Wild Trail

by A. M. Arthur

  “I don’t know,” Mack replied. “We didn’t make each other any promises, and it definitely started out as a fling.”

  One of Colt’s eyebrows went up. “But?”

  “But I’m really attracted to him, and the chemistry is stupidly intense. I’m not sure I want to give it up, but...”

  “But Geoff.”

  “Yeah.”

  Colt leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Look, I know things with you and Geoff were complicated, especially after he cheated on you, but I also know you loved him. You were together for five years. And I was with you when he died, remember? You were destroyed, and I understand you being hesitant to put yourself out there again.”

  Mack studied his friend. Without Colt and Reyes, Mack wouldn’t have survived losing Geoff in the violent way he had. He’d have probably put his own gun in his mouth long ago.

  “It’s hard to risk your heart when it’s already been shattered once and barely put back together,” Mack said. “I know I could start something with Wes, maybe even fall in love with him, but he’d never have my whole heart, and that’s not fair to him. And also with this ghost town project starting up, I won’t have any free time to pursue a relationship with him. Even if he wants to, which he might not even want. It’s not like he offered to swap phone numbers.”

  Not like Mack had, either, but he wasn’t mentioning that.

  “Well, maybe you should be an adult and ask him.”

  I’m afraid he’ll say yes.

  “Maybe I will,” Mack said instead. “Right now, I’ve got work to do, just like I’m sure you do, too.”

  “Uh-huh. Let me ask one more question, and then I’ll drop it.”

  “Fine. One.”

  Colt held his gaze steadily for a beat, and then asked, “How would you feel if Wes went out to some club tonight and hooked up with a stranger?”

  Mack growled, annoyance rising at the idea of anyone else being with Wes.

  “I think we’ve both got our answer,” Colt said as he stood. “See you around, pal.”

  He glared at the back of Colt’s head until his friend disappeared, pissed that Colt had read him so easily. Then again, they’d been friends for nearly a decade, and even though Colt had never seriously dated anyone, or acted like he wanted to settle down, he had a good heart. Too bad he couldn’t tell Mack what to do with his, because Mack wasn’t sure.

  The idea of dating Wes was fun in theory, but they lived almost an hour from each other, Mack had the restoration project looming, and Wes had his own job and life in San Francisco. How on earth were they supposed to make things work?

  No. No, it was better not to pursue anything in the first place. Let Wes go back to his regular life and forget about Mack. In a place as big as San Francisco, Wes wouldn’t have time to miss a dusty old cowboy from the middle of nowhere.

  Right?

  * * *

  The only time Wes actually laid his eyeballs on Mack that last day was when the hitched wagon pulled up in front of the guesthouse to load passengers. Quentin had already driven the pickup laden with their luggage down to the parking area.

  Mack climbed off the wagon with the same ease as on arrival day. A full week ago. Wes stared at Mack’s broad chest, his heart in his throat. He’d come here out of duty to his sister, and now he didn’t want to leave. Something about Clean Slate Ranch had buried itself into Wes’s heart.

  He genuinely liked it here, and he didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to leave the land or Mack.

  But Mack hadn’t asked him to stay.

  He also avoided making eye contact with Wes through the entire production of him and Reyes loading everyone into the back of the wagon. Wes kept his hurt off his face as much as possible, but he got a few side-eyes from Miles, who also seemed a little sad at them leaving. Sophie turned in her seat and watched the entire time as the ranch faded from eyesight.

  In less than an hour, Wes would be back in the car, heading home, and this entire vacation, fling and all, would be a lovely dream.

  Except, as the wagon stopped in the parking area, and as Wes climbed out, another small piece of his heart broke off and stayed behind. A bruised piece that was hurt by Mack’s snub, and angry that he’d allowed himself to develop feelings for Mack at all. He should have known better. What could Mack actually see in a failed, media-humiliated actor who did dinner theater for a living?

  Not a damned thing, apparently.

  “Man, I need a vacation to recover from my vacation,” Conrad said as they were loading suitcases and bags into the SUV. “My ass hurts.”

  Miles snickered. Wes forced himself not to glance down the dusty road at the departing wagon.

  “That’s because you didn’t relax enough when you rode,” Derrick replied. “You stay tense, you hurt yourself more.”

  “So says the professional rider,” Sophie teased. She tossed curious looks at both Miles and Wes. “What’s up with you two? For being the most resistant to the trip, you both look like you got kicked in the balls. Gonna miss the place?”

  “I will,” Miles replied. “It’s so beautiful up here. I must have taken a million photographs this week.”

  Sophie smiled, then turned to Wes. “What about you, bro? You actually gonna miss the dust and horse smell?”

  “A little.” Wes shrugged. He’d somehow managed to keep his vacation sexy times a secret from his little sister, and he didn’t need to bring it up now. Not while the hurt was still so fresh.

  He did, however, discreetly remove Mack’s phone number from his pocket, rip it up, and let the tiny pieces of paper flutter to the gravel. No pining, no whining, and no more cowboy bears for him. Time to get back to his real life.

  * * *

  “You didn’t have to be so cold with him,” Reyes said. He’d waited until the wagon was halfway to the ranch before criticizing Mack for his behavior. Behavior Mack was already mentally flogging himself for, because he’d been a jerk to Wes this afternoon.

  “I know.” Mack let out a long groan. “I guess I was afraid if I looked at him, I’d do something embarrassing.”

  “Like admit you like him and want him to stay?”

  “Yeah. The little shit’s under my skin, but what kind of relationship could we have had? Really? Long distance over Skype?”

  “So you broke it off before you got any more invested. I get it. I don’t agree with you, but I get it. Why don’t you call him?”

  Mack grunted. “We never exchanged numbers.”

  “Seriously?” Reyes smacked him on the back of the head. “You’re an idiot.”

  “Thank you, that’s very helpful.”

  “Email him, then.”

  “If we didn’t exchange phone numbers, why the hell do you think we exchanged emails?”

  Reyes stared at him like he was a complete idiot. “Wes set up this vacation, dummy. Use the email address he sent in the application form.”

  Mack mentally face-palmed.

  “And you might want to start thinking up your grovel to Wes for being a tool today,” Reyes added.

  “Groveling isn’t in my repertoire.”

  “Up to you, my friend, but Wes doesn’t strike me as the type to easily forgive a grudge.”

  “Hmm.”

  Mack didn’t have time to mentally prepare an apology, much less a grovel today. He still had paperwork to finish on the new arrivals, so everything was ready for tomorrow’s crop of guests. And he had a phone call planned with a potential restoration contractor. He’d already unofficially hired Colt to do the electrical wiring for the place. Colt had gotten certified as an electrician during his summer construction gigs, so he had that handy skill under his belt.

  With all of his manual labor training, Mack never could figure out why the guy eventually became a cop.

  They’d probably have to hire an
other hand for the ranch when construction went full-swing, which was fine with Judson and Arthur. Mack and Colt had already agreed to stop taking a salary from Arthur once they stopped working the ranch full-time to focus on the ghost town.

  A town Mack still hadn’t found any information on. He had an appointment on Tuesday afternoon with the town mayor, so Mack could look through old Garrett town records, see if he could find any mention of there ever having been a town five miles north. Even a name, so Mack could make it all as authentic as possible. As it was, he needed to find and hire an affordable historian who could help with all the small details. Mack didn’t know shit about old mining towns, and he could only learn so much on the internet.

  For now, he had his regular duties to the ranch to attend to. Everything else could wait a while.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Three weeks passed, and in each new group of guests who arrived at the ranch, Mack found himself looking for Wes. It was getting on his goddamn nerves. He’d sent the apology email, like Reyes suggested, and then nothing. Not a damned word from Wes, and that stung. But it also didn’t surprise him too much. Mack had been an asshole, and now that Wes was back to his real life, he could find someone to treat him right.

  Except a deep down part of Mack still rebelled at the idea of Wes being with someone else. He wanted Wes here with him, damn it, but Wes was a city boy. An actor with a dream. He’d never be happy settling down at a dusty ranch, so there was no sense in dreaming. And since Mack couldn’t do anything about that deep-down, selfish part of his heart that wanted Wes, he ignored it as best he could and threw himself into work—the ranch and the restoration.

  He’d accepted a construction bid from a local contractor, who’d probably underbid too far, simply to get the job. But he was giving work to folks who lived in and around Garrett, so that made Mack happy. He had Colt lined up for electrical, and the contractor knew a plumber who could help with a new septic system. They still had to finalize the plans so the county could approve, and Mack hoped to get that done in the next few weeks. He was hella eager to start this restoration.

  Knuckles rapped on the inside of his office door. Mack glanced up, surprised to see Colt standing there, looking a little awkward.

  “What did you do?” Mack asked.

  Colt grunted. “What the hell, dude? I didn’t do anything.”

  “Then why do you look guilty?”

  “Your interpretations of my moods are for shit, you know that?”

  “Okay.” Mack put his pen down. “What’s up?”

  Colt took two steps into the office, hands shoved deep in his jeans pockets. “You know how you said you were looking for a historian to help with the restoration?”

  “Yeah.” Mack had reached out to a few, only to get non-replies or no’s.

  “I know one I can recommend. He’s based out of Berkeley. Got his Bachelor’s and Master’s in American history, and last I saw him, he was doing his PhD in California history, specifically.”

  Mack couldn’t keep the surprise off his face. “You know a guy with a PhD?”

  “I used to know him. We, uh, dated for a while, when I still lived in Los Angeles.”

  “When was this, exactly? You haven’t seriously dated anyone since I’ve known you.”

  Colt bit his bottom lip, his cheeks going oddly pink. “We were just starting up when Geoff died, so there was never really a good chance to tell my grieving best friend that I’d met someone. And it ended badly. That was a big part of the reason I quit SWAT and moved here.”

  “You were running from your ex?” Mack went on high-alert. “Was this guy dangerous or something?”

  “No, not at all. I wouldn’t be recommending him if he’d been abusive. He was a teddy bear, really sweet guy. Supersmart, too, which always made me question why he wanted to be with me.”

  “You’re smart enough. You just don’t apply yourself.”

  Colt shrugged. “Anyway, I think you should contact him.” He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Mack. Avery Hendrix, and a phone number. “I’m assuming he kept the same number, but if not, you might be able to find him through the college.”

  “I appreciate the lead.” Mack eyeballed his friend. “If he happens to accept the job, will it be weird for you to work around him?”

  “Nah. It’s been years, and it was a mutual breakup. No hard feelings from me.”

  “What about from him?”

  “Guess you’ll have to ask him.”

  “Guess so.” Mack tucked the slip of paper into a desk drawer so he didn’t lose it. “Thanks, man. And I’m sorry you thought you had to hide that relationship from me. I know I was a mess, but you could have told me.”

  “I didn’t really tell anyone, for a lot of reasons, and it’s all water under the bridge, right? Past is past. Let’s think about the future. Like about how in six hours, we’re going to be in the city, in a club, trying to get laid.”

  Mack groaned. He’d put off going out on their usual Saturday night trip to San Francisco for the past three weekends, and Colt wasn’t going to let him say no again. And part of Mack did want to go out, get off the ranch for a few hours. Even if he didn’t get laid, he could drink and have a little bit of fun. Pretend he wasn’t still hung up on a guy he’d known for a week. A guy who’d taken a piece of Mack’s heart when he left.

  “No excuses this time,” Colt said. “You need to get Wes out of your system.”

  “You’re right.”

  Colt opened his mouth, then shut it again. “Wait, what?”

  “I said you’re right. I need to go out.”

  “Well, damn. I had a whole speech prepared in case you resisted.”

  Mack chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint. Maybe use that speech on Reyes? Get him to come with us?”

  “Nah, won’t work. That speech was tailor-made to you. Oh well. Be ready to leave at eight?”

  “Sure thing.”

  After Colt left, Mack pulled the slip of paper out of his desk drawer and stared at the name written in Colt’s doctor’s scrawl. It seemed odd to have known Colt for so long and to have never heard about this guy before. The whole thing made Mack’s curiosity about Avery buzz, so he took a chance and typed Avery’s number into his phone. Hit send.

  “This is Avery Hendrix,” a soothing voice said after two rings.

  Mack’s hand jerked, surprised the guy had answered. “Hi, my name is Mack Garrett, and I got your contact information through a mutual friend. Colt Woods.”

  Avery didn’t respond right away. “I see. How is Colt?”

  “He’s fine, fine. I’m not calling on his behalf or anything. He told me you’re a historian and you might be a good fit to lend your knowledge to a project I’m getting under way up here in Santa Clara County.”

  “What sort of project is it?”

  “My grandfather owns a good parcel of land up north here, and a few weeks ago we stumbled over the remains of an old ghost town and—”

  “I’m in.”

  Mack blinked. “You are?”

  “Ghost towns are one of my obsessions, Mr. Garrett. They’re what drew me to American history as a major. I can send over a resume, if you like, along with personal and professional recommendations. I’ve consulted on numerous TV shows and feature films, as well as—”

  “Mr. Hendrix, you sold me on yourself already, thank you.” Mack nearly laughed at Avery’s enthusiasm. He hadn’t expected the call to go so well. “How about I arrange for you to fly up here and see the town before you make any long-term plans to join the team? It might not be as amazing as you’re imagining.”

  “You’re right, thank you.” Avery’s voice had calmed a bit, but the guy still sounded excited by the find. “Why don’t you email me any photos that you have. That way, I know what materials of my own to bring.”

  “Sounds
good.” They exchanged email addresses. “I really appreciate this, Mr. Hendrix. The few people I’ve reached out to have turned me down.”

  “Colt was smart to recommend me to you. Ghost towns are my catnip.”

  “Good to know. I’ll be sure to thank Colt for putting us in touch.”

  “You do that.” Avery made a soft, breathy sound. “Is Colt well?”

  Mack didn’t want to gossip about his friend, especially not to an ex, but he didn’t want Colt to be some sort of giant elephant in the room when Avery arrived at the ranch. “He is well. I’ll tell him you asked after him.”

  “No, please don’t. It’s just...he left town so abruptly. I only want to know that he’s well. He deserves to be happy.”

  The wistfulness in Avery’s voice made Mack question exactly how mutual their breakup had been, but it also wasn’t his business. “Okay. I’ll email you more information on the ghost town. I appreciate this.”

  “Me, too. I look forward to the distraction.”

  Odd phrasing, but Mack let it pass and hung up. Now that he finally had a historian on the hook, the restoration could continue moving forward. And, thanks to his plans out tonight with Colt, so could Mack.

  * * *

  “I hate you.”

  Sophie scowled at him over her phone, in the middle of a text when Wes tossed off his snappish remark. “No, you don’t. Get dressed.”

  “I really do hate you for this.” Wes glared into his closet, determined to be as bratty as humanly possible about Sophie’s unexpected visit. She’d completely spoiled Wes’s plans to drown his sorrows in red wine and dark chocolate, just as he’d done for the past three Saturday nights after work. It was stupid, mourning a vacation fling, but damn it, he’d felt something for Mack, and he wanted to sulk.

  His sister had other plans. She’d interrupted his plans to binge-watch Torchwood for the third time—hello, Captain Jack!—by banging on his door at ten o’clock, announcing she was taking him out to Club Base, no excuses. When Sophie put her mind to something, nothing was going to change it.