by A. M. Arthur
“You sure you know the way back?” Wes asked.
Mack winked. “Guess we’ll find out.”
* * *
Wes felt like a complete idiot for two big reasons. First, that he’d gotten his dumb ass lost at all, and second, he’d fallen through the damned porch and gotten himself hurt. His ankle stung and ached, but it could have been a lot worse. He could have broken his ankle, and that would have been a quick end to his vacation.
Blizzard did all the work, dutifully following behind Tude, so Wes didn’t worry about letting his mind wander again. Wander back to Mack fixing up his ankle, holding his leg against that thick thigh. He had a gentle touch for such a big guy, and Wes was pretty proud of himself for not getting hard simply from the guy’s proximity and gentle touch. He loved seeing this new side of Mack.
Hurting himself had almost been worth it for the strong push of Mack’s hands against his butt, boosting him into the saddle. Big hands whose touch he wanted in more places that just his ass.
It had taken all of Wes’s self-control not to get back off Blizzard, fall to his knees and blow Mack by the old porch. Give the horses a proper show.
He was proud of himself for keeping things at subtle flirting. Mack seemed like the kind of guy who’d be drawn in by a challenge, rather than Wes throwing himself at him. The time constraints of his weeklong vacation, though, required a little extra finesse.
Mack had earned major hotness points by not teasing Wes for letting Blizzard get out of his control, or about Wes being scared. Clinging to a powerful horse for God knew how long, while the wild beast tore across the countryside? Not something Wes wanted to do again. Ever. But it had given him some amazing alone time with Mack. Almost made the stark terror worth it.
Wes had no idea how long it took them to meet up with the group. Sophie looked like she wanted to strangle him on the spot, so he stayed on his horse. Everyone was ordered to mount, anyway, since they were off their schedule and were already going to be late getting home.
“I’m sorry I scared you.” Wes said it to Sophie, but meant it for all of his friends. “Blizzard bolted and I couldn’t stop her.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re safe instead of warming the belly of a mountain lion,” Sophie replied. “I need my Best Person to keep planning my wedding.”
“Gee, thanks for that.”
Miles snickered. “I can’t believe your horse bolted,” he said. “I’d have died of fright.”
“It was terrifying, believe me.” Wes shook himself, then patted the side of Blizzard’s neck. “But I forgive you, girl. Especially since she found a ghost town.”
“She found a what now?” Sophie asked.
“An actual, real-life ghost town. There wasn’t much left except for a few buildings, but we also didn’t explore a whole lot. We had to get back to the group, plus I hurt my ankle.”
“That’s so cool. I wish we could go see it.”
Wes shook his head. “I doubt Mack or the owner would go for that. Apparently, it’s pretty close to a part of the ranch that no one goes out to. Lots of wild animals. I took some pictures, though. I’ll show you when we stop again.”
“Cool.”
“You discovered a ghost town, dude,” Conrad said. “That is wicked cool. Who gets to discover stuff like that, besides archeologists?”
“I know, right?” Wes said. He was super proud of the accidental discovery, and it had probably helped Mack be less pissed at Wes for the whole horse-running-away thing. Mack seemed intrigued by the town, too.
Somehow, Wes had to use the ghost town to help him get his man.
Chapter Ten
Mack spent the entire ride back to the ranch trying to forget the smoothness of Wes’s skin in his hand as he’d bandaged that ankle, and the scent of him sitting so close on that dilapidated porch. He tried, and he failed miserably. Wes had roped him in, that much was certain, and he’d done it by accident. Running away and getting hurt had pushed all of Mack’s protective buttons. He wanted to tuck Wes close so he didn’t hurt himself again, to keep him safe from the wide world—and Mack hadn’t felt that way about anyone since Geoff.
He was also in no mood to repeat that heartbreak.
Wes barely looked in his direction for the rest of the morning, too busy answering his friends’ questions about the ghost town. Even Liam and Miller seemed impressed that Wes had discovered it. Reyes listened with rapt attention. Mack answered any questions directed at him with short, terse answers that had everyone backing off.
The ghost town was a neat discovery from a historical standpoint, but a bunch of old boards wasn’t really anything to go gaga over.
Unless you’re an energetic actor who loves being the center of attention.
Their group reached the ranch a little after noon, which got them home right in time for lunch. No one got to run off, though, despite protests of hunger. Quentin and Bert came out to assist the guests in untacking and brushing down their horses, until all of the animals were back in their stalls.
With Tude put up, Mack glanced around the barn, but Wes was nowhere to be seen. Probably off at the guesthouse getting lunch. He ignored an odd pull of disappointment as he walked toward his office.
“You going to tell Arthur what you guys found?” Reyes asked, falling into line beside him.
“Definitely. I bet it’s something he’d love to ride out and see.”
“Ride out and see what?” Colt asked, appearing in the doorway of Mack’s office, with a platter of sandwiches in hand. “I come bearing gifts for the weary travelers.”
“Thanks, bro.” Mack grabbed a sandwich from the top of the pile, not even caring what was on it. His stomach gave a happy lurch at the idea of food. “One of the riders got a little lost inside of an old ghost town.”
“A what now?”
Mack described his morning fetching Wes. “I took some photos to show to Arthur. There isn’t a lot left, not even hints as to the road people used to get there.”
“That’s intensely cool,” Colt said. “I’d love to see it, too.”
“So would I,” Reyes added.
Reyes munched his own sandwich as the three of them settled in Mack’s small office. Mack in his desk chair, Colt on the corner of the desk, Reyes leaning against the wall. The “weary travelers” gag had become a tradition whenever Reyes and Mack led a camping trip. The first time Colt brought them food, he said he did it because “after being stuck coddling tourists for twenty-four hours straight, you probably want to avoid the kitchen for a few.”
The gesture had been unexpectedly sweet, and now it was a thing.
And Colt knew better than to bring them anything other than basic sandwiches. He’d put jalapeno peppers on one once, and Mack went nuclear after he bit into it. After he’d raced to the kitchen for a glass of milk to put out his mouth fire, he’d dumped Colt into a horse trough on a cold, autumn day.
Colt never tried that mess again.
“So other than the ghost town detour, the rest of the trip went okay?” Colt asked.
“Pretty standard,” Reyes replied. “Wes was the only major mishap this trip.”
“Interesting mishap.” Colt’s blue eyes danced with amusement. “So you and Wes got lost in the wilderness together, huh? You guys give the wildlife a show?”
Mack grunted. “I was working. I don’t fuck where I work.”
“Well, yeah, I guess that’s technically true since you always drive to the city to get laid.”
He stared at Colt, unnerved by the statement. “Please tell me you’ve never fucked one of the guests.”
Colt pretended to lock his lips with an imaginary key; Mack groaned.
“You two should learn to think with something besides your dicks,” Reyes said.
“Says the guy who never gets any,” Colt retorted.
Reyes’s level
stare made Colt look away first.
The office phone rang. Colt snatched it up first. “Mack Garrett’s office, to whom am I speaking?” He flinched away from the receiver. “Hey, Patrice.”
Patrice never called Mack’s office. Mack glanced at Reyes, who had one eyebrow arched. Colt listened to whatever Patrice was telling him, then said, “I’ll pass along the message. Thanks.”
“Do I want to know?” Mack asked once Colt put the phone down.
“Patrice asked me to tell you that you did a good job patching up Wes’s ankle, but—her words—he got hurt on your watch, so you need to drive him down to see Dr. Weaver in case the boy needs stitches.”
Mack dropped his forehead into his palm. More time alone with Wes, cooped up in the cab of a truck and then in Dr. Weaver’s tiny office, was going to fuck with his head in the worst possible way. The cut hadn’t looked that bad, so if this was Wes plotting a chance to cop a feel, Mack would dump him into a cold horse trough.
“Extra sandwich for your road trip?” Colt asked, holding up the platter.
Mack flipped him off, and then took another sandwich, anyway.
* * *
Wes was sitting on the front stoop of the guesthouse when Mack pulled the truck around, his left leg stretched out in front of him. Someone had wrapped a new, thicker bandage around his ankle, probably Patrice. She mothered all the guests, especially when they got a nick that bled. Wes had probably drama queened his way into this little doctor visit.
Like a good host, Mack put the truck into park and left the engine idling for the air-conditioning, then got out to get the passenger door for Wes. Wes used the railing to stand, jaw set and lips flat, like he was in actual pain. He even tried to hide a limp on the eight steps it took him to reach the truck, and Mack regretted not parking closer.
“Your chariot,” Mack said.
Instead of offering a sarcastic remark, Wes grunted and climbed into the cab. Mack shut his door, then went back to the driver’s side. Shifted into drive and headed for the dirt road that led back to town. He avoided the worst of the potholes, mostly to save the truck’s shocks, anticipating the start of a flirtation episode at any moment.
Wes leaned against the passenger door, his face angled away, a lot quieter than Mack expected. All this time alone with Mack, and now he was being distant? Was this some kind of game Mack hadn’t been taught? They didn’t say a word to each other for a while, long enough for Mack to get irritated by the silence, and he was usually all about not talking.
They were nearly back to the fenced car park when Wes said, “Look, I know you don’t want to be bothered with this, and it wasn’t my idea.”
Of all the things Mack had expected to hear, that wasn’t it. And the guy sounded, well, grumpy. Mack stopped the truck at the end of the lane and angled to face Wes. “It’s no skin off my nose. If Patrice thinks your ankle should be looked at, I can’t fault her for being cautious.”
Wes cut his eyes at Mack. “You aren’t mad?”
“What’s to be mad about? Are you okay? Figured you’d be flirtin’ up a storm now that you’ve got me all to yourself again.”
“I probably would be if my ankle didn’t hurt so much.”
Mack studied Wes’s face. The pinched lips, the pale skin. Signs of a guy fighting not to show he was in pain. “Shit, Wes, how long have you been hurtin’?”
“Hour or two.”
“How bad’s the pain?”
“Bad enough that I was limping around the guesthouse and got Patrice’s attention. She said the wound looked inflamed, and that I should go see the town doctor to be on the safe side. I kind of wished she’d had anyone else but you driving me.”
Mack grunted, both surprised and annoyed by the statement. “Why’s that?”
Wes shrugged.
“Oh no, boss, you toss a comment like that out, you gotta answer for it,” Mack said. “Why anyone but me?”
“Boss, huh?” That got a small smile out of Wes.
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I just...” Wes huffed. “I don’t want you to see me as some kind of helpless city boy who can’t handle a little cut on his ankle, okay?”
The fact that Wes cared about Mack’s opinion of him stirred something deep in Mack’s gut. Wes wasn’t just teasing and flirting, he actually gave a damn. And that was an incredible turn-on. “Look, I don’t think you’re helpless, and you don’t have to go around pretending you aren’t hurting to impress me. I’m more impressed by people who are honest and up front about shit.”
Wes turned his body toward Mack, his expression wary. “Really?”
“Sure. Life’s too short for fronting. I like genuine people, and so far I think you’re a pretty genuine person. You do you.”
Finally, Wes smiled. “Okay. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Wes didn’t start flirting up a storm, but he did relax into the seat while Mack drove them into Garrett. Mack waved out the window at a few people on the sidewalk. He knew everyone in town, or at least knew their faces. Hard not to when the population seemed to shrink every damned year. Garrett needed an influx of cash somehow, or they were facing bankruptcy. Soon, not even the taxes the ranch paid in would be enough.
He didn’t have any new ideas on how to save the town while Dr. Weaver took a look at Wes’s ankle in the exam room. Mack stared around the small front office, decorated to appeal more to children than adults. A weathered poster of a cartoon cowboy in full chaps and spurs caught his attention. The cowboy had the “about to attend a shoot-out” stance, and it tickled something at the back of Mack’s mind. All of the old Westerns he’d ever seen on TV, with the gallant hero facing off against the villain, who’d either robbed the town bank or kidnapped the female love interest.
This is useful, but how?
The ghost town.
Ghost towns all around the West were used as tourist attractions. Some simply held tours of the aging buildings, and others did complete historical reenactments on the grounds. They could use the ghost town to bring life back to Garrett—not only with tourist dollars, but also by employing more people.
Mack started bouncing on the balls of his feet—not easy to do in cowboy boots, but his excitement had to go someplace. He had no idea how much it might cost to get a project like this up and running, but what was the expression? You gotta spend money to make money? Totally by accident, Wes might have discovered the way to save Garrett from becoming yet another abandoned rural town.
When Wes exited the exam room with a less pronounced limp and a newly bandaged ankle, Mack nearly swept him up into a hug. Wes froze in place, and Dr. Weaver nearly walked into his back.
“What?” Wes asked. “You look like a dog who just got his favorite bone.”
“I’ll tell you in the truck,” Mack said, unable to keep his exuberance out of his voice. “You okay?”
“I’ll live.”
“He had a sliver of wood still in the wound,” Dr. Weaver said. “That’s what was causing his pain and irritation. I removed it, cleaned the wound, and did two small stitches that his regular doctor can remove in a week. I’m also writing a prescription for antibiotics to be on the safe side.”
Wes made a face that clearly said he thought the drugs were overkill, but Mack would abide by the doctor. Non-liability clause or not, the last thing he wanted was for Wes’s ankle to get worse because they didn’t follow doctor’s orders.
“We’ll fill it before we leave town,” Mack said. He paid with the ranch credit card. “Thanks, Doc.”
“You thank me by coming in for your yearly physical,” Dr. Weaver replied. “None of you boys up there at the ranch come in like you should. Especially that stubborn mule of a grandfather of yours.”
Mack chuckled. “I’ll tell him you said so.”
Outside on the sidewalk, Mack asked, “You wa
nna wait in the truck while I get this script filled for you? No sense in walking more than you have to.”
“Actually, I feel loads better now,” Wes replied. “It’s amazing how much a tiny piece of wood can fuck with your nerves. I’d much rather see more of the town.”
“Suit yourself.”
Mack led him down the cracked sidewalk, past the barber shop that was only open two days a week, the post office that was open three hours a day, weekday mornings, and past the long-empty storefront that had once housed the town’s soda shop/pharmacy. The current pharmacy was now tucked into the back corner of the general store.
Wes gaped at the place when they went inside, and yeah, it wasn’t what city folk were used to seeing. They didn’t have miles of fresh produce like Aldi, or freezers full of organic, gluten-free, non-dairy, vegan shit. This place sold plain old food for plain old folks, and had one ancient cash register at the front of the store.
“Close your mouth before you catch flies,” Mack faux-whispered.
“Sorry. It’s very...quaint.”
Mack snickered. “It is, but it does its job.” He let Wes wander while he took the script to the back counter for filling. The pharmacist said it would only take a few minutes, so Mack tried out a few more thoughts on that ghost town.
The old buildings could be restorable, but they’d need to get a contractor out there to take a look. Colt could give them a rough idea, though, because he’d grown up in a woodworking family, and he’d done construction during the summers between college semesters. This was right up his alley. The possibilities were endless, especially if they could get any information about it.
“Hey, Petey?” Mack asked. The grizzled old pharmacist had once owned the soda shop, and his family had been in town for generations, like Mack’s. “You ever hear of there being a town on the far northern edge of our property?”
Petey popped his head around the counter, wire-rimmed eyeglasses low on his beaked nose. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard such a thing. But that part of the land is undeveloped, right?”
“Right. No one ever goes back there.”
“Then hard to say what you might find if you decide to go digging.”