Wild Trail

by A. M. Arthur

  Mack laughed. “Sounds like you’ve got the future all planned out.”

  “Even if I don’t get the movie, it isn’t the end of the world. I love what I do now, and I’ll love it until you open the town to tourists.” Wes shook his head. “Damn, if Sophie could hear me now, making all sorts of hypothetical future plans.”

  “Not much for planning ahead?”

  “I don’t even make grocery lists. Seriously, I thought Sophie had lost her mind when she asked me to plan her wedding. She said I was the only big brother she had and that I worked cheap.”

  “How cheap?”

  “She’s paying me back by planning my wedding at some future date.”

  Mack quirked an eyebrow. “So you are the old-fashioned, romantic type.”

  “Surprise. I don’t talk about wanting to settle down, but that’s because I hadn’t met anyone worth keeping around in the long-term. Until I saw you up on that wagon in your cowboy hat and boots.”

  “So you only want me for my accessories?”

  “Yup.”

  Mack feigned shock. Wes leaned over and kissed him, because he hadn’t in a while. The conversation was also getting scarily close to a hard commitment. Wes hadn’t mentioned that for him to work at the attraction, he’d have to move to Garrett. Either the town itself, or in with Mack, and that was too big to think about. Time for their little heads to do some thinking.

  A howling noise in the distance had Wes pulling back, his heart tripping. “What was that?”

  “Coyote.”

  “Will it come near us?”

  “Not if I turn the headlights on.”

  Wes pouted. “But that’ll ruin the stargazing.”

  “Then why don’t we move this picnic indoors? We can pull up the blinds on the front window here and still see the stars.”

  The coyote called again.

  “Good plan,” Wes said.

  The inside of the trailer was one big room, with a desk facing the window and a bunch of tools and equipment carefully piled in one corner. Mack shoved the desk backward a few feet, so they could spread the blanket under the big, two-pane window. They made quick work of settling the food and drinks, and then getting the blinds out of the way. Starlight streamed into the trailer, giving them just enough light to see each other.

  Mack sat with his back against the desk, then pulled Wes between his knees. Wes reclined against his broad chest. Fingers entwined on Wes’s belly, they looked up at the stars. Wes relaxed into Mack’s strong arms, more content to simply exist with someone than he’d ever been in his life.

  It means something. We mean something together.

  Mack pointed out a few new constellations. Wes loved the deep timbre of his voice rumbling against his back. He started to drift a little, sleepiness stealing in, until the pressure of Mack’s rising erection against his backside woke Wes right back up.

  Oh yes.

  Wes wiggled his ass. Mack’s breath caught. He leaned down and licked the side of Wes’s neck, right over the spot he’d marked on Sunday. “Ever had sex under the starlight before?” Mack whispered.

  “Had sex outdoors, but not like this.” Mack palmed his growing dick and squeezed. Wes whined. “Touch me, daddy.”

  “I am touching you, boss.”

  “Bare skin, you jerk.” Wes humped up against his hand. “Please.”

  “Wait.”

  “What?”

  Mack actually put his hand over Wes’s mouth, silencing him. Before Wes could protest, Mack said, “I heard something.”

  Wes went rigid, his senses jumping to high-alert. He strained to listen, but all he heard was his own rapid heartbeat.

  “Don’t say anything,” Mack whispered directly into his ear. Wes nodded.

  Mack let him go, and then crept to the window. Wes followed, adrenaline coursing through him, making his fingertips shake. If Mack was being this cautious, it wasn’t another coyote that he’d heard. Mack peeked up over the edge of the window for less than two heartbeats before ducking back down.

  “There are two men with flashlights out there,” Mack said so quietly Wes basically read his lips.

  Wes mouthed, What the fuck? back at him.

  Mack shook his head as he reached for his phone. Typed, then glared. Mouthed, No signal. Wes checked his phone just in case, but he was out of range of the ranch’s Wi-Fi, too. He lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. Then he got inspired.

  He joined Mack by the window and hazarded a look out. The two men were within a hundred feet of the trailer, their light beams focused on the blacksmith shack. Wes lifted his phone high enough to start recording what they were doing. The zoom didn’t let him see their faces, but they’d squatted in front of the shed.

  “You think they’ve been stealing stuff from your guys?” Wes asked.

  “Good chance.” Mack watched with a murderous expression on his face. “Probably who dropped a cigarette butt and murdered a deer last week.”

  Wes swallowed, his stomach rolling with revulsion at that mental image. “So someone’s what? Trying to scare you off?”

  “Maybe. Don’t know why. We’re in the middle of fuck-all out here.” Mack used his own phone’s zoom to see closer. “Can’t tell if they’re armed.”

  “Armed?” Wes shivered. “I’m getting a little freaked out here.”

  “You? You’re gonna be fighting zombies next month.”

  “Fake zombies. Those men are real. What do you want to do? You’re the cop.”

  Mack grunted. “Not for a long time, and I don’t have a—oh shit.”

  “What?”

  “Stay put.” Mack ducked down and scooted over to the closed bathroom door. Used a key to open it, then ducked inside.

  Wes couldn’t help wondering a) why he locked the bathroom, and b) what he could possibly find in there that was useful. They couldn’t very well tie the trespassers up with toilet paper.

  Mack exited with a shotgun in his hands. Wes waited until Mack was by his side to ask, “Why do you keep a shotgun in your bathroom?”

  “No one will find it there. It’s just in case we need it. There are wild animals out here.”

  “No kidding.” The hair on the back of Wes’s neck prickled. “You’re not going out there.”

  They both looked at Wes’s phone. The men were still crouched, their backs to the camera. “You said it,” Mack whispered. “I’m the cop.”

  “If you get yourself killed, I will never forgive you.”

  Mack winked. “Better not get myself killed, then.”

  “Ha ha.” Fine for Mack to be so fucking calm about this when Wes wanted to vibrate out of his own skin. His stomach quaked.

  A flash of orange on his phone caught their attention. Fire. The blacksmith shed was on fire!

  “Shit,” Mack snarled.

  He flung himself toward the door and was outside in seconds, bellowing for the men to put their hands up. Wes was rooted in place, filming the whole thing, too scared to move or speak. His heart was lodged in his throat, and he could barely keep the phone still enough to record everything in focus.

  One of the two men spun around, his hand raised. A gun. He had a fucking gun. He fired the fucking gun at Mack, who ducked and rolled. The shot blasted through the window in a burst of smashing glass and noise. Wes shrieked and ducked down low, his bladder threatening release.

  Be careful, Mack, please. I need you.

  * * *

  Mack hit the dirt and came up on one knee, shotgun aimed at the gunman’s legs. Training said go for a bigger target like the chest, but he wanted these assholes alive. He aimed and fired, and the gunman hit the ground screaming. Hugging his wounded leg.

  The second man produced a handgun. Mack inwardly groaned. He bolted toward the protection of the side of the trailer, making it there on the soundtrack of
three quick shots. Adrenaline hit him hard, making his senses clearer. His sight sharper. With his back to the trailer wall, Mack peeked around, only for a bullet to chip at the trailer’s corner.

  I’m gonna owe for this. Fuckers.

  Trusting Wes to stay down now that shooting had begun, Mack swung his shotgun around the corner, eye at the sight to find...no one. Both men had disappeared.

  “Fuck.”

  Shotgun still raised, Mack bolted for the next available cover—two walls of what had once been, according to Avery, a small church for the old Sunday crowd. Mack crept to the edge of the cover, rustling and cursing coming from his left, the crackling of the fire on his right. The blacksmith shed was slowly catching, one entire wall almost entirely ablaze. His gut ached at the sight of his favorite building in flames.

  He peeked around the side of the old church wall and caught a glimpse of Gunman Two helping Gunman One limp away, not making very good time.

  “On your four!”

  Colt’s voice nearly made Mack drop his own gun, but no, there he was, running straight up the center of town with his own shotgun raised. Mack had no time or inclination to question his presence, because Gunman Two turned and fired twice at Colt. Colt expertly dodged, using his SWAT training to find cover and avoid enemy fire.

  He met Colt’s gaze across the road. These guys weren’t getting away. Mack used hand signals from the old days, then nodded. Colt nodded back, before he disappeared behind the saloon. Mack kept to the rear of the church, using every bit of cover he could find so they could get ahead of their targets.

  At the far west end of the town, where they’d marked the foundations for new buildings but had little cover, Mack spotted an ATV in the distance, almost hidden by a clump of bushes. He thought he’d heard the rumble of an engine while they were transitioning from outside to the office, but he told himself he was imaging it. If their targets got to the ATV...

  Cover had ended on Colt’s side of town. Mack spotted a flash of blond hair in the same moment Gunman One raised his handgun. Mack aimed and fired, hitting the gun and making Gunman One shriek in pain. Gunman Two dropped him and started running toward the ATV. Mack cracked his gun open to switch shells.

  “Stop or I’ll shoot!” Colt shouted.

  Gunman Two’s response was a wild shot in Colt’s direction. Mack got the old shells out, and then realized he didn’t have any extras on him.

  “Fuck me.” The gun was sturdy enough to use as a club if it came to that. He snapped it shut.

  Gunman Two tried to shoot again, but his gun jammed. He cursed, threw it and kept running. Mack raced toward the guy, ready to clock him the instant he was within reach. Colt joined him; he still had at least two shells, because he hadn’t fired yet. He shocked Mack by trading shotguns mid-run.

  “You’re a better shot than me,” Colt said. No irony, only truth.

  Mack accepted the loaded gun, then went down on one knee. Took careful aim of Gunman Two’s right calf. Squeezed the trigger. Flesh splattered and the guy went down on a shriek.

  “Mack!” Colt slammed into him as another shot rang out. He hit the hard earth on his side, Colt sprawled on top of him, eyes wide with shock. Colt rolled off. Mack sat up and put the last shell into the chest of Gunman One. The guy collapsed to the ground.

  Gunman Two was whining and crying, dragging himself toward the ATV and making no real progress. Mack started toward him so he could restrain the asshole—and then he saw the splotch of red on Colt’s lower back.

  “Fuck me, you’ve been shot,” Mack said dumbly.

  “No shit,” Colt retorted. “Fuck, that hurts.”

  The wound was on his right side, near his spine, and it bled steadily. Mack yanked his shirt off and pressed it against Colt’s back. “Did it come out the front?” Mack asked.

  “No.” Colt gasped. “Fucking hell.”

  Mack stared down at Colt’s agonized profile. He’d taken a bullet for Mack. The fact that he’d been here at all, a brother in arms, baffled him beyond reason. “Wes! I need you!” His voiced echoed around the valley, hopefully enough so Wes would hear him.

  “Get that bastard before he limps away,” Colt said.

  “You’re bleeding.” Mack glanced at the bad guy, who had about twenty feet to go before he reached the ATV. Plenty of time for Mack to get to him, but he didn’t want to leave Colt. If that bullet had hit an organ, he could be bleeding internally. They were miles from a wireless signal, and Colt needed a hospital ASAP.

  Colt’s visible eye rolled toward him. “Let me bleed. I deserve it, man.”

  “No, you don’t.” As angry as Mack was at Colt, the guy didn’t deserve to die. They’d both walked into an impossible situation, led by bad decisions and bad leadership, and Geoff had died. Seeing his friend in visible pain, bleeding because of him, Mack realized he truly did not hate Colt for killing Geoff; he was angry at him for lying about it.

  “Mack?” Wes’s voice called out.

  “Here!” Mack twisted around. Wes was running down the main street. He bypassed the dead guy with a pained grimace, then came to a skidding stop by them.

  “Jesus, Colt?” Wes hit his knees, and Mack put Wes’s hands on the wadded-up shirt.

  “Hold that tight, okay?” Mack said.

  “Uh, okay. Is it hurting you?”

  Colt gave him a weak thumbs-up.

  Mack stalked to the suspect, looming over him like a thundercloud. The guy was young, maybe early twenties, and he was scared shitless. Mack stepped on the guy’s bleeding leg and he shrieked. “Who are you?”

  “Erik Barnes! He hired me to burn it! I’m sorry!”

  He pressed harder, ignoring the guy’s scream. “Who’s he? Who hired you?”

  “All I got is his bulletin board handle. He found me online. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, you’ll be sorry.” Mack wrestled the kid onto his stomach, and then used his belt to tie his arms behind his back. Then he stole the kid’s own belt and secured his ankles. He could wriggle all he wanted, but he wasn’t getting on that ATV.

  Mack stormed back to Wes and Colt. “Hang tight a minute, I’m going to get the car.” Wes tossed a terrified glance at the suspect, so Mack added, “He’s not going anywhere, boss.”

  The nickname helped center Wes, and he nodded sharply.

  Mack tore ass back to the trailer, seeing the shattered window for the first time. Christ, that had been too close to Wes. All of this had been too close, and he still didn’t know what the fuck was actually going on. Someone had paid that kid to sabotage his restoration, but why? One guy was dead, two more were wounded, and for what?

  Who cares? Colt needs a hospital.

  He drove the car back to the scene of the crime. Tied up or not, he didn’t fucking trust that stupid kid in Wes’s car, but he couldn’t very well dump him in the trunk. He used Wes’s belt to put a tourniquet on his leg, then got him situated on the front seat, seat belt on, uncaring if he was uncomfortable. Wes helped him load Colt into the backseat, stretched out on his stomach with Wes in the foot well, holding tight to that shirt. The fabric wasn’t soaked through, so that was a good sign.

  Then they were on their way back down the road, Mack driving faster than was reasonable given the darkness. He was inching toward panic, and Mack didn’t panic often or well. “As soon as you’ve got a signal,” Mack said.

  “911 is waiting for my finger to press it,” Wes replied. “Come on.”

  He didn’t get a signal until they were halfway back to Garrett. Wes explained in a shockingly calm voice what had happened and where, and that they were on their way to the nearest hospital with both a suspect and a victim. The regional medical center was about ten minutes from Garrett, and Mack gunned it the instant he hit pavement, not giving a shit about speed limits.

  Not when his friend needed help.

  Chapter Twenty-
Two

  Wes was in survival mode. He’d only been in it one other time that he remembered. Five years ago, his dad had a heart attack and needed quadruple bypass surgery. Mom and Sophie were freaking out, and Wes had to be the strong one. Wes had to talk to doctors and nurses, to make decisions on his mom’s behalf, because she was too terrified of losing her husband to pay attention. He’d done it all with a calm façade that fooled even himself, because the minute Dad was home, resting in bed, and safe, Wes had gone back to his place and cried so hard he’d vomited twice.

  He could be strong, as long as he had a chance to freak the fuck out later.

  The gunshots in the ghost town had terrified him, and then they’d infuriated him. Someone was shooting at Mack. His Mack. That wasn’t allowed, goddamn it. But he’d stayed put until Mack called for him. He’d stayed with Colt—why the hell had Colt even been there?—until Mack came back with the car. He’d held that shirt to Colt’s wound the entire drive to the hospital, only releasing it when hospital staff nudged him aside.

  Then Colt and the gunman were lost in a flurry of gurneys and scrubs-clad people.

  He caught Mack’s red-eyed gaze. “I’ll park the car. Go.”

  Mack nodded, then fled into emergency care. The engine was idling, so Wes climbed in, ignoring all the blood staining the front foot well of his car. The medical center was small, so finding visitor parking didn’t take long. By the time he returned to the ER waiting room, two uniformed officers were already talking to Mack.

  “...no idea why we were targeted,” Mack was saying. “The suspect said he was hired to set the fire by someone online. Didn’t give me a name.”

  “And you said the second suspect is deceased?” Cop One asked.

  “Yes. I shot him after he shot my friend in the back.” Mack’s voice was so icy that Wes went to him. Put an arm around his waist.

  “And who’s this?” Cop Two asked, pointing a pen at Wes.