Let It Go (6 page)

Creed felt a bottle rim touch his lips. He opened and gagged at the taste. “Fucking Gatorade. Hate that shit.”

“Yeah, well, you’re going to drink it until I say when to stop.” Eli’s voice was soft; his fingers held Creed’s head steady while he forced him to drink. “You’re still a funny shade of red. But I think you might live yet.”

Creed lay against him, aware that water was spraying over them both, equally aware that they had an audience. He started to shiver after the second bottle. “How’s the nausea?”

“Gone. I think. Maybe,” Creed said through a raw throat. He couldn’t seem to open his eyes. Nor could he seem to move off his makeshift human lounge chair. “Don’t really know.”

“His color is better.” The other voice that he didn’t recognize said from a distance. “He didn’t start frothing at the mouth, which is good.”

“Skin temp dropped about fifty degrees a couple minutes ago. I think you can turn the water off now.” The water stopped but Eli didn’t move from behind him, for which Creed was grateful. He couldn’t stop shaking. Sitting on his own might not be all that easy.

“Do I need to call an ambulance?” His name was Sawyer. Creed remembered now. Heavyset older man with a ball cap wearing a lightweight plaid shirt and chaps. Old dudes should not wear chaps.

Cold fingers rested on his neck, a hand over his heart a moment later. Creed rested his own hand on the one on his chest. He could feel Eli’s heart beating against his back. “His pulse is slower now. I don’t know.”

Creed could see people moving around, four people to be exact. He wasn’t sure if it was only two with a double image or actually four people. Two fingers popped up in front of his eyes. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Two,” Creed said, holding the wrist connected to the fingers steady so he could focus.

“Good. Blurry still?”

“Yeah, a little. I guess.”

“What’s your name? Birthday? Shoe size?” There was a chuckle after that.

“Creed Running Wolf. March twenty-fifth. Eleven.”

“What tribe are you?” The words were different than before—softer, filled with curiosity.

“Arapaho. Didn’t grow up on the res, though. My mother is white. I lived in her world until she died.”

“And your dad? Where’d you get the name Dickson?”

“He was three-quarter. His grandfather was white, his father half, his mother full Arapaho. We go by his name in the world.”

“Guess that explains the cheekbones and the green eyes. And the spooky silence.”

Suddenly aware that he was lying full body on Eli Mason with an audience, Creed scrambled to his feet. He stood, swaying a little, dripping water from head to sodden toe. He looked around wildly, trying to figure out if he’d done or said something he shouldn’t have. “What happened?”

“Sunstroke. Thought your heart was going to explode there for a little while. You’d stopped sweating. We had to cool you down,” Eli said from the floor of the horse shower. He was soaked too.

“Oh.” He pushed wet hair out of his face; his hands shook a little more than they should. “My throat hurts.”

“Because you puked about a week’s worth of groceries down the drain. Damn, Creed, don’t scare the shit out of me like that again.” Eli climbed off the floor and went out to grab a towel.

“It wasn’t his fault, Eli; it’s too damned hot out there. He’s not used to this kind of heat. Give him a break.” Sawyer handed Creed a towel and a bottle of sports drink.

“I know that, Sawyer. Hell, I’m trying to stop thinking about watching a man die; I’ve seen it before. He started convulsing and—”

“I didn’t start convulsing. I’m okay.”

“It was close, okay, Creed. Close. We probably should take him to the ER and make sure he’s out of danger.”

“No,” Creed murmured. His head was hurting but that was about it.

“The ranch is insured, Creed, workmen’s comp will cover it,” Eli said, but Creed sliced the air with his hands.

“I’m fine. No hospitals.” He opened the bottle and drank most of the vile liquid down. “I need to see about Kip and change clothes. I’m fine.”

“Kip is fine. My boys cleaned him up. Checked him for any heat problems and let him out into the pasture. He’s over in the shade with the ladies.” Sawyer took his arm, helping him take the first few unsteady steps out of the shower and into the heat of the main stable. “Want to go see for yourself?”

Creed stood shivering in a towel, embarrassed now by all the attention. He tried not to meet Eli’s eyes. He was afraid he’d see knowledge in those liquid brown eyes. He shivered again thinking about how comfortable he’d been lying against him. Want. Pure and simple. It was there. For three days he’d been trying to pretend he wasn’t feeling anything other than his usual distrust of the man. But Eli had made that hard.

Trying. Eli was trying to not be an asshole. Sometimes he even succeeded. In those times Creed had found himself almost enjoying himself working alongside Eli, in the stable, or the kitchen. Other times, well, he counted a lot. Managed to make it up to a thousand once before he had to walk away to avoid killing the man. Other times, he found himself enjoying Eli’s caustic sense of humor. And his legs. His pale legs with the fine red hair that fascinated Creed every time the man wore shorts. Which was often. Too often. Today was the first time he’d ever seen him shirtless. Creed reached out a hand to steady himself. He caught Eli’s arm. “I think I need to go lie down.”

He caught the look that passed between Eli and Sawyer and rushed to add, “I’m okay. Not seeing double, no urge to vomit. I’m actually sort of cold now. I want to get dry and lie down. My head hurts a little; that’s about it.”

Creed wasn’t aware that he was still holding onto Eli’s arm until the man moved to drape Creed’s arm over his shoulder. “Guess that’ll have to do. Sawyer, thanks, man, for the help today. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Not a problem, Eli; and Creed, take it easy for a day or two. Maybe this heat will break soon. Eli, treat it like a concussion. Wake him up every few hours. Heatstroke is no laughing matter.” Sawyer retrieved his hat and was beating it against his leg as he looked back and forth between them. Creed saw the speculation. He’d seen that look so many times in his wild days. Somehow this time it bothered him. Because there was nothing ever going to happen with Eli. Ever. Period.

“I know. Y’all drive safe back and don’t worry. If I think he needs it, I’ll call an ambulance and laugh as they tie him down and haul his ass to the ER.” Eli snorted as he pushed his hair out of his face. The muscles in his shoulders bunching under Creed’s arm made him shiver even harder.

“Give me a call if you need me, Eli, and I’ll be here fast as I can. And Creed, buddy, you did a great job today. Wouldn’t know it was your first time working cattle.” Sawyer placed his hat on his head at Creed’s nodded thanks, and after a few minutes he was left alone with Eli.

“I can walk by myself, you know. I’m not at death’s door.” Creed pulled his arm away and took a step toward the house, except his legs didn’t exactly want to cooperate. His thighs wobbled. “Maybe not.”

“Big tough guy.” Eli laughed and hooked Creed’s arm back over his shoulder. “Less than ten minutes ago you were nearly unconscious. Pretend it’s some buckle bunny under your arm. Ooh, sexy Indian, let’s get you to bed.” There was more laughter, but Creed’s mind caught on that one word.

“What did I say?” Fear raced through him; if he couldn’t remember telling Eli about his heritage, what else had he said?

“Just that you’re a half-breed candy-ass Injun, why? You got other secrets rumbling around in that big head of yours? Like maybe you’re a closet queer or something?” The laughter grew louder, more obnoxious. “Don’t worry, Creed, your secret is safe with me.”

The air-conditioning hit him like a wall of ice the second they stepped into the mudroom, which was conveniently off the laundry room, Creed had discovered days earlier. “Okay, tough guy, let’s get you out of those soaked jeans.”

Hot fingers grazed Creed’s belly, making him flinch. He swatted Eli’s hands away from the buttons without looking at him. Had he said anything about—if he had, Eli wouldn’t be messing with him, would he? He’d go for the jugular if Creed had said or done anything that might mark him as homosexual. “I can do it. Just keep your damned hands to yourself, or be useful and get me a dry towel or something.”

“Ooh, growly, must have hit a nerve.” Eli laughed again, but he left Creed standing against the wall in the mudroom to go into the laundry. He came back with a towel wrapped around his waist. Red hair all over the place. Creed had to look the other way. Thank God he was too weak and wearing ice-cold soaked jeans to get an erection. Wouldn’t be the first this week. Strange, after all these years of sparring with Eli he’d only now noticed how incredibly attractive the man was. Not good. So not good.

“Here,” Eli said in a normal—not teasing—voice as he handed the fresh towel over. “I grabbed a quilt too if you need it. Toss the jeans in front of the washer and I’ll get them on later. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

“Yeah,” was all Creed could say as he watched Eli move past him, his gaze mesmerized by the tempting expanse of back. The pale raised lines that marred the otherwise perfect skin made him catch his breath. What the hell? Scars. What kind of scars? He’d seen scars like that somewhere before but he couldn’t remember where. And then he realized he’d been ogling Eli and he let his mind go blank. Ogling Eli would get him nowhere. Worse would be to let Eli catch him looking and all that closet queer nonsense wouldn’t be so funny anymore.

Creed stripped out of his sodden jeans quietly and dried off with the fresh towel. Freezing now, he wrapped the quilt around his body, and without seeking Eli out he found his bed and collapsed into it.

Chapter 5

Beer to his lips, Eli tried to stop shaking; the alcohol seemed to help. God, he couldn’t stop thinking about Creed and how he suddenly went from fine to red as a tomato and clumsy. Creed was never clumsy. Dry skin and slurred words followed quickly. Shit. He’d almost panicked before he remembered the horse shower. Get him cooled down. That’s all he could think about. He’d never seen a human vomit that much in his life.

And the way Creed had lain in his arms. Eli shivered again. His skin so damned hot. His heart beating ninety to nothing. Shit. He’d never been so afraid in his fucking life. Not even the first time he’d sat a real bull and promptly saw the underside of that bull had scared him this much. Creed Running Wolf, shit. That had left him stunned. A big fucking Creed secret. Made perfect sense. Almost as much sense as Creed’s hand on his.

Jesus. It’s like he’d lost his goddamned mind this week. Creed wouldn’t ever look at him, at least not without contempt. Getting all worked up over him wasn’t going to do anyone any favors. Forget it. He was only lying there because he was so damned out of it he didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t know what his hand did to Eli when he rested it on his arm. He didn’t know how nice it felt to hold him. And Eli could never let him know. Eli swallowed another long swig of beer. The alcohol settled his nerves some. He went to the fridge for another, but had second thoughts about getting shit faced with Creed still in the danger zone. Where the fuck was Creed anyway? He’d left him in the mudroom ten minutes ago.

A frisson of fear shot through him, and Eli raced back to the mudroom expecting to find Creed passed out on the floor or worse. The man should be on his way to the emergency room. Not standing around in soaking wet jeans while his brain could be frying in his skull. No Creed to be found. Only the soaking wet jeans and the towels. Creed and the quilt were gone. He followed the moist footprints on the tile that led to Creed’s open door. And that’s where he found him. Facedown and nude on his bed. Long, lean, tanned body. No tan lines. Oh, shit. Was he breathing?

Eli was convinced Creed wasn’t breathing. There was no movement, none. And no sound. He’d seen a man die of heat-related causes when he was a kid. One of his dad’s ranch hands. He knew it could happen in an instant. And Creed had come so close. He had to make sure.

Creed didn’t flinch when Eli placed his hand on his neck. His pulse was normal. He let his fingers trail along the sleeping man’s shoulder. Cool to the touch. Not dry and hot as he’d been earlier. He seemed fine. Eli moved his hair off his face. He had no idea why. He wanted to see his eyes. The one he uncovered from the mop of unruly curls moved behind the lid; long dark lashes lay against his ridiculously high cheekbones. Creed shivered at his touch, and Eli snatched his hand back.

“Shit,” he whispered as he dragged the dropped quilt over Creed’s tempting as hell nakedness and hauled tail out before he let this half-formed attraction become something that would embarrass them both.

Food. He needed food. So would Creed when he woke up. He stood in his pantry looking over the selections with dislike. Eli wished the pizza places in town would deliver this far out and yanked open the freezer. Nothing that wouldn’t take forever to defrost. Some frozen pizzas. Sounded good. He took out two. Except there was no way Creed’s stomach would be ready for a pizza after that. He would need to start off slowly with—soup. Mrs. Roland’s homemade chicken soup starter—just add noodles—stared back at him from their forgotten containers. She put up tons of stuff for him every year; he never had the heart to tell her he hated chicken soup. He grabbed a container of that and a package of egg noodles to heat up later.

An hour later, pizza churning in his stomach, he went to check on Creed again. He hadn’t exactly been quiet. Worry. He never worried about anything. Especially not Creed fucking Dickson. Who was still in the same position in which Eli had left him earlier. Expect for one leg, which had escaped the quilt and lay bent on top. His hair was dry now. Silky. Eli hadn’t meant to let his fingers drift into the mass of—

Creed, wild-eyed and faster than anything Eli had ever seen, came off the bed almost as if he’d been launched like some cartoon character. The next thing Eli knew he was lying on his back with Creed’s long fingers wrapped around his neck. Creed straddled him, his right hand balled in a raised fist. There was no recognition in his eyes. Only a dark fury that had Eli sweating.