Wild Trail (Clean Slate Ranch #1)
A.M. Arthur
Chapter One
“How come you look like you stepped barefoot on a horse pie?”
“Dunno, how come you smell like one?” Mack Garrett replied to his best friend. He raised his head, not at all surprised to see Reyes Caldero standing in the open doorway of Mack’s small office. Reyes wore heavy boots and stomped around in them in a way that told you the man was coming long before he appeared.
“Looking over the roster for this week’s guests.” Mack held up the tablet with said roster on it, then pulled a face. He opened his mouth, but Reyes cut him off.
“Oh no, you’re not,” Reyes said. He stalked over to the desk. “I know you’ve got more responsibilities now, but don’t you dare say you aren’t coming out tonight.”
Mack sighed, unsurprised Reyes had read him so well. Mack and their other best friend, Colt, had a tradition of going clubbing in San Francisco on Saturday night, looking for fast and dirty hookups. Reyes accompanied them on occasion, usually to drink and dance and let off steam. “I really shouldn’t go into the city.”
“Yes, you should, especially since you’re the one who convinced me to go with you and Colt this time.” He knuckled Mack hard in the shoulder. “You are not leaving me alone to go clubbing with that man.”
Mack couldn’t help chuckling at the mental image of the more reserved, introverted Reyes clubbing alone with their excitable, flirts-with-everyone friend Colt Woods. “I need to make sure everything is ready for the new guests tomorrow.”
“You’ve got hours to do that, my friend. Besides, maybe you’ll run into your last hookup, the guy you said had a cowboy fetish and knew how to deep throat.”
“Not interested in repeats, you know that.” As much as Mack had enjoyed that particular encounter, he wasn’t looking to date. And he absolutely wasn’t interested in a new relationship, not after his last one ended with Mack’s heart shattered.
Reyes nodded with understanding. “No repeats, but at least come out to dance. Saturday night is the only time we’re not on call for guests and are allowed off the ranch grounds for fun and thrills.”
“Says the guy who’d rather spend his Saturday reading a book.”
“I like books better than people.”
True enough. Reyes only occasionally dated—both men and women—and he’d never been a big fan of random hookups. He’d never come out and identified as bi, but Reyes also wasn’t a big fan of labels. He seemed content enough in his solitary lifestyle, and that was good enough for Mack.
“What if I help you finish your work?” Reyes asked. “Tell me about the new guests.”
“We’ve got a bridal party.”
Reyes let out an exaggerated groan as he leaned against the doorframe. He was one of the most easygoing cowboys on the ranch, and even he found them stressful. Bridal parties at the dude ranch were rare, but they often tended to be the neediest and most disruptive because of their size.
“You think I can still switch my week off with Slater?” Reyes asked.
Mack grunted. “Doubtful. Slater bolted the second it hit three o’clock, and he’s had an hour to make his getaway. He’s probably in San Jose by now.”
“Damn it.”
“Chill out, pal, it’s not that bad. This one is only five people.”
“Really? Seems small. Our last bridal party was eighteen people.”
“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten.” While Mack had enjoyed the novelty of the couple being gay, their friends had been high-strung and extremely anti-dirt. And dirt was impossible to avoid on a ranch in Northern California. “Maybe it’s going to be a small wedding.”
Mack glanced at his tablet and the list of names. “One woman and four guys. The reservation was placed by the Best Person to the bride, a Wes Bentley.”
Reyes frowned. “Like the actor Wes Bentley?”
“Who?”
“Seriously? American Beauty. How can you not remember his eyes?”
Mack thought back to the film in question, which he’d seen once, in the theater. “The daughter’s creepy boyfriend who filmed plastic bags blowing in the wind?”
Reyes rolled his eyes. “You have absolutely no taste in movies.”
“Yes, I know, you’ve been telling me that since we were fourteen.”
“You said Pulp Fiction was terrible and overrated.”
“It is.” Mack had wanted to set fire to that VHS after Reyes forced him through the film.
Reyes grunted. “You were mad that D2: The Mighty Ducks didn’t get an Oscar nomination. Your film taste carries no weight with me. Ever.”
Mack laughed at the familiar rebuttal. At fourteen, he’d been too busy obsessing over the male cast of a teen hockey comedy to really care about art films or cinematic storytelling breakthroughs. He’d wanted to watch Joshua Jackson ice skate. He still kind of did. The actor had barely aged a day since Dawson’s Creek.
“Anyway,” Mack said, “no, I doubt the Wes Bentley who made the reservation is the actor, but I guess we’ll find out in the morning.”
“True. How many guests total?”
“Sixteen, so almost a full house, and one of them’s a family.”