Wild Trail (Clean Slate Ranch #1)(23)

“I understand him, too, but this is the fourth offer in a year from the same buyer. They seem pretty determined.”

“They can be determined all they want, but until they can assure Arthur that the land won’t be turned into a factory site or condos, he won’t sell.”

“He’s a stubborn old man, I’ll give him that.” Judson glanced at the house. “At least he agreed to let me take a look at this week’s food order before he sends it in.”

“That’s progress. Listen, I’m heading out with the first group of campers in an hour, but I’ll have my radio if you need me for anything.”

“We’ll be fine. You worry about enjoying a beautiful night under the stars.”

“Thanks, Judson.”

Mack headed back toward the guesthouse kitchen so he could grab a few sandwiches. The chuck wagon was out back, and Patrice was busy packing food into it for tonight’s campfire dinner and tomorrow’s breakfast. Bert and Robin were loading up sleeping bags and a few other essentials. They had a large event tent stored in the bottom of the wagon in case of unexpected rain, but they usually got lucky and didn’t need the protection.

Despite the fact that he’d be surrounded by greenhorns afraid of the shadows and every coyote yowl, Mack loved being deep in the country, far away from unnatural lights, with only the fire and the stars to guide him. The wildness of it helped him forget his big city past and pretend he was a real cowboy, free to be whoever he wanted to be.

Mack went inside to fix himself his sandwiches, which he wolfed down without chewing too much, hungrier than he realized. He helped himself to a big dill pickle out of the barrel Patrice kept just for the hands, then wandered to the kitchen door, drawn by the loud voices of the guests in the dining room.

Wes’s group was eating while standing, probably too excited for the trip to sit and be casual. And Wes was facing the kitchen. Mack froze, curious if—yeah, Wes looked up from his sandwich and caught Mack’s eyes. Then he spotted the dill pickle in his hand. Monster dills the size of...well, of a nice hard dick. Wes’s nostrils flared.

Happy to be able to tease the city slicker for a change, Mack brought the pickle to his lips and sucked just the tip of it between his lips. Color rose in Wes’s cheeks, and his eyes widened a fraction. Mack took another inch of the pickle in, savoring the tangy juice and the way Wes clenched his jaw. The whole thing was entirely too perfect, bordering on mean, so Mack snapped off the tip of the pickle and chewed.

Wes narrowed his eyes, then deliberately angled his body toward Conrad, who’d been speaking the whole time.

“You are a cruel man,” Colt said behind Mack.

Mack chuckled as he turned toward his friend. “He’s been flashing that ass at me all morning. I deserved a little revenge.”

“Careful, man, because Wes seems like the type to serve a pretty good counter-revenge.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Guess if he gets feisty out there, you can always dunk him in the creek.”

“Very true.” The mental image of a wet, sputtering Wes made him smile. “You’re evil, but I like it.”

Colt huffed on his fingernails, then polished them on his shirt collar. “Just doing my job as your friend.”

“If you were really my friend, you’d lead the camping trip for me.”

“Hah! No. Two hours on a horse without a break? Hell to the no.”

Mack shrugged and took another bite of his pickle. Colt didn’t like camping, period, but it never hurt to tease. “Just don’t blame me if I end up tying him to a tree and leaving him out there.”

Colt’s eyebrows jumped in a weird way at the tying up comment, but Mack didn’t press. He really didn’t want to know about any of Colt’s hidden kinks. Especially not over lunch.

Mack finished eating, then washed his hands free of pickle juice. In a way, he was both eager for the trip and dreading it. Forced proximity with a slim, sexy blond that he couldn’t get out of his mind?

I may have to dunk myself in the damned creek.

“Come on, man,” he called out to Reyes. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Or rather the horses on the trail,” Colt said.

“Don’t you have work to do somewhere on this property?”

Colt flipped him off as he bolted out the back door.

Mack rolled his eyes, then followed him into the hot afternoon sunshine. Time to, as Colt so elegantly put it, get the slickers on their horses, and then get the horses on the trail. He had a camping trip to lead.





Chapter Seven

Even though the website had said to bring a hat to the ranch, Wes didn’t own a hat, so he hadn’t bothered. Even in winter he didn’t wear a hat, because they fucked with his carefully styled hair. Conrad and Derrick had been smart enough to toss 49ers caps into their bags, but he, Sophie and Miles were lacking. After lunch—goddamn Mack and that pickle, he’d nearly popped wood right then and there—he dragged both into the main house to check out this canteen.

The main foyer had a big “Welcome to Clean Slate Ranch” sign smack in the middle, along with an arrow pointing to the right with Canteen printed inside it. The two doors to the left were shut, so he followed the arrow through an open doorway. The canteen reminded Wes of any hotel gift shop, with a few rows of candy bars, gum, mints, toothbrushes, mini toiletries like soap and shampoo, and everything was priced with a sticker gun. It also had two racks of cheap cowboy-style hats in several shades of brown, plus small sizes in light blue and pink, ostensibly for the kids.