saddle.
The guests were getting riding lessons this afternoon. Everyone’s online survey said they were interested, and day one was about getting them comfortable getting on and off the horse, riding at a walk and a trot, and leading the horse. Neck leading was too subtle for most folks to grasp quickly, so they were using horses who didn’t mind being led by the bit.
Bert and Robin were saddling two more horses, and the four of them would lead the lessons today. Thanks to Tude’s ease with children, Mack had lucked into teaching the Reynolds quartet, instead of being stuck with Wes and his party. Being that close to Wes for instruction, touching his body in order to help him adjust to stirrups and mounting—Jesus, don’t think about mounting!—the horse would have been a terrible idea. Awful.
Except he wanted to touch Wes, and that was bad. Something about him reached out to Mack in a visceral way he hadn’t felt since Geoff—which was exactly why he needed to keep his distance. One-and-done in a bathroom stall was fine. Acting on a strong attraction to a guy who was clearly interested right back? No. If he had to take cold showers all week and stick his head in the horse trough on occasion, he’d rather do that than start something they couldn’t finish.
He hadn’t managed to corner Colt yet and ask what he and Wes had talked about earlier after Mack walked away. He’d queried Reyes and gotten a typical “Stuff” reply. Reyes was the least gossipy person Mack had ever met, so his best bet was Colt. Colt sucked at keeping secrets and loved talking about his own sex life. He was also part of today’s horse-riding lesson, as an extra hand, so Mack would have to wait until dinner to interrogate his friend.
When Tude was properly outfitted in her tack, Mack led her out of the barn to the rear corral. Their guests were waiting on the other side of the fence, milling in small groups. The youngest Reynolds boy, Joey, squealed as the first saddled horse appeared. He grabbed his brother’s arm, and they bounced around on their side of the fence. Their moms watched with indulgent smiles, the kind of loving, happy family Mack missed. He and Geoff had never gotten around to discussing kids, but it had been on Mack’s mind those final few months.
&n
bsp; And then Geoff was gone.
A flash of white-blond hair stole his attention away from maudlin things. Wes leaned against the corral, arms draped over the wood, his eyes hidden behind a pair of blue-lens sunglasses. Reyes got to deal with him today, thank God.
“Afternoon,” Mack said to the group. “Gonna get started with the lessons once my fellow horsemen get finished lollygagging in the barn. Today’s basic lessons: Mounting. Riding.” Jesus, why do those things have to sound so sexual? “Leading your horse. It’s also a chance for me to observe y’all, see which horse I think you’ll be most comfortable with on trail rides and such.”
“Why does it matter?” Miller asked. “Isn’t a horse a horse?”
“Of course, of course,” his cohort Liam chimed in. Know-it-all college students. They were going to be a pain in the ass this week.
“No. Horses are smarter animals than a lot of people give them credit for,” Mack replied in his gruffest tone. “You try to mount a horse that doesn’t like you? You’ll end up with your face in the dirt sure as shootin’. All of our horses are retirees or rescues, and we’ve worked with them extensively. Pairing you up with the right mount is as much to protect you as to protect the horse.”
“So pairing us with the right horse is kind of like setting up a friend on a blind date,” Wes said. “With or without the mounting.”
Mack leveled Wes with a glare, but the guy’s bright, innocent smile chased away Mack’s annoyance with the flirting. “Now, if some of you don’t think you can pull yourself up the old-fashioned way, we’ve got steps.” He pointed at the set of wooden steps near the corral gate without breaking his gaze-lock with Wes.
Next to Wes, Sophie giggled.
Reyes and Hot Coffee joined them, and Reyes introduced his horse. The pair of them took turns describing the things the horses wore, what they did, and why. Mack did a demo, mounting Tude with ease, and settling into the saddle. “Once you’re up,” he said, “we’ll adjust your stirrups so you’ve got the right fit. You need to be able to lock your knees and lift your rear end off the saddle when you canter or gallop, so’s you don’t end up sitting on a pillow all night long.”