Wild Trail (Clean Slate Ranch #1)(50)
Okay, so money was a sore spot best left alone for now. “Then you guys are going ahead with the restoration tourist attraction thing?”
“Yes.” Mack’s expression lightened. “We are. Arthur gave me the go-ahead to get some contractors out here and look at the structures, see what everything will cost.”
“You mean Colt can’t work his magic and do it all for cheap?”
Mack chuckled. “Colt’s good with his hands, but he’s not a magician.”
“Good with his hands, huh?” Wes couldn’t let that remark slide. “You know this firsthand?”
“Maybe. Jealous?”
“Nah. You don’t want him.” He leaned in and pitched his voice low so he didn’t scandalize Blizzard. “You’re too busy imagining what it’s going to feel like when you get your dick in my ass.”
Mack’s nostrils flared. “You aren’t wrong about that.” He pitched his already deep voice even lower. “Gonna fuck you so hard you’ll walk bowlegged for a week, just like a real cowboy. Rode hard and put away wet.”
Blood pulsed into Wes’s cock, and he very blatantly adjusted himself. “Your mouth’s writing a lot of checks, cowboy.”
“My mouth does a lot more than write checks.”
The bruise on Wes’s back tingled. “Oh, daddy, I know it. I loved your mouth on my mouth, and I loved your mouth on my ass. But you know what I’d love even more?”
Mack blinked once, his lips twisting into a feral grin. He opened his mouth, hopefully to answer with “around your cock,” but—
“Garrett!”
They jumped apart at the shouted word. A cowboy whose name Wes didn’t know was standing at the far end of the barn with a saddle in his hands.
“What?” Mack yelled back.
“Carl just dropped off the repaired saddle. You wanna inspect before I sign off on the work order?”
Mack pressed his lips tight, probably at war with himself. Duty versus pleasure. “Be right there!” To Wes, he said, “Come over tonight. Eight. I’ll make sure we’re alone for a while.”
Wes’s heart fluttered. “You have stuff?”
“Yes.”
Jesus, he’s seriously inviting me to his cabin to fuck. Why am I hesitating?
Mack tilted his head. “We can do what we did last night. No pressure.”
“Oh no. No pressure needed, believe me.” Wes winked. “You fucking me was always a matter of when, not if. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Yeah.” Mack stroked his beard once. “Try not to hurt yourself between now and then.”
Wes laughed. The cut on his ankle hadn’t bothered him all day, despite knowing the good doc who’d stitched him up probably wouldn’t be happy to know he’d been swimming. “I’ll do my best.”
*
He kept his word and did his very best not to injure himself again, but by dinnertime, Wes was starting to rethink his dip in the lake. He’d taken the opportunity to ride Blizzard again that afternoon, and as he swung down out of the saddle, his ankle had given a mighty twinge. When he hobbled into the guesthouse at the dinner bell, it was actually throbbing. A peek under the bandage showed the wound red and irritated.
Patrice shooed him into the downstairs bathroom so she could pour peroxide over the wound. Wes bit back a sharp hiss at the way it frothed up. After fussing at him for swimming with an open cut, she gave him more aspirin and suggested another trip into town tomorrow to see Dr. Weaver.
The whole thing left Wes in a grumpy mood at dinner. He played a few rounds of poker with Conrad, Derrick and Liam, before abandoning it. Wandered upstairs to lie on his bunk for a little while...only to wake up to a dark room. Shit.
He cast about for his phone, which was about ten minutes away from dying. Eight forty-five. Shit, Mack probably thought he’d stood him up. His ankle was stiff and sore, but goddamn it, he wasn’t missing out on this chance. He passed Miles on the stairs.
“You feeling okay?” Miles asked.
“Guess I needed that nap,” Wes replied. “I’m, uh, going to take a walk. Loosen up a bit.”
“Want some company?”
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks. Alone time is good for everyone.”
Miles frowned. “You can just say you’re meeting Mack again, you know.”
Wes glanced around them, but no one was nearby to eavesdrop. “Fine, I’m meeting Mack again. Happy?”
“Whatever. Just be safe.”
“Always am.”
“I don’t mean condoms.”
Wes crossed his arms, confused by the conversation now. “What are you talking about, then?”
“I mean be safe with your heart, Wes. I’ve never seen you look at a guy the way you look at Mack.”
His chest tightened. “How do I look at him?”
“Like you’d walk through five miles of horse shit just to fall at his feet and get a smile.”
“Please. I wouldn’t walk through two inches of horse shit for any guy.”
Miles tilted his head to the side, but didn’t say anything else.
“I gotta go, I’m late,” Wes said. “See you later.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Wes tried not to sprint across the big downstairs room to the front door, or across the porch and the main yard. Once he hit the well-trodden path to the cabins, though, he bolted. The lights were on in Mack’s cabin. Wes banged his fist on the door hard enough to hurt, his pulse racing—not with desire, but actual anxiety. He didn’t want Mack to think he’d been stood up.