The Last Chance Ranch (15 page)

As usual, everything was neat as a pin. Loaves of bread were cooling on a low counter alongside several pies and a tray of cornbread. Juanita was standing in front of the stove, shoveling potatoes onto a tin plate.

"Evenin', Juanita,” Obie called from a safe distance. He was careful to avoid startling her, ever since she'd smacked him in the head with a soup ladle so hard his ears rang for a full day. “Whatcha got there?"

She sighed and added half a chicken breast to the plate. A scoop of red beans and a slab of cornbread followed suit. “Mister Ben's dinner. Don't know why I bother. He won't eat none of it.” Under the obvious annoyance, Obie could see her concern. Rumor had it that Ben had taken her in years ago, pregnant and on the run from the
Federales
, after killing her abusive husband. Neither had ever confirmed the story, but Juanita's loyalty to her boss was fierce and absolute.

"Why don't you let me take it,” Obie offered.

"Think you can get him to eat?"

"If I can't, I'll brain him with the plate."

A ghost of a smile crossed her sober face. “In that case, I'll put it in the cast-iron skillet."

Ben was slumped in his chair when Obie strode in and dropped the plate on the table with a clatter. Just as firmly, Obie snatched up the whiskey bottle and took a long pull before setting the bottle on the mantel. Ben watched him with a familiar, annoyed squint but didn't move or say a word.

Standing in front of his boss and one-time lover, Obie planted his feet shoulder width apart and crossed his arms.
You're the grown-up,
he reminded himself. “Tomorrow night, Lonnie and I are takin’ the boys into town. You're welcome to come with, but we're goin’ either way."

"That so."

"Yeah, that's so. They've been cooped up on this ranch for too long, jumpin’ at shadows and squabblin’ like a pack of hungry mutts. They need to let loose."

"It's a bad idea.” Ben's whole body had tensed up, though he hadn't moved a muscle. “There's people in town gunnin’ for us, Obediah. One slip-up and the whole lot of you'll end up in jail, or worse."

"Me and Lonnie'll watch out for ‘em. Since you don't seem to want the job no more."

"The hell I don't! I'm not the one takin’ ‘em off to be bushwhacked."

"You can't keep them here!” Obie had sworn he'd stay calm, but already his exasperation was mounting. “They're grown damn men, Ben, not children! You can't lock ‘em away for their own good. Keep trying, and you'll lose ‘em."

Ben snorted and picked up his glass, draining it to the last dregs. Obie ran a hand through his hair, searching for patience, searching for the right words. Finally he sank down into a squat in front of the other man and placed his hands lightly on the arms of his chair.

"All them years ago, when you and Robert built this place up outta nothin', I don't imagine you figured on runnin’ the Last Chance Ranch. Over the years, all these oddballs and troublemakers showed up on your doorstep with no place else to go. You took ‘em in and put ‘em to work.

"You built somethin’ special here. Built a family. The downside is it hurts to lose family. Hurts like hell. But what you're doin’ ain't helpin’ anybody. The men need you, and you need them, and runnin’ away from that is makin’ everything worse. And if that ain't bad enough, you're lettin’ things in town get out of control. These are your neighbors, Ben. They're on your side. But you gotta stop treatin’ everybody like the enemy.” Ben still wasn't looking at him, but Obie knew he was listening and thinking. “You asked for space, and we all gave it to you. Now it's time to get off your ass and do something. If you don't want me no more, well... it ain't okay, not by a long mile, but we'll deal with that another day. The thing you need to worry about is this ranch. ‘Cause while you sit here alone drinkin', while you ride off to God-knows-where, everything you built here is slippin’ through your fingers."

Ben blinked rapidly, his fingers toying with the empty glass. He swallowed hard a few times, but his voice still sounded like a rusty windmill. “I don't know what to do."

Obie knew what that admission had cost him. He moved his hands to Ben's knees, rubbing gentle circles on his thighs. “I know. For tonight, just eat your dinner. The rest will keep ‘til tomorrow."

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The hands shifted restlessly in the back of the wagon, barely speaking. Obie was settled on the seat. Next to him, Lonnie sat in Snow's customary position, fiddling with his hat, the reins and everything else within reach. Everyone, it seemed, was trying their best not to think about their last trip into town.

Temper was cleaned up to a shine and wearing fresh clothes, but he wasn't in the wagon. Larry had only smiled and shook his head when he mentioned going to town. He'd pretty much quit his shy act over the last few weeks, making bold with touches and looks that could damn near set the barn ablaze. Tonight he'd made it clear that they wouldn't be making the trip. He had something else in mind.

So Temper strolled his way up to Obie and his foreman, well aware that the others were looking him over and thanking God for his dark skin that covered up his blush. “Me and Larry will stay behind, boss, keep an eye on things."

Lonnie raised an eyebrow and exchanged a knowing grin with Obie. “Will you now?"

"Yassir.” Temper tried not to fidget, knowing Larry was watching from the barn door and probably laughing himself sick. “Unless you think you'll need us."

"We'll be fine,” Obie answered. “You fellas hold down the fort.” He cast a long, searching look up toward the main house, then checked the sun and sighed. “All right, let's get goin'."

Lonnie slapped the reins and called out to the team, and the wagon rattled off. Temper watched them go, saying a little prayer that they wouldn't find any trouble tonight. At least, no more than they could handle. With Obie sitting up straight and tall in Ben's place, looking as cool and determined as the boss ever had, Temper had the feeling they were all in good hands.

Strong, square hands circled around to hold him as Larry's warm body pressed against his back. Temper leaned into the touch, a contented growl rumbling up out of his chest. Larry pressed a kiss to his neck, then broke away and took him by the hand, drawing him back into the barn.

At Larry's urging, he saddled his horse and threw an extra blanket across its neck. It took longer than usual. Larry kept finding excuses to brush up against him, sending him looks that made him wonder how he was ever going to ride comfortably. Finally, Temper reached his limit and backed the younger man up against the wall, holding him there with an arm on either side of his head. Larry gave him a brazen smile and hooked his fingers into the belt loops of Temper's trousers, pulling him close.

Lowering his head, Temper captured that laughing mouth with his own. Larry opened to him fully, inviting his tongue in and meeting it with his own in a slow, hungry dance. Temper groaned and couldn't help but give a little shove with his hips, bumping his hardness against Larry's in hopeful anticipation. They almost didn't hear the throat clearing behind them. When they finally looked up, they were so surprised to see their boss that Temper was struck as mute as his companion.

For his part, Ben had one side of his mouth quirked up in a smile that made something ease in Temper's chest. The ranch owner was wearing a clean shirt and Snow's brown hat, and he had a box under one arm. “Juanita sent this down,” he said, handing it to Larry.

While Larry was cramming the package into his saddlebag, Ben crossed his arms and regarded Temper with tired but clear eyes. “You got that parcel of land cleared yet?"

"Almost. Couple more weeks at most."

"That's good. Come out here a minute.” Temper followed him outside, but stopped short of where the Bastard was tied to the corral fence. Ben fished in a saddlebag, ignoring the way the big black shifted and flicked his tail. “Here's the next part of your project, Temper,” he said, handing over a folded packet of papers. “Look it over, give it some thought, and let me know what you need to make it happen.” Untying the reins, Ben swung up into the saddle and wrestled the Bastard under control. “Oh, and Temper? Don't you all forget the saddle oil tonight."

Temper stood gaping as he rode away. “Huh,” he said to himself. “Looks like he's comin’ ‘round.” He headed into the barn, unfolding the papers as he walked. When he spread them out over a hay bale, Larry crowded in next to him to see what the boss had finally decided on doing with that plot. “Well how do you like that."

There was a central area that contained a well and what looked like a vegetable garden, but what drew their attention were the small buildings laid out on a grid around it. “They're cabins,” Temper murmured, sliding the top sheet over. The second page was a detailed floor plan of a simple living space, with one bedroom and a sitting room with a fireplace. Larry pulled the top sheet toward him and bent to look closer, so Temper followed suit. One of the cabins was marked “Billy & Dex.” Only one other had writing on it. It said “Larry & Temper."

The two men stared at each other, and Temper had the sure feeling that Ben had known about them before they had. “The man said he found out everything eventually,” he mused. “Lookit him, building hisself a little town right here on the ranch."

Larry took his hand and peered up at him from under his shaggy mane of hair. A hint of his previous shyness had reappeared, and Temper leaned over and gave him a lingering kiss. “It's gonna be nice not to have to sneak around the bunkhouse, ain't it?"

Nodding, Larry folded up the papers and handed them over. He pulled Temper in close and stole a deep, promising kiss, and then drew Temper by his hand toward his horse. Heading to his own mount, Larry stopped and slipped into the tack room, holding up the little stoppered bottle with a grin before tucking it in his saddlebag.

Temper swallowed hard. It was definitely going to be uncomfortable sitting a horse tonight.

Luckily, they didn't have far to go. He followed the rump of Larry's sorrel, quickly getting an inkling of where they were heading. They wound their way across the ranch, past the training corral and the holding pen, up the path between the south and big pastures. Larry dismounted and opened the gate to the north pasture, careful to close up behind them. The horses in the north pasture were mostly wild and shied away from their approach, snorting and flicking their tails.

In the farthest corner of the north pasture, there was a little pond shaded by an ash tree with wide-spreading limbs. During the day, it was a favorite spot for hands to take lunch, have a quick wash or swim, and rest in the shade for a spell. Tonight, with the moon big and full and staring down at its twin in the still water, it felt like virgin land, like they were the first to ever lay eyes on it. They unsaddled the horses and turned them loose. A few minutes’ work earned them a good-sized pile of sticks and deadfall, dry enough to catch a spark in no time.

Larry spread a blanket out, and they dropped their saddles side by side, settling against them shoulder to shoulder. Temper felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire when Larry's hand crept into his own. They watched the flames for a while, followed the path of the sparks as they snapped and rose into the night. Temper took his hat off and slid down until he was laying flat. Above him, the sky stretched across eternity, black and blazing with stars. He caught his breath, wide-eyed, and opened himself to the heavens. The fire crackled, the horses snorted and shifted in the dark, and Temper felt the presence of God.

And then he felt the presence of fried chicken, the smell wafting up from the open box Larry set in front of them. Mouth watering, Temper helped him unpack their dinner, and they ate in comfortable silence, tossing chicken bones into the fire where the grease sizzled and popped. They ate chocolate cake with their fingers. Larry was left with a smear of icing across his lower lip, and even as Temper licked it off, he was pretty sure Larry had done it on purpose. He was sneaky like that.

They spent so long kissing, the fire banked down to coals. When Larry pulled away to toss more wood on it, his lips looked swollen and abused. Temper shifted himself inside his trousers, which didn't really help, especially when Larry laid himself out flat on Temper's body and started a slow, grinding rub.

"Lord have mercy,” Temper groaned, one hand coming up to grip the younger man's firm backside and push their bodies together even harder. With the other hand, he pushed away the curtain of hair hiding Larry's face, barely able to make out his profile in the firelight. He ran his thumb over the bruised lower lip and then surged up for another kiss.

He felt like he would burst, and suddenly, the rubbing wasn't nearly enough. He had to have Larry's hands on him, had to feel his skin with no clothes in the way. Sitting up left him with Larry straddling his lap, the front of his britches straining and swollen. Temper worked the buttons with clumsy fingers, tugging at the fabric until Larry's long, fine cock sprang free. The younger man sighed as Temper wrapped his hand around it and stroked from root to tip. They had done this before, behind the barn at night, this touching, but it had always been hurried and desperate, groping each other to a finish in the dark. How long had Temper wanted to do this, a slow, thorough exploration of this man's parts? Wanting to see better, he rolled over, taking Larry with him, and laid him out as close to the fire as he dared. He pulled off first one boot and then the other, then shimmied those tight britches off those long coltish legs. Larry pulled his own shirt off over his head and then lay back, naked as the day he was born and completely unashamed.

Temper started at his feet, running his hands up the arch of each foot, over and around muscled calves, across hair-dusted thighs that parted easily before him. He ignored the excited groin for now, sliding around the narrow hips to ghost across the flat belly, up the ribs to pause at the firm chest. There was hair here too, a dark tousle of fur right over his breastbone. Temper ran his fingers through it and then spread his hands wide, cupping and squeezing each breast. Larry squirmed a bit under his touch, shifting his hips restlessly. When Temper's thumbs found his nipples, he gave a nearly silent gasp and wiggled even more.