Wild Trail (Clean Slate Ranch #1)(6)
She nearly tackled him to the ground with the force of her hug. “That’s so cool! I love you.”
“Me, too, sis.” He spun her around once before putting her back down. So far, so good. Bring on the cowboys in tight jeans.
Two men rode on a raised platform at the front of the wagon. The man on the driver’s side was leading the team of horses, and holy Moses, even from a distance he was hot. Older than Wes, about his height, but with swaths of toned muscles that bunched beneath his blue polo marked with the ranch’s logo. A real cowboy hat sat atop his head, hiding his actual hair color, but that was okay because he had a square jaw, a dusting of dark beard and a fucking chin dimple.
Chin dimples were his Kryptonite.
“You’re drooling,” Sophie whispered.
“Why aren’t you?” Wes replied.
The closer the wagon drew, the better Wes could study his cowboy’s face...and the deep scowl on it. Sure, it was kind of hot for May, the sun was beating down like a motherfucker, and he’d just ridden a mile or so down a bumpy road on an equally bumpy-looking wagon, but still. Serious grumpy bear in their midst.
The second cowboy was older. Similar polo, darker brown hat and a lot of silver in his trimmed beard. He had the brown, leathery skin of someone who’d spent his entire life outdoors. Way less hot, but hey, cowboy!
“Ho, there!” the older cowboy called out. “Welcome to the Clean Slate Ranch!”
A small cheer went up around them. Sophie squealed. Miles was staring at the horses with naked terror in his big green eyes. Wes contemplated standing next to him in case Miles decided to bolt back to the car.
The wagon paused on the road, just outside of the parking area, and the older man stood. “Name’s Judson Marvel. I’m ranch foreman. This here silent, surly fellow behind me is Mack Garrett. You wanna work with the horses, chances are you’ll have to face his ugly mug.”
A pair of college-age guys started snickering, which sent ripples of annoyance across Wes’s skin. They had a very dude-bro, know-it-all look to them that turned him right off. Just like the high school bullies who never let Wes forget he was a flaming queer who loved—and excelled at, thank you—acting and musical theater.
“Hush up, now, Judson,” Mack said in a way that sounded practiced. Forced for the audience. Wes was an actor; he could pick bad performances apart in a snap. “Let’s get these folks on board and up to the ranch.”
Both men climbed off the wagon with practiced motions, and yeah, Wes stared at Mack’s ass as he swung down. The gathered crowd of vacationers began moving forward. The back of the wagon had a single wooden step that Mack and Judson stood on either side of, helping their guests up. Wes took a minute to observe the people around him. Besides the pair of women with kids, and the dude-bros, there was an older couple being very handsy with each other, and three chicks in their mid-twenties who kept staring at Mack like they wanted to lick him all over.
They definitely had better odds than Wes. The place was gay friendly, but he had no reason to assume any of the actual cowboys were gay, much less his hot grumpy bear.
“What about our luggage?” Conrad asked.
“We’ll lock the gate before we leave,” Judson replied in a jovial tone. “It’ll be safe enough until one of our men comes back for it with the truck. There’s a brief orientation when we get up there, so you won’t have time to miss it before you’re back in each other’s arms.”
Derrick snickered. “He does love that suitcase.”
“As long as he doesn’t love it more than my sister,” Wes said.
“Ah, the future bride,” Judson said to Sophie, who was tucked under Conrad’s arm. He winked at Conrad. “You must be the lucky fellow.”
One of the dude-bros made a rude noise that got Wes’s and Derrick’s attention. They were already on the wagon and didn’t look happy about Judson’s comment. Great, a whole week hanging around a pair of racist asshats. At least Sophie and Conrad were too into the attention from Judson to have noticed.
“He is the lucky fellow.” Wes slung one arm across Conrad’s shoulders and the other over Sophie’s. Neither Wes nor his parents had batted an eyelash about Conrad being black, and Wes wasn’t letting anyone give his sister and future brother-in-law shit out here in the middle of nowhere. He glared directly at the dude-bros, who angled away from him.
Good. Assholes.
Wes made sure he got on last, then faux-stumbled on the step so Mack had to grab his arm to steady him. The contact did tingly things to his insides. He winked at Mack. “My hero.”
“Watch your step,” Mack replied in a growly voice that Wes wanted to hear again and again. He let go of Wes’s arm once Wes had both feet firmly in the wagon.
Oh yeah, this week was already looking up.
Two long benches lined both sides of the wagon. Wes squeezed himself in between Miles and one of the chicks. Miles still looked like he wanted to jump out of his own skin, and Wes wasn’t sure if it was the environment, or all the strangers they’d be sharing a house with for the next seven days.
Miles had already been a line cook for several months when Wes was hired on at Gala two years ago, a dinner theater that did live shows six nights a week. It hadn’t been Wes’s dream job, but at least he was acting again, after the spectacular fail that had been his attempt at Hollywood fame. He and Miles had become tentative friends, and then roommates, but the guy was still pretty secretive. Not in a “maybe he’s a CIA operative” way, but more in a “I don’t like talking about myself” way.