Wild Trail (Clean Slate Ranch #1)(25)

I’m such a selfish prick sometimes.

The thought depressed him and dimmed some of the beauty of the landscape. Not even Mack pointing out a pair of elk in the distance cheered him up. This week was for Sophie. No more complaining about dirt or bugs, or anything else about the trip. He could stop being a queen for five more days and enjoy himself.

He hoped.

*

Two hours later, the group had reached a gorgeous valley with a narrow creek running through its center. Mack called for a break, and Wes nearly wept with relief. He didn’t mind a sore ass as long as an orgasm or two was involved, but this was ridiculous. How did people sit in saddles for hours on end? Why the hell weren’t they more padded? Cushioned saddles had to be a thing, didn’t they?

His entire backside ached as he somehow got off Blizzard without falling down. Inner thighs, too. Jesus Christ, why had he thought this was a good idea?

Sophie’s laughter drifted over to him. Conrad was helping her climb off Zodiac, and she was all smiles and giggles. Clearly enjoying herself, even though she had to be as sore as him.

“Let your horses drink if they’re thirsty,” Mack said. “And make sure you stretch. We’ve got another two hours to go before we reach the campsite.”

Wes groaned. Trusting Blizzard not to run away, he did a few squats to warm up muscles that had gone stiff sitting bowlegged for so long.

The dude-bros were saying something about digging around for gold, which got them a sharp reprimand from Reyes about respecting the land. Hah. That was probably why those tools had come on the camping trip, instead of staying behind at the ranch. Hoping to strike it rich based on a stupid ghost story. Idiots.

Wes wandered down to the creek, enjoying the soft burble of water over stones. Less than two feet wide, but pretty deep into the ground, Wes jumped over it with no real effort from his long legs. Short trees dotted the land, casting small areas of shade. The high sun cut down on them, but his cheap hat provided a surprisingly effective shield against the heat. He toed at a few loose rocks, trying to imagine those same rocks being there a hundred years ago, stomped on by horses long dead and cowboys long forgotten.

Forgotten just like a young actor named Westin Bentley, who’d seen brief stardom on a hit Western series, right before both his career and his love life exploded all over the place. And at pretty much the same time, seeing as the two were totally entwined with each other. Wes had wanted to be a star, to be remembered for a moving, award-winning role in a movie, or even a long-running series.

Instead, he’d been blacklisted and run out of Los Angeles, only to go home to San Francisco and lick his wounds doing dinner theater.

I suck. I need to get a real job and stop being a princess about acting.

Except acting was his one true love. Falling into a role was more intoxicating than any liquor or club drug could ever be for him. Embracing the stage gave him a bigger shot of ecstasy than any orgasm. He didn’t want to break up with acting. Not yet.

Footsteps scuffled in the dirt. Wes turned, expecting to see Sophie or Miles. Instead, Mack’s broad body filled his vision. He smiled at Wes from beneath the tilted brim of his hat—a smile less friendly, and slightly more predatory. Wes’s skin prickled with awareness.

“Doesn’t seem like you to not be sociable,” Mack said.

“Stretching my legs,” Wes lied. Okay, so that was partly true. He glanced around, startled to see he’d wandered a good ten yards from the creek and the other campers.

“Don’t stretch too far. You might get eaten by a mountain lion.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

Mack shrugged one muscled shoulder. “Can’t say as I’ve seen one myself, but I’ve seen their tracks.” Wes must have had some kind of terror on his face, because Mack added, “They tend to stay to the north, though, higher up in the mountains. Shouldn’t be much of a bother to us.”

“Good.” He took a breath to calm his suddenly racing heart, which could have been from the mountain lion scare as much as the way Mack had taken a protective step closer. Close enough that he could smell sweat and horse, and something deeper that was all Mack. Not cologne. He doubted Mack wore that shit around the horses. But whatever the smell was, it was damned intoxicating.

“You not enjoying the trip?” Mack asked out of the blue.

“Sure. Not used to riding on a horse.”

Mack tilted his head, that smile dimming. “You sure that’s it? A few times on the trail, you looked... I don’t know. Sad?”

Mack had been checking him out while they were riding? “I’m not sad, exactly. Sometimes I get inside my own head and it isn’t a pretty place to be. All the regrets and bad choices. It’s why I usually am the center of attention in a crowd. Talking and entertaining people lets me not think about my problems.”

“I hear ya.” Mack shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, pulling the material tight across his crotch. Wes couldn’t help taking a peek at the package, nicely outlined even under denim.

Dropping to his knees and blowing the tour guide for being kind was probably frowned upon by management, so Wes forced his gaze back up. Mack watched him with open amusement in his eyes, even if his lips were still flat. Curious, Wes poked out his tongue and clacked the ball of his tongue stud against his teeth. Mack’s nostrils flared.

“Ever felt one of these against your—” Wes glanced at Mack’s crotch “—skin?”