Dale’s had a thing for his friend Brandt–his best friend and sometime boss–from the moment they met on the ranch. For nine years, they’ve lived and worked side by side. It hasn’t always been easy and they’ve had plenty of words and fights, but one thing Dale is sure of, is that the stubborn man he admires and longs for isn’t someone he wants to ever be without.
But Brandt is straight.
Or so he wants Dale to believe. He can’t seem to see his way through years of fear and hiding to tell Dale the truth. Better to let him think all they’ll ever be is friends. However, Brandt finally crosses a line and everything between them changes–but not necessarily for the better. Fighting’s easy. Making up is the hard part. Can they see eye to eye before it costs them everything?
- Sexy Cowboys
- Friends to Lovers
- First Times
Read a Sample…
I dropped the saddle onto the rack and took a deep breath, trying to let my anger recede. It wasn’t exactly working. I’d been out all day working my ass off; loading hay onto the trailers, fixing fence, and dealing with idiot hands while Brandt, the ranch manager, was working with contractors to get the new silo ready for feed. When I should have been out at the silo with Brandt, most of my afternoon had been spent rounding up stray cows and calves resulting from a botched attempt at herding them into the grazing pasture. It should have only taken an hour, and it should have been the easiest thing to do. David, who was somewhat new to the ranch, was an idiot.
I was convinced he wouldn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground and had told him so. Problem was, I’d told him that in front of all the other hands—and Brandt. As usual, Brandt hadn’t wasted any time in making some reference to me and how I knew all about asses. I’d swung before I’d heard it all and punched Brandt right in the jaw. It caught him off-guard and he stumbled, but he was quick at righting himself and a few moments later we were rolling in the dirt, fists flying. The more we fought, the more pissed I got; not at Brandt, as I should have been, but at myself.
I hadn’t gotten a hard-on from the feel of a guy’s body against mine in the last fight I’d been in. I couldn’t believe it had happened—especially in front of all the other hands. The only thing I’d been able to do to retain some of my dignity was keep fighting back. Most of my punches landed where they were aimed, but all of Brandt’s had made contact. I was going to be sore as hell.
The other hands had finally pulled us apart when they heard the owner’s diesel truck coming up the drive. I’d grabbed Blaze and high-tailed it back to the barn. I was still pissed as hell. Brandt could be such an asshole. He knew what kind of problems got started when everyone was reminded that I liked dick instead of pussy.
I spit the blood that was pooling in my mouth, dabbing at it with the back of my hand. Son of a bitch had split my damned lip. I sighed and grabbed the brush from the top shelf and turned and entered the stall. Blaze looked at me with wild eyes, twitching her ears and snorting. I knew she could sense that I was in a mood, but I certainly didn’t need her getting worked up now. The last time she’d gotten worked up because of my mood, she’d broken two of my ribs.
“Easy now, girl,” I whispered, extending my hand toward her as I approached.
She nudged at my hand and then at my shirt, nibbling and pulling at the fabric as I got closer. She nosed her way down my belly and then snorted, shaking her head as if she didn’t like the way I smelled.
“You don’t smell so hot yourself,” I said as I started brushing her down.
But the horse was right: I reeked of sweat. In fact, I could feel it running in long lines down my back, from my hairline to my ass. It was, after all, Texas in July. The heat index had been above a hundred for a couple of days now with no sign of relief in sight. I turned and set the brush on the railing and unbuttoned my shirt. I pulled it loose from my jeans and wadded it up, wiping my face and chest, and giving a quick swipe—as far as I could reach—across the top of my back. I then picked up the brush to continue what I’d started.
Eventually, some of the hands made their way into the barn, putting up gear, storing saddles and brushing down their horses. I could hear the whispers, the ones that always came at times like these, but I just kept on brushing, pretending I couldn’t hear them. No one stayed around to talk much. It was a Friday night and the hands that didn’t have weekend duty were quick in wanting to shower and get to the bars.
By choice, I always had weekend duty. There weren’t any bars that suited my tastes in the small town of Rock Creek. No need for me to have weekends off. Sure, we were close to Dallas, but not close enough to brave that shit on my own. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to find what I was looking for away from the ranch anyway.
“Don’t you think you’ve brushed ‘er down long enough?” A deep, rumbling voice sounded a few feet behind me.
Brandt.