[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
you slept in a bunkhouse with a dozen other men. Some
nights he'd wake with a start, his member big and aching,
with fleeting wisps of dream still floating in his brain, flashes
of humid bare skin, of touching and groaning and kissing, and
damn if that wasn't the best part, the part that sometimes
got him out of his bed and out into the cool night to finish
himself behind the barn. And always, always, it was Larry, the
soft of his lips and the rough of his beard, that he imagined
kissing when he finished.
101
The Last Chance Ranch
by D.G. Parker
Temper might have been in torment, but Larry was relaxed
and happy. The tightness around his eyes had eased since
Arcady left the ranch, and the spring was back in his step.
And maybe it was Temper's imagination, but it seemed to him
that those occasional shy glances thrown his way were just a
mite bit wicked, too.
One hot Saturday night in August, Larry jumped into the
wagon and settled next to Temper, throwing him one of those
teasing little grins. Temper grinned back and shook his head,
wondering why the young man insisted on soaking himself in
that God-awful cologne for every trip into town. His own
sweaty, earthy smell was far more attractive. Not that it
made much difference to Temper, who was terribly aware of
the other man's presence, even if he did smell like a Kansas
City brothel.
The wagon seemed a lot more crowded tonight, mostly
because Lonnie was coming along. Most Saturdays he stayed
at home with his family, but this week he seemed glad to be
getting out. No one was sure what he'd done to anger
Juanita, but they'd all heard the angry Spanish hollering that
had chased the big man out of his house—not to mention the
stock pot that had bounced off his skull on the way. He'd
been sulking when he threw himself into the wagon, taking up
more than his share of space, but soon his natural good
temper had reasserted itself, and he was laughing and joking
with the others. In fact, everyone was in a fine mood, full of
piss and vinegar, as Temper's daddy used to say. The men
were all ready for their weekly night out on the town. Only
problem was, they were two men short.
102
The Last Chance Ranch
by D.G. Parker
Snow lounged against the side of the wagon, sighing and
shooting pointed gazes at the setting sun. "Where the hell are
they?" he muttered. "Finally! Let's go, time's a'wastin'."
"Actually," Ben said, aiming for casual and missing by a
country mile, "You go ahead and take 'em into town. Me and
Obie'll stay and keep an eye on things."
Porter snorted, and Obie pinked up like a virgin. Temper
made a mental addition to his shopping list—whenever them
two were left alone on the ranch, it played hell with their
supply of saddle oil.
"All right, boss," Snow said with a knowing grin. "I guess
you two got things well in hand." Snickers rose up from the
wagon. "Damnit, left my hat in the bunkhouse."
Ben took the battered tan hat off his own head and
dropped it on Snow's. "Now you got a hat. Git goin'."
This time Snow laughed outright. "If I didn't know any
better, I'd say you're tryin' to get rid of us. You in a hurry or
somethin'?"
Ben flashed him a rare, wide grin in answer. Snow shook
his head and climbed up on the seat, released the brake, and
twitched the reins. They rumbled down the path to the main
road. Ben and Obie had disappeared into the barn before
they'd traveled ten feet. Yeah, they'd definitely be needing
more oil.
As they slowly covered the distance between the Bar J and
town, Temper noticed with suspicion that with every bump
and rut the old wagon jostled over, Larry moved a little
closer. By the time he could feel the heat of the other man's
thigh resting against his own, Temper was sure and gave him
103
The Last Chance Ranch
by D.G. Parker
a questioning look. For his part, Larry flashed an impish grin
and nestled a bit closer. Glancing around at the others,
Temper saw that either no one had noticed or no one cared.
He let himself relax and enjoy the contact, even daring to add
an extra bottle of oil to his list, just in case.
He didn't actually hear the gunshot, though he
remembered it later. The first hint he had that something was
wrong was when Ben's hat landed in his lap. It was upside
down, and there was a spray of blood droplets on the
underside of the brim. And then Larry scrambled over him to
the seat, and the wagon jerked to a halt, and there was
shouting, and Snow was pulled down into the wagon bed with
them.
Shock made Temper slow on the uptake, and for a long
time he couldn't understand where all the blood was coming
from. It was pooling on the planks he was sitting on and
soaking into the leg of his trousers. It was staining Snow's
white hair a bitter red.
Abruptly, Temper snapped back into himself. Lonnie had
already stripped off his shirt and was pressing it to the side of
Snow's head. Porter vaulted over the side of the wagon and
ran toward the thick brush lining the road. "Go!" he hollered
at Larry, who was white-faced and clutching the reins. "Get
him back to the ranch!" As the wagon started moving,
Temper made his decision and jumped out, following Porter
into the scrub.
With the wagon turned 'round and gone, his own breathing
was harsh in his ears as they crashed through the
undergrowth. Porter was like a hunting dog on a scent,
104
The Last Chance Ranch
by D.G. Parker
crouched low and moving quick, following some sound that
Temper couldn't hear. He did his best to quiet his breathing
and keep up, ignoring the branches that sliced and slapped at
his face and arms like whips. They burst into a clearing in
time to hear hooves pounding away from them. Something
skittered away from the toe of Temper's boot and he looked
down.
Porter's lips thinned into tight lines as he squinted after
their quarry. "Won't catch him on foot, but I can track him."
"Don't think we need to," Temper replied, straightening
from a crouch and holding up the green leather riding crop.
Porter's eyes went lizard black.
"Let's get back." Was all he said.
Temper said a silent prayer. He had a very bad feeling that
more blood would be shed before the night was over.
* * * *
Obie groaned and shifted his weight, trying to wiggle some
feeling back into his hands. It was all well and good for Ben to
enact these fantasies of his, but just once, couldn't he
fantasize about a feather bed in a nice hotel somewhere? Why
did they all involve Obie getting tied up? Not that the rewards
weren't ample. Naked and standing against the main pillar in
the barn, his hands bound to a hook high above his head, he
was able to forget his discomfort by the sheer fact of Ben, on
his knees in front of him, suckling his cock like a foal at his
mam's teat.
Lord, what a thing it was to watch his johnson, grown thick
and stiff from all the attention, moving wetly in and out of his
105
The Last Chance Ranch
by D.G. Parker
lover's lips. Needing a faster pace, he tried to thrust further [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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you slept in a bunkhouse with a dozen other men. Some
nights he'd wake with a start, his member big and aching,
with fleeting wisps of dream still floating in his brain, flashes
of humid bare skin, of touching and groaning and kissing, and
damn if that wasn't the best part, the part that sometimes
got him out of his bed and out into the cool night to finish
himself behind the barn. And always, always, it was Larry, the
soft of his lips and the rough of his beard, that he imagined
kissing when he finished.
101
The Last Chance Ranch
by D.G. Parker
Temper might have been in torment, but Larry was relaxed
and happy. The tightness around his eyes had eased since
Arcady left the ranch, and the spring was back in his step.
And maybe it was Temper's imagination, but it seemed to him
that those occasional shy glances thrown his way were just a
mite bit wicked, too.
One hot Saturday night in August, Larry jumped into the
wagon and settled next to Temper, throwing him one of those
teasing little grins. Temper grinned back and shook his head,
wondering why the young man insisted on soaking himself in
that God-awful cologne for every trip into town. His own
sweaty, earthy smell was far more attractive. Not that it
made much difference to Temper, who was terribly aware of
the other man's presence, even if he did smell like a Kansas
City brothel.
The wagon seemed a lot more crowded tonight, mostly
because Lonnie was coming along. Most Saturdays he stayed
at home with his family, but this week he seemed glad to be
getting out. No one was sure what he'd done to anger
Juanita, but they'd all heard the angry Spanish hollering that
had chased the big man out of his house—not to mention the
stock pot that had bounced off his skull on the way. He'd
been sulking when he threw himself into the wagon, taking up
more than his share of space, but soon his natural good
temper had reasserted itself, and he was laughing and joking
with the others. In fact, everyone was in a fine mood, full of
piss and vinegar, as Temper's daddy used to say. The men
were all ready for their weekly night out on the town. Only
problem was, they were two men short.
102
The Last Chance Ranch
by D.G. Parker
Snow lounged against the side of the wagon, sighing and
shooting pointed gazes at the setting sun. "Where the hell are
they?" he muttered. "Finally! Let's go, time's a'wastin'."
"Actually," Ben said, aiming for casual and missing by a
country mile, "You go ahead and take 'em into town. Me and
Obie'll stay and keep an eye on things."
Porter snorted, and Obie pinked up like a virgin. Temper
made a mental addition to his shopping list—whenever them
two were left alone on the ranch, it played hell with their
supply of saddle oil.
"All right, boss," Snow said with a knowing grin. "I guess
you two got things well in hand." Snickers rose up from the
wagon. "Damnit, left my hat in the bunkhouse."
Ben took the battered tan hat off his own head and
dropped it on Snow's. "Now you got a hat. Git goin'."
This time Snow laughed outright. "If I didn't know any
better, I'd say you're tryin' to get rid of us. You in a hurry or
somethin'?"
Ben flashed him a rare, wide grin in answer. Snow shook
his head and climbed up on the seat, released the brake, and
twitched the reins. They rumbled down the path to the main
road. Ben and Obie had disappeared into the barn before
they'd traveled ten feet. Yeah, they'd definitely be needing
more oil.
As they slowly covered the distance between the Bar J and
town, Temper noticed with suspicion that with every bump
and rut the old wagon jostled over, Larry moved a little
closer. By the time he could feel the heat of the other man's
thigh resting against his own, Temper was sure and gave him
103
The Last Chance Ranch
by D.G. Parker
a questioning look. For his part, Larry flashed an impish grin
and nestled a bit closer. Glancing around at the others,
Temper saw that either no one had noticed or no one cared.
He let himself relax and enjoy the contact, even daring to add
an extra bottle of oil to his list, just in case.
He didn't actually hear the gunshot, though he
remembered it later. The first hint he had that something was
wrong was when Ben's hat landed in his lap. It was upside
down, and there was a spray of blood droplets on the
underside of the brim. And then Larry scrambled over him to
the seat, and the wagon jerked to a halt, and there was
shouting, and Snow was pulled down into the wagon bed with
them.
Shock made Temper slow on the uptake, and for a long
time he couldn't understand where all the blood was coming
from. It was pooling on the planks he was sitting on and
soaking into the leg of his trousers. It was staining Snow's
white hair a bitter red.
Abruptly, Temper snapped back into himself. Lonnie had
already stripped off his shirt and was pressing it to the side of
Snow's head. Porter vaulted over the side of the wagon and
ran toward the thick brush lining the road. "Go!" he hollered
at Larry, who was white-faced and clutching the reins. "Get
him back to the ranch!" As the wagon started moving,
Temper made his decision and jumped out, following Porter
into the scrub.
With the wagon turned 'round and gone, his own breathing
was harsh in his ears as they crashed through the
undergrowth. Porter was like a hunting dog on a scent,
104
The Last Chance Ranch
by D.G. Parker
crouched low and moving quick, following some sound that
Temper couldn't hear. He did his best to quiet his breathing
and keep up, ignoring the branches that sliced and slapped at
his face and arms like whips. They burst into a clearing in
time to hear hooves pounding away from them. Something
skittered away from the toe of Temper's boot and he looked
down.
Porter's lips thinned into tight lines as he squinted after
their quarry. "Won't catch him on foot, but I can track him."
"Don't think we need to," Temper replied, straightening
from a crouch and holding up the green leather riding crop.
Porter's eyes went lizard black.
"Let's get back." Was all he said.
Temper said a silent prayer. He had a very bad feeling that
more blood would be shed before the night was over.
* * * *
Obie groaned and shifted his weight, trying to wiggle some
feeling back into his hands. It was all well and good for Ben to
enact these fantasies of his, but just once, couldn't he
fantasize about a feather bed in a nice hotel somewhere? Why
did they all involve Obie getting tied up? Not that the rewards
weren't ample. Naked and standing against the main pillar in
the barn, his hands bound to a hook high above his head, he
was able to forget his discomfort by the sheer fact of Ben, on
his knees in front of him, suckling his cock like a foal at his
mam's teat.
Lord, what a thing it was to watch his johnson, grown thick
and stiff from all the attention, moving wetly in and out of his
105
The Last Chance Ranch
by D.G. Parker
lover's lips. Needing a faster pace, he tried to thrust further [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]