Chaps and Hope (Mossy Glenn Ranch 1) (4 page)

Troy ended the kiss with a sloppy lick over Will’s lips. Will sighed contentedly, finally worn out in the way he needed to be. His research would definitely have to wait.

* * * *

He was still up before the others. Will made a pot of coffee, walking gingerly, wincing every other step or so. He’d have liked a shower, but that would have woken his lovers and they looked so sweet—not that he’d ever tell them that—curled up on the bed.

Will tapped his fingers on the counter as the coffee brewed. As soon as there was enough for him to pour a cup, he did, then he moaned at the first taste of the hot liquid. It wasn’t anywhere near as good as sex, but it was still awesome.

He quickly drank the cup and poured another before making his way back to the living area. Once he had his laptop up and online, he began searching. First, he looked for likely online magazines to place their ads. He made a list of the ones he thought would suit them best. Next came the International Gay Rodeo Association—he figured surely some of the people affiliated with it would have some suggestions, maybe even know of people needing work. He fired off a few e-mails and was feeling rather pleased with himself by the time his rumbling stomach drove him back up off the couch.

When he peeked in on Troy and Carlos, they didn’t look quite as cute, maybe because Will was on the verge of starving to death. Will watched them for a moment, but both men seemed really out of it.

Well, he knew how to wake them up. Will let out a whoop and ran for the bed, his sore butt only slowing him a little. He leapt just as Carlos and Troy opened their eyes, then it was a mass of tangled legs and arms and, Will was sorry to admit, his elbow making contact with Troy’s groin.

“Sorry, sorry,” Will said as Troy yelped and folded into a tight ball of agony. “Oh shit, I’m sorry! I’ll make it better, let me see.” Will tried to pull Troy out of his protective curve but he wasn’t strong enough.

Carlos knelt on the bed beside Troy and put a hand on Will’s shoulder. “How ’bout an ice pack, or something cold. Ice in a wet washcloth might help.”

Will sprang off the bed and darted for the kitchen. He cursed up a storm when he realised there was no ice in the tiny freezer. Grabbing his key card, he hollered, “Be right back with ice!”

Except he realised when he skidded to a stop by the ice machine that he hadn’t brought anything to carry ice back in.

“Well, fuck it.” Will’s pyjama bottoms had pockets. He put a couple of handfuls of the ice in them and headed back for the room at full speed. The ice was cold and way too close to his parts, but he figured he deserved it. He should have been more careful with his elbow.

The key card didn’t work at first, and Will wanted to shout his frustration—until he realised he’d slid it through the wrong way. Turning the card over, he got the door unlocked and in seconds was back in the bedroom.

Troy was hunched over on the edge of the bed, Carlos murmuring in his ear. Will kept right on going into the bathroom, where he found an ice bucket.
Why is there an ice bucket on the bathroom counter? Do people get nutted here regularly?

Will put most of the ice in the bucket, but a few pieces he put in a washcloth. Closing the material, he turned the water on and ran the make-do ice pack under it. He barely squelched the water off it before turning the handle off and heading over to Troy. “Here. I really am sorry.”

Troy looked up at him and smiled slightly. “Your exuberance is one of the things I love most about you.”

“Oh. Oh damn it.” Will handed over the ice and quickly swiped at his eyes. “That’s so”—
sweet—
“kind, considering what happened.”

Troy groaned as he placed the ice over his injured area. “Was all of us flopping, Will. Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it?” Will sputtered, flapping his hands at Troy. “You tell me sweet”—
whoops
—“shit like…like you did then I’m not supposed to feel horrible for possibly ruining your manhood?”

Troy turned a shade of green that was not the colour for him. “Ruined?”

“Manhood?” Carlos said at the same time. Troy and Carlos looked at each other. “Your dick and balls will recover, Troy, just keep the ice on ’em.” Carlos turned his attention back to Will. “And you, manhood? Really? You been readin’ some of those classic romances or somethin’?” He pointed at Will. “You’re right, though. That was
sweet
of Troy, but it was also the truth. You weren’t doing nothing except trying to play. It was an accident, so let’s let it go.”

Will looked at Troy. “Can I cuddle?” he asked hopefully.

Troy held one arm out and lay back on the bed. Will was beside him in a split-second. Carlos took up a position on Will’s other side, nuzzling his face in Will’s hair. “You know me and Troy love you something fierce.”

“I do.” Even though sometimes Will had to wonder why. “And I love you both, too, very much.”

Chapter Four

“This isn’t quite what I expected,” Troy said more to himself than anyone else as he looked around Ashville’s main drag. It was the closest town to the Mossy Glenn, and while it wasn’t miniscule, it wasn’t far off that, either. Tattered signs hung from worn posts, and he’d guess about half the stores had gone out of business.

Will grunted and stepped a foot away from Troy. “Small Town USA. I’m kinda scared.”

“They ain’t so bad here,” Carlos informed them, “But I wouldn’t go playing grab-ass in public, either. Just keep it cool and people will pretty much mind their own business.”

Troy was sceptical about that and didn’t hesitate to say so. “Small towns are usually full of big gossips.”

Carlos hitched a shoulder up at the same time as he tugged the brim of his hat down further. “Yep, but there’s gossip anywhere ya go, and generally people here get their jollies from talking, but they don’t do no more than that. Least when I was living here it wasn’t so bad, but…” Another shrug. “Guess I didn’t pay much mind, either, and Nick wasn’t out, so…”

So in other words, Carlos really didn’t know if the townspeople were going to go all raging homophobic on their asses. “Gotcha. We can be cool.” Troy cocked a brow at Will. “Can’t we?”

Will rolled his eyes and huffed, then guffawed loud enough to scare the mules they’d seen miles back. Will did something, changing the way he stood so subtly, and yet that bit of flirty outrageousness was gone and in its place was a more masculine version of Troy and Carlos’ lover. Will reached down and scratched his nuts. “We gettin’ supplies or standin’ around oglin’ the place?”

Troy goggled at him for a minute before snapping his mouth shut. Carlos thumped Will on the back of the head. “Maybe don’t lay it on so thick,” he advised.

Will spat a nasty-looking gob of God only knew what on the ground and Troy’s stomach rolled threateningly.

“Okay, that’s more than enough macho cowboy shit.” Troy avoided the wet glob as he started walking. “What do we have to do first? Should we split up?”

In short order, Carlos had them each going about separate tasks. Troy’s was to hit up the hardware store and get some paint and supplies for covering up the graffiti, as well as repairing the house. The electric and water were Will’s task, as in setting up the accounts and handling the deposits. Nick and the other owners of the Mossy Glenn had set up an account for them over the Internet, so funds weren’t an issue. Although they weren’t anywhere near rich, the money was there for them to get things set up and moving.

Troy looked down towards the feed store where Carlos was supposed to be checking into stock and feed and things Troy would likely never have a clue about. Roger’s Store was the name of the feed store, and it was easily the largest business on the main drag. Even so, there were only two vehicles parked in front of it. Troy wondered if it were in danger of closing, too. He felt an odd pang of sadness at the state of the whole town, which was odd as he’d never been a particularly sentimental person. It just seemed wrong that towns like Ashville were fading away.

Giving himself a shake, Troy headed for the ACE hardware store. He hadn’t seen one of them in ages, he realised. Instead there were the big home supply places all over. Troy was kind of excited as he stepped into the hardware store. A young woman sat at a cash register between the door and the rows of merchandise. She perked up, sitting up straight and beaming at him as she raked him up and down with her gaze.

“Good morning, sir. May I help you with anything?”

Troy was too busy trying to peer at the goodies on the shelves to pay her more than a passing amount of attention. “No thanks,” he muttered, really not far off from grunting his words as he made his way into the place.

There was a certain scent to hardware stores that had to fire up a guy’s testosterone. Troy would bet his dick got bigger every foot he gained in there. He wanted to go check out the tools, the paint, the pipes, the lumber—he was in hog heaven, as his momma used to say.

A twinge of familiar pain accompanied Troy’s thought of his mother. She’d passed away over a decade ago, and the loss was dulled, but still there. He wondered what she’d have thought of this place, this town—his relationship with his two lovers. Knowing his mother and her wicked sense of humour, she’d have cheered him on.

Shaking off potentially melancholy thoughts, Troy’s perusal was halted by the emergence of a young man from a door labelled Employees. It wasn’t the all-American good looks of the kid that caused him to stare, but the black eye and bruising down the side of his face—that and the big, guileless grin he wore despite what had to be a painful injury. Still, his baby blue eyes were lit with that rather mindless happiness of youth, the kind that always reminded Troy of an energetic puppy. Whatever had happened to him that caused that bruise would likely be forgotten in another day or two if it hadn’t already been.

Blond hair styled in a hip yet conservative cut, and muscled just enough to be noticeable, the kid was something else. Troy would bet he was the quarterback of the high-school team, or maybe the rodeo team captain, or whatever damned sport they had out here in hicktown.
Straight as a board to boot, and he probably got the bruise in some dumbass attempt to prove how manly he is.
Troy should know, he’d done the same thing a time or three on his way to realising beating the shit out of someone didn’t make him a man.

“Can I help you?” the kid asked in a voice that cracked just once.

Troy glanced at his name tag.
Fred. Seems old-fashioned, and just right for this town. Jesus, what am I doing here again?
Troy snorted before he could stop himself and a flicker of irritation skittered over Fred’s face before that smile was back, bright as before.

“I know, I look like a kid, but I’m twenty, and I grew up in this store helping my dad. I guarantee you there’s not much I don’t know, so give me a chance, why doncha?”

Troy scrubbed a hand down his face and tugged on his bottom lip. Fred tensed but kept that smile plastered on, and Troy nodded as he reached for the list he had in his back pocket. “Yeah, sorry about that. I was actually wondering what the hell I was doing in a town like this, not doubting your awesome sales skills.” Troy tried a smile of his own and felt not nearly as cute wearing it as Fred looked. He’d have to bring Carlos and Will in here for some eye candy. They’d enjoy the view.

“Yeah, man, uh, sir. Sorry. It’s just that I ask myself that same thing all the time. Thought I’d go off to college, you know, but family obligations and all.” Fred shrugged and took the list from him. “Are you with those guys from the Mossy Glenn? Carlos, I remember him coming in here months ago for stuff, but that other guy, the little one, I hadn’t seen him around before.”

This time Troy meant to snort and he did so loudly. “That
little one
can take your ass out, kid, and he will if he hears you referring to him like you just did. His name is Will, and he might just be the one to teach you that you can’t judge a man’s strength by his size.”

Fred looked sceptical as he darted a glance out of the large store window. Troy wondered if Will was out there, but was reluctant to check. Then he decided what the fuck, he had every right to admire his lover. He wasn’t scared of some small-town kid with more brawn than brains.

Sure enough, Will was walking down the sidewalk on the other side of the street, chattering away at a woman. There was no telling who she was. Will could chat up a brick wall and get it to grin. She was flushed and fluttering her hands around, so he figured Will was laying on the flattery. Maybe he was hoping for a discount on something. He turned back to find Fred jerking his head down, like he’d been busted doing something wrong.

Troy frowned then a light went on in his head. His gaydar must have been rusty, and he of all people should have known better than to judge a guy by his appearance. It wasn’t like Troy was the stereotype of a gay man so many ignorant people envisioned. Then again, he shouldn’t be making the assumption that Freddy-boy was gay just because he’d caught the kid ogling Will. It was hard not to watch Will, no matter which sex you were attracted to. Will was so vivacious and active, almost vibrating with life, really. Who wasn’t entranced by that kind of energy? It didn’t help that Will was gorgeous as sin, with his high, sharp cheekbones and large hazel eyes. Almost ethereal, Troy always thought. Sometimes it amazed him that Will didn’t turn to wispy vapour and slip right through his grasp.

“Will is…” Troy started, but stopped when he saw a burly man watching them with an air of open hostility about him. At least a decade older than Troy, he looked like someone had beaten him around the head and face with a big ol’ ugly stick. Troy immediately felt like a jerk for the thought, but he could feel the animosity as the man glared at him with beady, heavy-lidded eyes.

Fred stopped pretending to read the list and pivoted to glance over his shoulder. “Hey, Dad, what’s up?”

“That’s what I’m a’wonderin’,” the other man drawled.

Troy tried not to show his surprise. Yeah, Fred kind of resembled his dad in the height department, maybe even some in the musculature, but he wasn’t carrying around his bodyweight in anger like his dad was. Troy had seen enough hateful fuckers in his lifetime to know one on sight.

Troy stood up a little straighter, letting his chest and shoulders expand as he flexed. He wasn’t delicate by any means, and he wasn’t intimidated by some old bigot either. He’d also take his business elsewhere if he needed to. He arched a brow at the glaring fool, daring him to start trouble. Troy would sure enough finish it.

“He’s got a list about a mile long, Dad,” Fred said, sounding as chipper and happy as a blue bird singing a morning song. Troy couldn’t detect a hint of falseness in Fred’s tone either, and he didn’t know what to make of that. Either the kid was just as bad as his old man, or he was dumber than a bag of rocks.

Fred ran his finger down the list. “You want to get started on the paint for the barns, or you want me to do it? He’ll need a whole bunch of it to cover up all the graffiti someone did out there.” Fred shot him a worried look. “Everybody in town was talking about it. Is Carlos going to file a report or whatever he has to do to find out who did it?”

Troy would bet every dollar he’d ever had that Fred knew who’d torn up the whole damned ranch, just like he’d bet most people in the town of Ashville knew, but they wouldn’t be talking. Carlos thought the same thing, and hadn’t seen any point in alienating the townsfolk by going after their kids. That’d probably just result in more vandalism.

“Nah, ain’t any point to it,” Troy answered, but he didn’t explain any further. He did look the older fuckwad right in the eye, putting the force of his ire behind it. “I can take that list on over to Chesterfield if there’s a problem here.” Chesterfield was only thirty or so miles away, or he’d go to Bozeman, fuck it. They’d be staying the night there again anyway most likely.

Fred’s frown deepened and he looked from Troy to his father then back again. “Why would there be a problem?”

Okay, the kid was dumber than a load of bricks. Troy didn’t bat a lash as Fred’s old man uncrossed his arms. That was when Troy saw it, the scraped knuckles on the asshole’s hand. Those knuckles were raw, and Troy knew only too well how that translated—into the bruising on Fred’s face.
Maybe the kid’s not dumb after all. Maybe he’s smart enough and a good enough actor to keep his emotions hidden.
Troy had flunked drama in high school for a reason. He couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag.

He waited, wanting to see how Fred’s old man was going to play this. With those beefy arms uncrossed, Troy saw the name tag the man wore.
Fred. Of fucking course. Bet he calls his kid Junior.
Troy was just going to think of the father as Asshole Fred, or Asshole for short. He wanted to give the fucker a taste of his own medicine, but couldn’t, and that frustrated him to no end.

“How long’s that list?” Asshole asked, keeping his gaze locked on Troy.

Fred Jr swallowed loudly, obviously feeling the unease now as he read the list again, his lips moving slightly. “We maybe don’t have everything he needs—” he began, only to flinch and let loose a muffled yelp when his father, surprisingly quick for his size and age, lunged forward and ripped the list out of his hand. Troy wasn’t sure, but he suspected the fucker had got a jab in, too, because Fred sure seemed to want to grab at his side. Instead he fisted a hand at his hip and took a shaky breath.

“We got everything on here, boy, what’s wrong with you?” Asshole snapped.

Troy had about had it with the whole situation. If he didn’t suspect the kid would pay for it in bruises, he’d tell Asshole to fuck off and die. It took every ounce of his self-control to stand still and act like he wasn’t ready to beat on the older man.

“I… I thought w-we were out of the h-hinges,” Fred muttered, his breath still choppy. “We don’t have those ones.”

Asshole’s expression darkened as he glared. “We got some just about the same that’ll work. What’s wrong with you, boy? Trying to run off customers when you know this economy’s tearing this country apart! Goddamn liberals and—”

Though he cut off his rant there, the glare he sent Troy was laced with triumph, too. Asshole knew Troy wouldn’t refuse to do business there when Fred would pay for it if he did. And Troy knew full well that ‘faggots’ or some other equally derogatory term had been about to follow the ‘liberal’ slam. Apparently the old fucker suspected that Troy had a limit, and tossing that word out would have been the last freaking straw.