Summary:
Opposites attract when a rancher is stranded in the mountains with a handsome stranger on holiday in this sexy gay romance.
Mack Garrett loves the rolling hills surrounding his Northern California dude ranch. Leading vacationers on horse trails with his two best friends is enough—romance is definitely not in the cards. When a sexy tourist shows up at Clean Slate, he’s as far from Mack’s type as can be. So why is the handsome city slicker so far under his skin in less than a day?
Roughing it in the middle of nowhere isn’t anywhere near Wes Bentley’s idea of fun. Then he lays eyes on the gruffest, hottest papa bear he’s ever seen. But Mack is as hard to pin down as he looks—distant, sharp-tongued, and in desperate need of a shave. Until a campout gone wrong strands both men in the mountains with nothing to do but get to know each other.
Mack intends to keep his closely guarded heart out of Wes’s very talented hands. But for a seven-day cowboy, Wes is packing some long-term possibility. The cold country air can do wonders for bringing bodies together—but it will take more than that to bridge the distance between two men whose lives are worlds apart.
Welcome to Clean Slate Ranch: Home of tight jeans, cowboy boots, and rough trails. For some men, it’s a fantasy come true.
“[A] passionate, trope-heavy romance . . . scintillating romantic tension and steamy sex scenes.” —Publishers Weekly on Hard Ride
Two men with trust issues find a second chance at love in this slow burn western romance.
Shawn Matthews never imagined he’d be living out of his car, trying to make ends meet, but life doesn’t always go your way—he knows that better than most. When an accident leaves the Clean Slate Ranch shorthanded, Shawn is enlisted to help cook and finds himself bunked next to the sexiest cowboy he’s ever laid eyes on.
The first time Robin Butler spots the new chef, he thinks he’s seeing an actual ghost. Shawn is the spitting image of his late husband, and it spooks the hell out of him. The former rodeo-star-turned-ranch-hand does his best to avoid the soft-spoken cook—except it’s kind of tough when the man makes the best damn grub this side of the Mississippi and has a boy-next-door charm that’s impossible to resist.
Even though the tension between them practically sizzles, Shawn doesn’t do hookups and Robin isn’t ready for a new relationship. Besides, Robin can tell Shawn’s been hurt and deserves a partner who isn’t saddled with a tragic past. But chemistry doesn’t lie. Maybe finding each other—and a second chance at love—is the lucky break they both need.
Wild Trail #1
CHAPTER 1
"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 easy-going 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."
Figuring out the rooming arrangements wasn't usually Mack's job, but he'd been taking more responsibilities to help his aging grandfather work less and enjoy his ranch a little bit more. Arthur Garrett was a proud man, and even though he'd never admit out loud that he was slowing down as he neared his seventy-eighth birthday, his age and newfound forgetfulness worried Mack. After all, Arthur was the only blood family Mack had left.
Reyes had been family ever since they were twelve years old and jointly put cherry bombs in the girl's bathroom toilets at school. Mack's other best friend, Colt, had been in his life far fewer years, but he was family, too. Within the same six-month time period, each man had quit his previous career and moved to the ranch to find ... something. Something new.
And to start over, away from the pain in their pasts.
Mack was still getting used to figuring out the sleeping arrangements for guests. He was in charge of overseeing the horses, guest interaction with horses and the camping trips. Simple things. Putting warm bodies into rooms in a way that made sense didn't come naturally to him, so he waved Reyes over.
"Tell me how this looks," he said, handing him the tablet.
Reyes scanned the rooms and the names attached, which was linked to the guest registration information that asked: Are you comfortable sharing a room with a stranger of the same or opposite sex? Other variations of the question gave Mack enough information to guess. The second floor of the guesthouse had four four-bunk rooms, each with a private bathroom. Sometimes strangers ended up bunking together — which also meant every other week, someone had an issue on arrival day and bunks had to be switched around.
Arthur had always rolled his eyes and muttered about tourists being coddled.
"No, this looks good," Reyes replied. "The bride said she didn't mind sharing with strangers, so putting her into a four-bunk room with the three single ladies is good. It all looks good."
"Always looks good on paper."
"Or pixels."
"Whatever." Mack took the tablet back. "Food delivery here yet?"
"Truck pulled up a few minutes ago. It's actually what I came to tell you. Arthur, uh, put the order in wrong."
Mack groaned. "Shit, what are we missing?"
"We're light on flour, eggs and bacon."
All breakfast staples for the guesthouse kitchen. "Great."
Every week, Arthur placed a food order for the next week's guests, and the food was trucked over Saturday afternoon. Arthur had been placing the order for years, and it was another weekly ranch task he was hanging on to tightly with his wrinkled, arthritic fingers. But this was the third mistake in four months.
He followed Reyes out of the barn and into bright May sunshine that had him squinting the whole hundred yard walk to the guesthouse. Their usual delivery guy, Juno, was standing by his truck talking to their cook, Patrice, and they both went perfectly still at Mack's approach. Mack was well aware that his squint made him look perpetually pissed off, but there wasn't much he could do. It was the only face he had.
"I'm so sorry," Juno said as soon as he was within earshot.
"It's not your fault," Mack replied, trying to put the guy at ease. He looked like he was ready to jump out of his skin. "Give me your list."
Juno handed over a paper printout from the grocery store that handled their business. Arthur preferred dealing locally, so Mack had to be nice and fix this without accusing anyone — not his best act. Mack logged into the business records and found their copy of Arthur's order. They matched.
"Our mistake," Mack said, handing the list back. "Go ahead and accept the delivery, Patrice. Figure out the difference. I'll run into town and buy what you need."
"Bless you," Patrice said. A genuinely sweet lady, Patrice had been on the ranch for decades. She prepared every meal, kept the rooms clean, and generally doted over the guests, especially the children.
Juno and Patrice went off to restock the kitchen pantry.
Mack pivoted one-eighty to stare at the main house. The last original building on the property, the hundred-and-fifty-year-old single-story ranch home looked pretty good under a new coat of paint. Its wide front porch no longer sagged, thanks to Colt's handiness with a hammer and nails.
"You gonna tell Arthur?" Reyes asked.
"I have to. He'll wonder about the in-town credit card purchase if I don't."
"How do you think he'll react?"
"He'll brush it off as a one-time problem, like he always does."
"You think Arthur would be more receptive to it coming from Judson?" Reyes asked, spookily following along on Mack's silent train of thought. Twenty-four years of friendship did that.
"I doubt it matters who tells him. Once is a mistake. Twice is something to watch. Three times is a pattern and potentially a problem."
"Yeah."
"You gonna come into town with me for the extra supplies?"
Reyes shrugged. "Why not? We'll get it done so you don't have an excuse not to come into San Francisco with me and Colt."
Patrice came outside with a handwritten list. "Here you go, hon."
"Thanks." Mack stuffed it in his pocket. "I'll text Judson about the grocery trip, and then we'll get going. I can talk to Arthur later."
"Good luck with that chat," Reyes said.
Mack felt kind of bad about buying out the store's entire stock of bacon, but it was a breakfast staple at Patrice's table — both the one she set in the main dining room for guests, and the smaller buffet she provided for the ranch hands in the back room. This was why they ordered ahead of time: so the store's owner could fill their needs without depriving his own customers.
Oh well.
One of the stock boys brought boxes out of the backroom to use for the groceries, instead of wasting a bunch of plastic bags. Reyes bought himself a bag of barbecue potato chips, which had been a favorite of his since forever. Mack studiously avoided the ice cream aisle. Ice cream always reminded him of Geoff, and he didn't need to get depressed on his Saturday night off.
He and Reyes packed up the bed of the ranch's pickup truck with their supplies, then puttered back through town. Garrett had a meager population of five thousand, give or take, and had been settled during the gold rush.
Mack hadn't even known the town existed until about ten years ago, and now he couldn't imagine leaving. He loved knowing more about his roots, and he loved this old, dilapidated town.
The truck ambled through the worn downtown, past town limits, to where Mack could safely press on the gas. Their police force was tiny, but they gave out tickets for anything they could in order to keep funding their own jobs. Their town barely kept afloat year after year, as the population continued to dwindle. Arthur had long lamented he couldn't do more to drive tourists into Garrett itself.
"Stop it," Reyes said.
"Stop what?" Mack retorted. "Driving? We don't want the bacon to cook in the sun."
"Jackass. It isn't your job to save this town, and you know it."
"Maybe, maybe not. There's a lot of my family history here, buried on this land."
"Even so, worry about the ranch first. You still gotta talk to Arthur about the supply order snafu."
Mack grunted. A small part of him hoped Judson had taken care of that chore, but he'd yet to get a text about it. Mack would probably end up confronting his grandfather himself, and that would suck. He wasn't afraid of confrontation. Hell, Mack had been Los Angeles County SWAT for four years. No, he was more afraid of the emotional damage this might do. Reminding an old man he was just getting older.
He parked in front of the guesthouse. Reyes and Patrice helped him unload the truck and store the supplies in the kitchen's industrial walk-in. When they finished, Reyes took the empty boxes over to the garbage shed — the place they hid their garbage and recycling containers so they didn't kill the feel of the ranch, or attract unwanted pests. Behind the shed was also a compost pile for food scraps. The ranch made extra cash for the horse rescue by turning the compost into a nice fertilizer to sell to town residents. The smell stayed downwind of the guesthouse, so it had never been an issue. Not that it should be. It was a ranch. The place smelled like horses and dirt.
Mack would never forget the guest two summers ago who'd carried a bottle of air freshener with him everywhere the first day, until he tried spraying it around the horses. After that, Mack banned its use to the guesthouse.
He moved the pickup to its usual spot east of the main house, next to Judson's personal vehicle, and the garage that housed four ATVs that the staff had free range to use.
"Mack!" Arthur's voice dragged his attention to the front porch. He stood at the top step in his ever-present denim overalls, the purple undershirt making his white hair and beard stand out even more.
A widower from a young age, Arthur had served in the Army for a lot of years, before turning a struggling cattle ranch into a successful vacation spot and horse rescue. And while no one was getting rich working here, he took care of his staff. But he was also aging, and sooner or later, he'd have to retire from the business end of things and turn control over to his general manager and foreman, Judson Marvel.
"Yes, sir." Mack strode over to the porch, shoulders straight.
"You got the sleeping arrangements done for tomorrow?"
"A while ago. I posted it so you could take a peek, but Reyes double-checked me. It's good."
"Excellent. Food delivery come okay?"
Mack stifled a sigh; Judson hadn't talked to him. "It came, but we had a slight hiccup. You under-ordered again. Three staples."
"Well, shit." Arthur frowned. "You checked —"
"I checked your original order against the one Juno had on him. They matched. Reyes and I went into town a bit ago to get what extra Patrice needed. You'll see the charge on the business card."
"I'm sorry about that. Honest mistake."
"On flour, bacon and eggs that you've been ordering for ten years?"
Arthur's shoulders slumped. Mack loved his grandfather and hated seeing him upset, but this was about the business. Arthur's business, and they both had to protect it.
"We fixed it, but this is the third incident in four months," Mack said. "This coming week, just let me or Judson double-check you before you send the order over. We all need a second set of eyes sometimes. Just like I had Reyes double-check me today."
"Makes good sense. Better for business."
"And I think the store will appreciate it. I bought out all of their bacon."
Arthur's eyes lit up with silent laughter. "Hopefully no one in town wants a BLT for dinner tonight."
"They would be shit out of luck."
"How's our new batch of guests look?" Arthur descended the four wood steps to stand next to Mack. They had similar heights and builds, and some folks swore they saw Arthur in Mack, but Mack never could.
"Not too bad. Married couple, small family, two groups of friends and a bridal party. Sixteen total."
"Good, good. You and Colt going out tonight?"
The abrupt conversation shift startled Mack. He'd come out to Arthur years ago, right after Arthur came out to him — gay his entire life, but hiding it for decades until he said fuck it, I'm out. Hence his purple T-shirts and the rainbow flag proudly displayed on their flagpoles each day next to the American flag and the California state flag. The Clean Slate Ranch was gay-friendly and proud of it.
"Yeah," Mack replied. "Reyes is coming out for a change."
"You're never going to meet someone if all you ever do is visit bars and dance clubs."
Mack shrugged. "I don't want to meet anyone right now."
"Hmm. Maybe, maybe not. Why don't you try those dating apps on your phone?"
"What's with the sudden urge to marry me off?" That came out with more anger than necessary. "Sorry, I just ... I'm not ready."
"It's been nearly five years, son."
"I know how long it's been, believe me." Long enough that he could think about Geoff without his heart breaking wide-open, but not long enough that he was ready to risk his heart a second time. Losing Geoff had hurt too damned much.
Lucky Break #4
CHAPTER 1
Shawn Matthews glanced at the kitchen clock every few minutes while he worked, watching the long hand tick down the final two hours of his first season as sous chef of the Tango Saloon, a grim reaper inching closer and closer to Shawn's doom. Okay, so maybe doom was melodramatic, but today was the saloon's last day open for over two months, and Shawn had nowhere to go for the upcoming holidays.
"Eighty-sixing the buffalo burger," his boss, Miles Arlington, said from his position at the sizzling flattop. Their server, Annabelle, had just come back to fetch two slices of Vinegar pie, and she repeated what he'd said.
"I'll hard-sell the chili and Hangtown Fry," Annabelle said as she left the kitchen through the swinging double doors with her pie order.
Normally, eighty-sixing a dish from the menu this early, especially a dish as popular as Miles's buffalo burger, would have annoyed them all on a Sunday afternoon. But they'd underordered supplies this weekend so they wouldn't have too many leftovers when the saloon shut down for winter break. As it was, Shawn was down to one whole Vinegar pie, only a dozen biscuits, and three final slices of Mock Apple pie.
"Are you sure you're okay coming in tomorrow for a few hours to clean?" Miles asked after checking the temperature of his final burger. "I don't want to interrupt your plans, but I figured it would be easier than scrubbing the place down tonight after we've both cooked all day."
"Don't mind at all," Shawn replied, and he really didn't. It gave him somewhere to be for part of his day. The rest of the ten-ish weeks that the saloon would be closed? No idea, and he wasn't looking forward to living in his car all that time. "It'll be weird being up here without guests, though."
"Very true." Miles shot him a thoughtful smile. "It'll be weird not seeing you every day, too. You'll have to visit one weekend or something."
That was Miles's very unobtrusive way of inquiring about Shawn's plans while Bentley Ghost Town was shut down to tourists, so the actors and other folks who worked there could spend the upcoming holidays with their families. Mack Garrett, the owner of Bentley, had decided to close up starting the Monday before Thanksgiving, and then open again the final week in January. The break coincided with the closure of the nearby dude ranch Mack's grandfather owned, and where Miles's boyfriend — nope, fiancé now — worked as head cowboy. Miles was excited to have lots of time with his guy.
Shawn just saw a great, gaping maw of empty time waiting for him. Maybe he could drive into San Jose and pick up some temporary kitchen work to keep himself busy. God knew he'd need the money. Despite Mack offering a competitive salary, Shawn had meds to pay for, no insurance plan, and he had to send a good chunk of every paycheck home to help keep Granddad afloat.
Shawn didn't have the luxury of two months camping with a lover, riding horses, and being lazy. Not that Miles hadn't earned the break from real life, especially after the last few months of dealing with an abusive ex.
"We should definitely get together for lunch or something," Shawn hedged, uninterested in revealing to his boss that he'd been homeless for the better part of two years now. "It's not like we can't text or chat on the phone."
"Yeah. You can come up for movie night or something." Miles slid the burger onto its waiting bun. "Movies, popcorn, and drinks at Mack and Wes's place. We usually do it a few times a week so we can all catch up, and you're free to join us."
Shawn swallowed an irritated grunt, unsettled by the timing of these offers of friendship outside the saloon. Why had Miles waited until now? Pity? Shawn could entertain himself just fine, thank you. But Miles wasn't being overbearing or trying to pressure Shawn into anything. He was ... being a friend.
"I appreciate it." The printer spit out a new ticket, and Shawn fetched the small slip of paper. "Two Hangtown Fries, hold the oysters in one, and a side of corn fritters."
Miles repeated the order and hit the small bell so Annabelle knew the burger order was ready. Then he reached for the eggs he needed for the Fry, while Shawn got to work on the fritters. In the eight months since the ghost town and saloon opened, their crew had created an easy, balanced work relationship, and they rarely had issues with getting food out. Okay, so maybe once Shawn accidentally made a batch of pies with salt in place of the sugar, but those mistakes were rare.
And funny, with the distance of time. In the moment, Shawn had been terrified he'd be fired on the spot, and he needed this job. He loved this job. He even loved the tiny bit of acting he got to do during the noon holdup in the saloon, where he had to pretend to be scared of the "thieves." The cast and crew who kept the ghost town going had become a kind of family all their own, and he was so grateful to have that in his life again. It had been five years since he'd truly felt accepted anywhere.
By four thirty, the last of Shawn's pies and biscuits were gone, so he helped Miles with side dishes for the final hour that tourists could order food. Most of the prepared hot line was empty when the last ticket of the season came over the printer. Miles blinked hard as he plated another Hangtown Fry with a side of fritters, as if grieving the end of their first work season here in the Tango Saloon.
Shawn's own chest tightened. He wouldn't be coming in tomorrow to cook, he'd be coming in to clean and shut things down. They looked through the last of the food on hand, fried up the end of the fritter batter, scrambled the leftover eggs, and Shawn used the last of the flour and butter to toss together a simple batch of cheddar biscuits.
A few at a time, cast members came through the kitchen like a small buffet and got food. Miles had suggested this to Mack last week, so they used up everything they could. Plus, free dinner as a thank-you for everyone's hard work.
Mack and his boyfriend, Wes Bentley, were among the last people to come through the line, and there wasn't much left. Wes was also Miles's best friend, and the pair hugged for a while, both men probably sad to see the attraction they'd helped build temporarily shut down. Shawn's own grief was less acute, tempered by simmering anxiety over his next paycheck. Shawn also hadn't been there at the start of the ghost town, only coming on as a cook about a week before they opened.
"You sure we can't help you guys clean up tonight?" Mack asked. "No one else has to drive up to do anything tomorrow, except me and some paperwork. Megan already closed up the general store for the winter."
"After Mack so generously bought the last of the consigned bread and canned goods to give away to the cast," Wes added with a lovestruck smile for his boyfriend. "Just when you think he can't get more generous."
Mack simply grinned.
Before Shawn could insist he didn't mind cleaning tomorrow, Miles shrugged and said, "I'm cool doing it tonight if you guys are volunteering. In terms of supplies, there's some flour, sugar, and baking powder folks are free to adopt, and I think some milk and half-and-half in the fridge. Forage away once we're done."
Shawn's stomach sank but he didn't contradict his boss. Instead, he started cleaning the line in a practiced, familiar way. Annabelle stuck around to help, and with five of them working, it didn't take long to scrub the place down, unplug equipment that wouldn't need to run, and scrounge up every last bit of stray food. Miles took a final trip out to the compost pile with the bus bin, which he then carefully washed and dried.
Annabelle hugged them all before she left, her eyes full of tears. "See you next year," she said as she walked out the kitchen's back door.
Their quartet left a few minutes later, slowly walking through the deserted town to the attraction's main entrance and gravel parking lot beyond. Shawn's feet grew heavier with each step toward his home for the next two months: a rusty hatchback that vibrated like crazy over fifty miles an hour and sometimes didn't have heat.
His entire life was in that car.
After a handshake from Mack and hugs from both Miles and Wes, Shawn slid into his car and sat there. Watched the trio of friends climb into Mack's pickup and trundle out of sight. Mack and Wes lived in a cabin off the road to the ghost town, and from there, Miles would drive an ATV back to the ranch where he lived with his own boyfriend. No one would care if Shawn stayed here for a while.
Not as if he had anywhere else to go, or anyone waiting for him to get there.
Except he couldn't linger long. Mack's cabin was out of sight of the road, but headlights and an engine too late at night might arouse suspicion, so Shawn turned his key in the ignition.
A gurgle and then nothing.
"Shit, not now." Shawn smacked the steering wheel and tried the key again. Nothing. Then he spotted the headlight knob — still pulled out from his morning ride through slightly foggy weather. He'd killed his own damned battery. "Goddamn it!"
Roadside service all the way out here would be expensive. Maybe he could call Mack and ask him to return for a jump start. Inconvenient, considering everyone's long day, but better than sitting up here all damned night. He palmed his cell — which was as dead as his car. The thing's battery wasn't holding its charge well anymore, and he'd forgotten to use the kitchen's charger today.
Anxiety rolled heavily through his chest and he fought against a rising tide of panic. With the car battery dead, his car charger wouldn't do him any good. Even if he could justify sneaking into the kitchen to use the charger, the doors were all locked in case anyone got big ideas about snooping around in the off-season.
He was well and truly screwed.
Shawn closed his eyes and took a few deep, centering breaths. He'd figure this out. He'd be fine. He'd been figuring his own shit out for years and was still standing, goddamn it. He'd figure this out, too.
Mack's house wasn't an unwalkable distance from the ghost town, but it was after eight at night, dark, with only a sliver of moonlight to guide him down the gravel road. Shawn wasn't afraid of the dark, but there were wild animals out here.
Flashlight. Do I have a working flashlight?
Granddad had given him an emergency roadside kit back when Shawn bought this car. He got out and opened the back hatch. Rummaged around his small collection of belongings until he found the kit. It had one of those battery-free flashlights, and after winding the crank a few dozen times, it finally shed dim light.
Better than nothing.
Shawn armed himself with his tire iron, not trusting the vast acreage of wild land all around him, and then set off toward the road. His feet already ached from a long day, and walking down heavy gravel wasn't helping his sore muscles or his roiling emotions. Anxiety over finding new work, plus anger at this unexpected expense, made his stomach hurt, and he had to pause once to work back the urge to vomit. He should have taken one of his meds before setting off on this hike, but he'd come too far to turn back now.
Except it seemed to take forever for the yellow reflectors marking the Garrett/Bentley driveway to finally flash in the distance. Shawn wanted to sob with relief, but he still had the long driveway to traverse. It dipped down and bent slightly, giving the house tree cover from the ghost town road.
He'd never actually been to the house before, despite a handful of invitations to dinner from Mack. Two stories, the exterior was very rustic-log-cabin, the beauty only slightly marred by the more modern deck furniture on the front porch. The pickup and another car were parked by the house, and lights blazed downstairs.
I might be inconveniencing them, but at least I'm not waking anyone up.
Shawn put his tire iron down, not wanting to appear threatening, and took a deep breath to steel himself before he knocked on the screen door. The interior door swung open a moment later, and Mack stared at him a beat. "Shawn? Everything okay?"
"No, and I'm sorry to bother you this late."
"It's no bother." Mack pushed open the screen door. "Come on in. Didn't hear you drive up."
"I walked." Shawn entered the house, a little surprised by the mix of boho chic décor and more rustic elements that was a perfect blend of the two occupants. A real home. "My car battery died, and then so did my phone battery, and I really hate to put you guys out because I couldn't remember to charge my phone, but I didn't know where else to go."
"Shit, that's a run of bad luck."
"Mack, who's —?" Wes appeared from above, where an open staircase led up to a loft area. "Hey, Shawn, what's wrong?"
"Dead car and phone batteries," Mack replied. To Shawn, he said, "You want a jump?"
"I know it's super late to ask, but I'd really appreciate it," Shawn said.
Wes trotted down the stairs, already out of his period costume and wearing only a pair of tight workout shorts. "Dude, it's after nine. Why don't you just crash here and Mack can jump you in the morning. Unless you've got cats at home that need to be fed or something."
Shawn nearly said he did, just so he could get out of this strange space and back to his familiar car, but he also didn't want to lie to their faces. "No cats or anything, but I don't want to be a bother."
"Don't even sweat it. We've got two guest rooms that barely get any use, unless Avery and Colt stay over together. You have got to be exhausted after today, and the last thing we need is for you to fall asleep at the wheel and crash."
"I agree with Wes," Mack said with a friendly smile. "It's really no bother. I was gonna drive back up to the site in the morning anyway, just to finish up a few things in the office, so you're on the way."
Shawn couldn't think of a good reason to turn down the offer, especially when all he wanted to do was lie down and sleep for a week. At least he'd have one night in a comfortable bed, instead of stretched across his two front seats, where he had no room to move. Sure, he'd gotten used to it over the last two years, but a bed? For one night?
"Okay, you have no idea how much I appreciate this," Shawn replied. No. Idea. And it wasn't as if Shawn had asked to stay; Wes had freely offered the room.
Wes showed him around the cabin, which only took about a minute. The great room was a cozy combination of a living and dining area. Beneath the loft was the kitchen, and tucked behind it were the downstairs bathroom and two small guest rooms. "This one's got the freshest sheets," Wes said about the room decorated in deep shades of burgundy, purple, and gold that reminded Shawn of Bollywood films. "There are toiletries in the bathroom, so help yourself to a toothbrush and a shower. Tonight or in the morning. Can I get you something to drink?"
"Water would be amazing, thank you."
Wes left and returned with a chilled bottle. "So that's some shitty luck, huh? Dead car and phone? Do you want to use my charger?"
Shawn held up his flip phone. "You got a universal charger?" "Yup. I'll get it."
"Thank you." Shawn gazed around the room, a little stunned at how generous Wes and Mack were being. He was just an employee, but they were treating him like, well, family. Part of the Bentley Ghost Town family, and he didn't have the words to express his gratitude. He'd fallen down, and for the first time in years, someone was there to help him stand up so he didn't have to do it all on his own.
A fresh wave of tears strangled his throat and stung his eyes. Tears of gratitude for the support, but also of frustration for having to rely on other people's charity at all.
"Shawn?" Wes approached with the charger in one hand and a pair of boxers in his other, his blue eyes wide. "Are you okay? You are perfectly safe here, I promise."
"I know." Shawn blinked hard against those damned tears, not afraid of his hosts in the least. "I'm just ... not used to having people around who'll have my back in a crisis. It's a little overwhelming."
"Oh, honey." Wes slung an arm around his shoulders. "You ever need anything, you can come to me or Mack. Definitely to Miles."
"Thanks." He carefully extricated himself from beneath Wes's arm, not much of a casual toucher. "I won't keep you from your, uh, evening. Thank you again, Wes. I mean it."
Wes's eyebrows furrowed briefly. "You're welcome.
Sleep tight."
"You, too."
Shawn didn't realize until after Wes left the room how his actions could have been interpreted by Wes: a half-naked gay man side-hugging Shawn, and Shawn not wanting to be hugged. Crap. He hadn't meant to insult his host, but Shawn had never come out to anyone at the ghost town. Despite so many other queer people working there, it was no one's business. He was also too tired to try and explain himself tonight.
Welcome to Clean Slate Ranch: Home of tight jeans, cowboy boots and rough trails.
For some men, it’s a fantasy come true.
Saturday's Series Spotlight
A.M. Arthur was born and raised in the same kind of small town that she likes to write about, a stone's throw from both beach resorts and generational farmland. She's been creating stories in her head since she was a child and scribbling them down nearly as long, in a losing battle to make the fictional voices stop. She credits an early fascination with male friendships (bromance hadn't been coined yet back then) with her later discovery of and subsequent love affair with m/m romance stories. A.M. Arthur's work is available from Carina Press, SMP Swerve, and Briggs-King Books.
When not exorcising the voices in her head, she toils away in a retail job that tests her patience and gives her lots of story fodder. She can also be found in her kitchen, pretending she's an amateur chef and trying to not poison herself or others with her cuisine experiments.
PINTEREST / CHIRP / AUDIOBOOKS
FB GROUP / B&N / GOOGLE PLAY
EMAIL: AM_Arthur@yahoo.com
Wild Trail #1
B&N / AUDIBLE / iTUNES AUDIO
CHIRP / CARINA / GOODREADS TBR
Lucky Break #4
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CHIRP / CARINA / GOODREADS TBR
Series
KOBO / iTUNES AUDIO / AUDIBLE
