The Cowboy Poet (6 page)

As if he were not only inside Tyler‘s body, but also his very soul, he could feel Tyler‘s act of will, trying desperately to hold still while Clint moved inside him, all the while stroking and teasing Tyler‘s rock-hard shaft. Clint couldn‘t deny the deep, satisfying thrill he got from bending this strong, sexy man to his will. He didn‘t know which was better—the hot, slick clutch of Tyler‘s ass on his cock, or the sweet tremble of Tyler‘s body as he struggled to obey Clint‘s dictate to be still.
Oh, god, Tyler groaned, as Clint stroked his hard cock with a sure hand as he moved inside. I can‘t…Clint, I can‘t stay still. My body needs to…oh… He began to shudder, his back arching, his hips thrusting back to take Clint in deep. Clint jerked Tyler‘s head back by the hair and Tyler twisted toward him, accepting Clint‘s rough, desperate kiss.
Clint felt the rushing rise of his own release as he kissed the boy, all the while pumping Tyler‘s cock in his fist. Tyler was no longer trying to be still, and Clint gave him a silent reprieve. They were both sweating again in the hot, dry air, their bodies slippery as they moved together, panting and grunting.
Clint was poised on the edge of orgasm, savoring the exquisite torture of holding himself back as long as he could. He finally let go when he felt the sudden warm spurt of semen over his fingers as Tyler cried out.
Clint jerked hard, the weight of his orgasm propelling him forward as they fell together to the blanket, Tyler beneath him, Clint‘s cock still buried deep inside. They lay still for a long time, the only movement the combined galloping of their hearts, which finally slowed in tandem to a cantor and then a walk.
After a time, Clint became aware of the jangle of his cell phone from the heap of their clothing nearby, and realized he‘d been drifting in a contented, easy doze.
Tyler stretched languidly beside him. You gonna get that?
While Clint was considering this, the phone stopped ringing. Guess not. He grinned and playfully smacked Tyler‘s bare ass. Pushing himself to his feet, he said, Race you to the creek.
With his limp, he didn‘t have a chance in hell of beating the younger man, but he didn‘t mind. He enjoyed watching Tyler lope toward the water in all his naked glory. He joined Tyler in the water, smiling as he watched Tyler duck down and rise a moment later, shaking his wet hair and laughing. Clint found himself laughing too, just for sheer joy.
Ain‘t it great, Tyler said, echoing his thoughts, to be alive?

It‘s like I told you the other night, Hoss Johnson said. Couple of our tanks disappeared. One of them didn‘t even have nothin‘ in it. But even empty, they don‘t come cheap, you know.

Was Doc Crawford here sometime around when you noticed them going missing? Tyler tried to keep his voice neutral, feeling almost like he imagined a trial attorney might, who didn‘t want to lead the witness.

Hoss glanced at Tyler, but focused on Clint to answer, which mildly annoyed Tyler, but he let it pass. Hoss Johnson had no doubt labeled him a city boy not worth his time or attention. Tyler shrugged inwardly at this. He was on a story, and if this country boy preferred to deal with one of his own, that was fine by Tyler.

Now that you mention it, he drawled, his eyes still on Clint, as if Clint had asked the question, he
was
. Him and that new assistant of his. He looked at Tyler now and furrowed his brow suspiciously. How‘d you know that?

It seems to be the one consistent thread between all these thefts, Tyler said. Every time one of these tanks go missing, the vet appears to have been on the scene.
Hoss laughed, shaking his head dismissively, as Clint and Lucky Harding had done before. Not Doc Crawford. He‘s the salt of the earth. As honest as the day is long.
New assistant, Tyler said. What‘s his name? Do you know him? Has he worked for Doc Crawford long? Tyler glanced at Clint, who shook his head and shrugged.
Hoss answered, He‘s pretty new. Helps the doc with drivin‘ and routine checkups and vaccinations, that sort of stuff. Learnin‘ the ropes, I‘d say. Seems like a nice enough fellow—very polite. Seems to know his stuff.
Hmm, Clint mused. Are you thinkin‘ he might be the culprit?
I‘m just collecting information at this point, Tyler said. Then we sift through it and see what we come up with. Turning back to Hoss, he asked, Have you noticed anyone else around when the tanks were taken? Anything else unusual we should follow up on? Any new employees?
I have two new hired hands, Jake Johnson and Ronnie Gray. But I‘ve known em both since they was kids. I don‘t hire just anybody, you know. He scowled at Tyler, as if Tyler had just accused him of something.
Just collecting facts, Tyler reminded him. Getting the big picture. He underlined the words
vet’s assistant
on his pad, determined to follow that lead. We should find out more about Doc Crawford‘s new assistant, he said to Clint.
You think so? Clint mused. Texas may be big, but ranch folks is tight, and word‘s bound to get around. There‘s no way in hell he could sell that semen to anyone within a hundred mile radius. He‘d be busted in ten seconds flat.
Tyler sucked at the tip of his pen, musing. Yeah. But somebody is taking these tanks, that‘s a fact we can‘t get around. I wonder, he turned questioningly to Clint, if there‘s a way we could check this guy out without tipping our hand or offending the vet. Maybe, he added, warming to the idea, we could do a kind of stakeout! See if we couldn‘t catch him in the act.
Not a bad idea, Clint said. But how we gonna know where they go next? We can‘t just trail them around the whole county and show up on folks‘ property.
I could call Betty Jo, Doc Crawford‘s receptionist, and see if she‘d tell us the doc‘s schedule. Hoss offered. She‘s my cousin.
That might work, Clint said, nodding.
Tyler tried to keep his face neutral, but inside he felt warm and excited. These men were taking him seriously, and together they might actually solve this thing. He‘d make sure the case was wrapped up tight, getting all the facts and evidence to write up a good article for the magazine. He could go into depth on the background of the case— the underlying motivations for the crime, the local color, how local law enforcement deals with situations like these… He pulled himself up short, reining in his imagination. The crime wasn‘t solved yet. He needed to focus on that first. They‘d need solid evidence before any accusations were made.
Hoss, who‘d been busy on his cell phone, flicked it shut. You boys are in luck. The doc‘s makin‘ house calls today. He‘ll be headin‘ over to the Riley ranch this afternoon for some annual checkups. Takin‘ the big equipment truck
and
his new assistant with him. If you get a move on, you might make it there before he does.
Great! Tyler enthused, excited at the idea of a stakeout. Maybe they‘d catch the guy right in the act. He turned to Clint. You know this Riley fellow, Clint? We could call ahead and make plans.
Sure, yeah, I know him. Clint spoke in a flat voice, his eyes shifting away from Tyler. His easy, relaxed demeanor had shifted for some reason, sending a strange tremor of foreboding through Tyler‘s gut that he didn‘t understand. Surely he must be imagining it.
Is there a problem? he asked carefully.
Clint shrugged. No. No problem. Seems like as good a plan as any.
They said their farewells to Hoss Johnson and climbed into the truck. Tyler kept waiting for Clint to offer some explanation for his sudden change in mood, but Clint remained silent, eyes on the road.
They‘d been driving a full twenty minutes before Tyler, silently debating whether to press the issue, finally blurted, What‘s going on?
It took Clint a while to answer. Tyler waited and finally Clint glanced his way. Ain‘t nothin‘ goin‘ on, he said, but his eyes said otherwise.
It suddenly occurred to Tyler where they were headed. Riley‘s ranch was a stone‘s throw from Clint‘s ranch, at least in Texas terms. Could it be Clint didn‘t want to be seen with him around folks he knew well? Was all that talk about being comfortable with who and what you are just so much guff when it came down to it?
He looked at Clint, who kept his face doggedly focused on the road, and felt his heart contract with confusion. Damn it, he had begun to trust Clint in a way he never had another person, even though their time together had been so brief. Was this the end then? Would he return to Austin, Clint to his ranch, and that would be that?
Tyler tested the idea in his mind, trying it on. He would go back to the big, impersonal city, to the gay bars where guys without names would invite him home for an hour or a night of empty pleasure. Clint and the possibility of what he‘d offered would be relegated to memories he hauled out at night until even the memories faded into half-forgotten dreams of what might have been.
This was stupid. Clint Darrow couldn‘t possibly do such an abrupt about-face with no rhyme or reason. Tyler forced himself to be calm. Something was troubling him, was all.
Clint? Tyler reached out, putting his hand on Clint‘s forearm You going to talk to me? Ever since the mention of Riley‘s place, you went all quiet and strange. Did something happen to upset you?
Here‘s the thing, Clint said slowly, as if marshaling his thoughts. You and I met in a kind of a vacuum, if you understand me.
No, not really. What‘re you trying to say? Tyler held his breath, not sure he wanted to hear what came next, but knowing he had to.
Meanin‘ we both have lives we been livin‘ before we met each other. I hadn‘t counted on how close you and me got, and how fast. It‘s about more than just the sex between us. We got somethin‘ important happenin‘, at least I think we do, and now here comes real life to mess with us.
Tyler felt something cold enter his stomach, making it churn.
Real life?
Just what‘re you saying, Clint? Stop speaking in riddles.
Clint took a breath and blew it out. I guess I should probably have said somethin‘ sooner. At the Riley ranch, there‘s a guy there, name of Jonas Hall. We‘ve been, uh, friends for years.
Friends, Tyler said, drawing out the word as his heart sank.
Friends with benefits, Clint admitted, confirming Tyler‘s fears.
And you were planning on telling me this…? Even as Tyler said this, he knew he had no right. They‘d been together, if you could even call it that, for all of three days. He had friends too, back in Austin, so what was the big deal?
Clint didn‘t answer, and Tyler tried to take him off the hook. Hey, it‘s okay. I mean, you and me, we‘re…just friends too, I guess. Aware even as he said it that he was speaking more out of disappointment than truth, he added, Shit, maybe not even that.
He turned away, unable suddenly to bear looking at Clint‘s powerful profile. At last he‘d found a man who understood him—who took charge the way Tyler longed for, and it was slipping away just that fast.
Clint said nothing. After a while, Tyler shot him a sidelong glance. Clint‘s lips were pressed together in a thin line, his fingers gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white.
Hey, Tyler said. I don‘t know why I said that. It was stupid. Clint didn‘t reply. Look, Tyler went on doggedly, feeling miserable. Is my being there going to cause you a problem? Because I can wait in—
No, it‘s okay. Clint looked his way, his smile asking, it seemed to Tyler, forgiveness, or at least a truce. We got a mystery to solve.
~*~
Tyler felt almost foolish, staked out behind the shed where George Riley said they kept their semen tanks. Clint had spoken with George on his cell as they drove, sketching out a plan of action for the stakeout. They‘d agreed not to talk to the vet or his assistant directly, since their suspicions were as yet unfounded.
They‘d decided to wait instead and see if they couldn‘t catch the guy in the act. Clint had gone to park his truck out of sight while Tyler hid near the shed where the semen tanks were kept, his small digital camera at the ready.
Though Tyler had wanted to talk more about their situation, he couldn‘t seem to get any words past the lump in his throat. Clint hadn‘t seemed inclined to talk about it either. The ease had somehow been drained from their relationship, and Tyler didn‘t know how to get it back. Could it be this Jonas guy meant more to Clint than he was letting on? Was Tyler now the third wheel, just in the way?
He should have known better than to buy all Clint‘s pretty lines about honesty and understanding. After all, Clint was the one who had been holding out, never once mentioning he had this friend with benefits waiting for him at the ranch next to his own. So much for his assertions about how important trust was in a relationship.
Relationship, my ass,
Tyler thought bitterly.
What a fool I was, thinking this time would be any different.
But it
had
been different, and he knew it. What they‘d shared had been way beyond the realm of a quick fuck. It had
mattered.
Well, at least to him it had. The jury in his mind was now out on the cowboy, and it was quite possible a mistrial would be declared before they came back with a verdict.
There was the sound of an engine and then the crunch of the large wheels of the vet‘s equipment van as it was backed toward the shed. Tyler tensed, all thoughts of Clint momentarily flying from his head as he watched, waiting to see what, if anything, happened next.
A young man emerged from the van, walking toward the rear doors, which he opened. He appeared to be in his early twenties, if that, tall and gangly with short sandy hair and a narrow sallow face. Glancing quickly around him, he walked toward the shed.
He pulled open the doors and walked inside as if he owned the place. A moment later he emerged, hefting a rather large liquid nitrogen tank that contained who knew how much valuable bull sperm.
Tyler zoomed the digital camera lens in on the culprit and clicked a series of pictures, shooting continuously as he watched the guy load the tank into the van, slam the doors shut, and drive back toward the cow barns, which was no doubt where he‘d been supposed to be heading in the first place.
Tyler‘s heart was beating fast. He‘d caught the thief in the act, the proof now tucked away in his shirt pocket. He could follow up on the rest of the story once the authorities were called. He could enlist Clint‘s help in getting the background stories on the vet and the folks affected. He could delve into the thief‘s motivations and how he‘d sold the semen, if that‘s what he‘d done.
He could see his byline now featured prominently at the top of a two-page spread. Maybe he‘d even get a teaser line on the cover:
Bull Semen Stealing Spree Stopped in its Tracks.
As he hurried back to the main house, eager to find Clint and tell him the news, he stopped short. This investigation had been his ostensible reason for sticking around. Now that the case was solved, what would happen between them? Especially now that Clint was back on his home turf, and back with the friend who had put such a pall on their newfound relationship. Was this the end?
As Tyler approached, he saw George Riley talking to the vet. George looked up at Tyler‘s approach, a question on his face. Since it was his tank that had just been stolen in broad daylight, Tyler felt compelled to share what he‘d found right away, though he wished Clint was there to witness his moment of glory. It‘s what we thought. I got it all on my camera. You‘ll find one of your tanks in the back of Doc Crawford‘s equipment van.
Oh my lord, Doc Crawford exclaimed. He appeared to be in his late sixties or early seventies, with watery blue eyes and a head of thinning white hair brushed straight back. George was just tellin‘ me of your suspicions. Steve‘s been known to have his troubles, but I really thought he‘d turned himself around this time. He hasn‘t missed a day of work since he started. Has a knack with the livestock too. I really thought he‘d turned a corner. The vet sighed heavily. Poor Angeline, rest her soul. I‘m glad she didn‘t have to see this day. She always had her hands full with that boy.
He looked to Tyler. You say you‘ve got evidence? A stolen tank is in my van?
Tyler produced the camera and showed the two men the pictures. George Riley called the sheriff‘s office and reported the theft. They‘re on their way, he said. Turning to Tyler he added, That was some good detecting work by you boys. Clint says you‘re a reporter for
Lone Star Monthly
, that right?
It is, Tyler affirmed. And I‘ll be writing an article for the magazine about this whole thing. I‘d like to follow up—do a full exposé, delve into his motives and how he thought he could resell the stuff without proof of its origins.
Sheriff Oates will get it out of him, if anyone can, George said grimly.
Oh my lord, Doc Crawford again intoned, his face etched with misery, and Tyler felt almost guilty for proving his new assistant to be a thief.
Where‘s Clint? he asked, annoyed at the tiny leap his heart took just at the mention of the cowboy‘s name.
He parked his truck back at the old hay barn. Probably chewing the fat with some of the boys. George pointing toward a barn in the near distance. To the vet he said, We better get on back to the dairy barn and see what your young Steve‘s doing. No telling what other mischief he‘s getting up to, with no one watching.
The two men hurried away. Tyler headed in the direction George had pointed. The first barn he came to looked freshly painted, with bales of hay piled just outside. Clint‘s truck was nowhere in sight.
Tyler walked past the barn and spied the building George must have been referring to. Clint‘s truck was parked in the dirt in front of an old barn with faded red sides, the paint peeling to bare wood in spots. But where was Clint?
Tyler moved toward the door, pulling it open as he called out, Clint? The large room was lit only by a small window, the hazy sunlight filtered through dust and grime. It took Tyler‘s eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom.