Wild Trail

by A. M. Arthur

  Maybe Wes wasn’t wrong to be so nervous.

  “I wanna start by thanking y’all for coming so far out here on a Saturday evening,” Arthur said, his voice booming over the crowd. “Thought it best to get all the facts out there at once, so you can write your pieces, and we can get a little less interesting.”

  Several reporters chuckled.

  “My name is Arthur Garrett, and these lands have been in my family for generations. This strapping lad to my right is my grandson, Mack Garrett, and on his right is a very talented young actor named Westin Bentley.”

  Wes glanced curiously at Mack; Mack winked. With Wes’s acting career warming up again, Mack had told Arthur to use his stage name. Might drive publicity for all of them.

  “This whole thing started,” Arthur continued, “when Mr. Bentley was a guest here at the ranch some four months ago. He was out on-trail with a horse, and his horse spooked. Ran them both right into this ghost town we never knew existed.” Arthur detailed Mack’s investment in the project, the odd happenings and thefts, and finally, the dramatic gunfight. He used his natural storytelling ability to make his words pop.

  The reporters ate it up.

  “My grandson had a hunch about what this was all about,” Arthur said, “and with the help of local authorities and their internet crime division, we were able to finally find out the who and the why.”

  If Mack hadn’t lived it, he wouldn’t have believed such a crazy story had actually happened in their sleepy little area. Almost a year ago, two rich out-of-state college students named Peter Anderson and Chuck Barry were out hiking, trespassing on Garrett land—the back forty, specifically—and they’d found a cave with a potential deposit of lode gold in it. Peter convinced Chuck it was fool’s gold, but secretly chiseled some out and took it with him for testing. When Peter found out it was pure, he went to his daddy, a Nevada developer named Wendell Anderson, and told him about it.

  Wendell knew they couldn’t go in and mine the gold on someone else’s property legally, and as there was no direct road to it, trying to do anything illegally would potentially draw Arthur’s attention. So Wendell tried to buy the land. Repeatedly. And when Mack started to develop the ghost town—a tourist attraction located right on the border of the land he wanted—Wendell got desperate and hired a middleman to make trouble.

  The entire thing was convoluted and weird, and it had taken nearly two months to unravel the story and press charges, but it was finally over. Mack could proceed with the restoration with peace of mind. Everyone could move forward.

  And even though there actually was gold on the property, Arthur hadn’t changed a single word of the Pinkerton story he still spun to tourists.

  Arthur explained it all with more drama than the words rolling through Mack’s head, and ended with “My family and employees are eager to put this behind us and go back to our lives here at the ranch. Questions?”

  Everyone’s hand shot up, except the guy holding a local news camera. Mack knew exactly what was going to be asked before Arthur pointed to a redheaded lady in front.

  “Mr. Garrett, will you have core samples taken from the cave to see if there is enough gold present to be mined?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am,” Arthur said. “I didn’t want to sell that land to anyone who’d develop it or destroy it, and I won’t do the same by sending in trucks and equipment just to rip up gold the world doesn’t need. Animals live on that land, and it needs to be preserved, not dug up.”

  “But what about the potential payout for you and your family?”

  “We can put food on our table and hay in the horse stalls. Can’t say as I need much more than that. Our beautiful land shouldn’t pay the price of our human greed and arrogance.”

  Another reporter got a turn. “And the employee who was shot? He’s doing well?”

  “Back at work and doing well. Colt Woods is a fine young man, watching his brother’s back.”

  Mack’s chest warmed. His and Colt’s friendship would always be affected by the lie he’d told. They were friendly again, laughing and joking, but it wasn’t the same. It probably never would be. But Colt was alive, working and enjoying life—even if he sometimes hid the pain he still dealt with thanks to minor nerve damage from the bullet.

  Colt and Avery’s paths crossed occasionally at the site, but Mack had no idea if they were friendly. Or if they’d discussed Avery inadvertently outing Colt’s secret. That was between them.

  Arthur selected another question. This time, it was directed at Mack. “Mr. Garrett, what are your plans for this ghost town?”

  Mack grinned. At first, he’d thought the press conference thing was silly, when they could have just mass-emailed people. Now he saw the potential for free publicity that Arthur had seen.

  “At present,” Mack replied, “we’re doing a full restoration of standing buildings, as well as building new ones out of reclaimed wood. We hope to fully open next spring as a living attraction, something that authentically recreates the time period in which it thrived. Everything from the clothing our actors wear to the food we’ll serve to guests. We want guests to immerse themselves and experience the Old West lifestyle.”

  “Do you know what you’ll be naming the attraction?”

  “I wanted to try and find out what its name used to be, but my historian hasn’t been able to uncover any documents that tell us what it was. So I’ve decided it’s only fair I name the town after the man who discovered it.”

  Wes’s head snapped up, eyes popping wide.

  “I’m naming it Bentley,” Mack replied. “The Bentley Ghost Town.”

  The gratitude and smoldering heat in Wes’s eyes told Mack he was getting very, very lucky tonight. And Mack couldn’t think of a better way of saying he was all in with Wes, no matter where his career led him, than by naming a town after him.

  Mack fielded a few more questions about his plans for the restoration, and then the whole production wound down. They posed for a few pictures, individually and as a trio.

  “Forgot to mention,” Arthur added. “If any of y’all don’t have Saturday evening plans, we’ve got a big ole barbecue going on up at the ranch to celebrate a wedding, and you’re free to join us. Plenty for everyone.”

  Several people nodded affirmations. Mack should have minded but he didn’t. The more chances he got to tell the press about Bentley Ghost Town, the better.

  Wes pulled him inside the saloon. The floors were shiny and sturdy, with only the interior walls left to complete. Open windows gave them both plenty of light, even with the lowering sun.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Wes said, his eyes shiny with tears.

  “Yes, I did. I needed you to know that no matter what, part of this town is yours. You found it. Wherever you might travel in the future, home is right here waiting for you.”

  Wes threw his arms around Mack’s shoulders. Mack pulled him in tight. Wes hadn’t gotten the second lead in the zombie movie, but he’d been offered a smaller, more comedic role, plus a grisly death-by-zombie. He was thrilled at the chance and the makeup effects involved in his guts being eaten. It was a three-week shoot, and Wes flew out tomorrow, hence the early wedding and barbecue. Arthur had insisted on a small going-away celebration, and having Wes’s family around made the entire thing ten times more special.

  And for Arthur, small meant huge. All of the ranch hands were invited, and Miles had even driven out for it. Wes’s first movie role was a major deal for all of them. He’d re-signed with his old agent, and he already had—thanks to the magic of technology—three Skype auditions lined up while he was away.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Mack said. “When you aren’t in LA or elsewhere for work, I want you close to me. In my bed, in my life, not all the way out in San Francisco.”

  Wes pulled back, his lips forming a small O of surprise. “Yeah?”

  �
�And I’ve talked this over with Arthur, too. You see, there’s this nice patch of land west of the road to this site, tucked out a bit, so it’d be private. He agreed to let me build a house there, so I can move out of the bunkhouse, seeing as I don’t work at the ranch anymore.”

  “You’re building a house? That’s incredible. We can have sex without worrying about Reyes or Miles interrupting us.”

  Mack’s insides quaked with the weight of his next question. “Wes, I want you to help me build it. The layout and design and stuff. I want it to be our house when it’s finished.”

  Wes’s mouth dropped open and his eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

  “Dead serious. You’re home for me, and I want to be home for you, too. I want us to build a physical home to come back to and share our lives at the end of the day. Or the end of the movie shoot.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Fuck yes. Holy shit!” Wes slammed his mouth over Mack’s, tongue licking inside, arms tightening around Mack’s neck.

  They kissed hard and for a long time, until Mack’s jeans were too tight, and Arthur was yelling at them that it was time to go eat. Mack reluctantly pulled back, then pressed his forehead to Wes’s. So many things were bouncing around inside of him, but the strongest of all was love. Love and joy and excitement for the future.

  “I can’t believe it,” Wes said. “I went on vacation and came home with a lover and a new home.”

  Mack laughed. “Sounds like the stuff of fairy tales.”

  “Or a cheesy romantic comedy.”

  “I don’t think romantic comedies typically have gunfights in them.”

  “Good point.”

  Arthur yelled again.

  “Ready to go eat some amazing food, and say goodbye to folks?” Mack asked.

  “No.” Wes pressed a soft kiss to Mack’s lips, then his beard. “Even when we have to go our separate ways, from now on, it isn’t goodbye. It’s ‘until next time.’ Because, daddy, now that you asked me to move in with you, you’re stuck with me. No goodbyes ever again.”

  “Until next time.” Mack curled his fingers through Wes’s and squeezed tight. “Yeah. I think I love the sound of that.”

  “Tell me again.”

  “I love you, boss.”

  Wes’s eyes gleamed with joy as he kissed the top of their joined knuckles. “I love you, too.”

  Still holding hands, they walked out onto the porch, toward the truck Arthur had idling nearby to take them back to the ranch. Wes climbed into the passenger side first. Mack slid in after him, then took his hand again. Eager to get started on this new chapter of their lives together.

  “You know, I just thought of something,” Wes said as the truck ambled down the dirt path.

  “What’s that?” Mack asked.

  “I bet you and I are the first couple in history to have towns named after them less than ten miles apart.”

  Arthur belted out laughter at that one.

  “I bet we are,” Mack replied. “Guess that means we’re stuck with each other.”

  “For better or worse.”

  “For richer or poorer.”

  “Jesus,” Arthur said, “are you two over there marrying yourselves?”

  Wes giggle-snorted. “Just making promises.”

  Promises Mack very much intended to make good on. They weren’t ready for marriage yet. They’d only been together four months—not counting the few weeks they hadn’t spoken—and they had a lot of things to still figure out. But one thing Mack knew for certain was that he loved Wes and wanted to build a life with him.

  First, they’d build themselves a house. After that...well, they’d figure the rest out together.

  * * * * *

  For sneak peeks of upcoming novels, including the next book in the CLEAN SLATE RANCH series, ROPED IN, as well as exclusive giveaways, join the author’s Facebook group, A.M.’s Pot O Gold, here, as well as: Facebook.com/groups/300209733646247/

  Acknowledgments

  As always, a shout-out to my awesome editor, Alissa Davis. I can’t believe this is our tenth book together! Your guidance always makes my books better. Thank you as well to the entire Carina Press team; you are a joy to work with.

  To the awesome members of my FB group, Pot O Gold, many thanks for cheering me on as I wrote my first cowboy romance. You guys have been so supportive since the group opened. Extra special thanks to the folks who offered up horse names; I couldn’t have done it without you.

  Now available from Carina Press and A.M. Arthur:

  James never meant to fall for his straight best friend...but what if Nathan secretly returns his feelings?

  Keep reading for an excerpt from GETTING IT RIGHT by A.M. Arthur.

  About the Author

  A.M. Arthur was born and raised in the same kind of small town that she likes to write about, a stone’s throw from both beach resorts and generational farmland. She’s been creating stories in her head since she was a child and scribbling them down nearly as long, in a losing battle to make the fictional voices stop. She credits an early fascination with male friendships (bromance hadn’t been coined yet back then) with her later discovery of and subsequent love affair with m/m romance stories. A.M. Arthur’s work is available from Carina Press, Dreamspinner Press, SMP Swerve and Briggs-King Books.

  When not exorcising the voices in her head, she toils away in a retail job that tests her patience and gives her lots of story fodder. She can also be found in her kitchen, pretending she’s an amateur chef and trying to not poison herself or others with her cuisine experiments.

  For up-to-date announcements, join her newsletter! (vr2.verticalresponse.com/s/signupformynewsletter16492674416904)

  Contact her at am_arthur@yahoo.com with your cooking tips (or book comments). You can also find her online (amarthur.blogspot.com), as well as on Twitter (Twitter.com/am_arthur), Tumblr (Tumblr.com/blog/am-arthur) and Facebook (Facebook.com/A.M.Arthur.M.A).

  Getting It Right

  by A.M. Arthur

  Chapter One

  “Never said I’d let you fuck me... Get off... Let go!”

  Ezra’s words chased themselves around James Taggert’s mind as he stalked down the sidewalk, away from Pot O Gold, desperate to stuff his hands into his too-tight jeans pockets to keep them from trembling. Never in his life had he acted like such a selfish asshole and allowed a situation to get that out of control. He stopped a few blocks from the bar he’d abandoned and leaned against the cool bricks of a closed Mexican grocery store. He needed to apologize to Ezra, but he was too embarrassed and too drunk to make it as genuine as Ezra deserved.

  His phone was at his ear, the other end buzzing.

  “Jay?” Nathan Wolf’s voice was a balm to his frazzled nerves. “What’s wrong? It’s after midnight.”

  “Price is getting out.”

  “Shit, when did you find out? Where are you?”

  Having a best friend who knew all of his sordid backstory made times like this so much easier. “This afternoon. I’m outside the Pot. I’m fucked up, Nate, and I did something. Something bad.”

  “Stay put. I can be there in under ten.”

  The phone call ended, but the calm of talking to Nathan was taking some of the edge off his panic. He tapped a cigarette out of the crumpled pack in his back pocket. Thumbed the lighter. He took a long drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs to choking before releasing it hard through his nose. The stinging helped sober him up a bit more. He stared at the smoldering end of one of his worst habits.

  I really need to quit. Again.

  He’d quit five times in the past ten years, but kicking a habit he’d picked up at fourteen was hard. And not even a serious consideration when the cigarette in his hand was the only thing keeping him from pacing like a lunatic while he waited for Nathan. He should
n’t have come out tonight at all, not after the news he’d gotten, but what else was he supposed to do when he found out Stephen Price had made parole? Sit home and stew until the anger made him crazy? He’d dressed up, splashed on his best cologne and come down to his favorite watering hole for peach mojitos and cock. Irish pub by day and popular gay bar by night, Pot O Gold was his preferred destination for both.

  He had walked in, ordered his first drink from Riley, one of his favorite bartenders, and then perused the pickings. A lot of familiar faces. A lot of guys he’d already fucked. He didn’t have a rule about fucking someone only once, but too many repeat performances and some guys got a little clingy. He wanted sex, not a relationship.

  Ezra Kelley had caught his attention immediately. He’d seen Ezra around the Pot on and off for the past year or so, sometimes alone and sometimes with other people. Bar chatter said Ezra was a good fuck. James had taken in the tall, lean body, the spiky blond hair and silver stud in his eyebrow. Even the purple sleeveless top that matched the strange purple contact lenses had turned him on. Perhaps because Ezra was the exact physical opposite of what James really wanted and could never have.

  He had claimed Ezra quickly. Dancing with him, drinks in hands, practically fucking with their clothes on. James downed more mojitos than he usually allowed himself, because the rum brought numbness. Numbness from the pain of today’s news, the pain of old loss and the violence churning inside him, aimed directly at Stephen Fucking Price and everything he’d taken from James’s family.

  Alcohol, adrenaline and Ezra’s wood had made James temporarily lose his mind. They’d walked into the bathroom stall together. That had definitely been mutual. And Ezra hadn’t minded that blow job one bit until James had put Ezra against the wall and pulled the guy’s pants down to fuck him. He’d been too damned drunk to see the surprise in Ezra’s eyes, or hear the real fear in his voice. And then James had been an asshole, trying to argue with him about what they were going to do. Accidentally scaring Ezra into barfing up all of his night’s drinks.