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ChapterFour
Four dayslater and my head was not only not on correctly, but it was now perilously close to imploding. Or exploding. Maybe it would implode first and then explode. Was that even feasible?
I was so fucked up I didn’t even recall how something went boom.
All down to fucking Shepherd McCrary and the divot above his pale white ass. Oh yes, I got a fine look at his ass when he took a bath last night. He stood right there in front of the fire, stripped out of what I had come to realize were his only clothes, and sat down tenderly in a small tub of steaming water. I was reading in my top bunk. Supposedly. Curse my eyes for the fact that they couldn’t stay on the motherfucking page. Each time I heard a splash or a sigh, my damnable eyeballs floated from the written word to Shep in that tub. My cock was so hard it ached, which was also a phenomenon that had been taking place frequently. Sure, all men popped boners on a daily basis—hourly in our teens—but this was above and fucking beyond. As soon as I was out of this cabin, I was heading to Jackson Hole to get laid. They had a nice gay bar there. No way was a woman what I was looking for right now. I wanted a rangy man, dirty blond hair, nice short beard, with a dick that looked like something his stallion sported—when it was soft.
Fucking A. I’d been so hard up I tried to jerk off in the hay barn but my dick was all “nope!” as soon as I pulled it out and it felt the bitter cold on his head. The bastardly thing went soft, then tried to climb up inside me to hang out with my balls.
So yeah, it had been like that for a few days now. My head was no clearer for my time here. If anything, it was twice as befuddled. Shep was tossing all my preconceived notions about him out the door into the snow. He was stuffy, yeah, for sure, and tended to look down that long, fine nose of his at those of us who didn’t have a fancy degree in whatever he’d degreed in. But he could heat up things from a can and make good cowboy coffee. He didn’t talk much. Maybe that was because he thought I was beneath him, but I suspected it had more to do with the now green and blue bruises all over his body and how they’d come to be there.
I’d not slept well after his bath was completed. For some moronic reason, I had offered to help him re-wrap his ribs. Why? Who the fuck knows? Glutton for punishment more than likely. He’d smelled so good when I was snugging those Ace bandages around his middle. His arms were over his head. I kept my sight on the thick thatch of gold hair under his arms and not the dark pink nipples nestled among yellow-gold curls that covered his chest and belly. The soap mingled with his unique scent. There was no horse to mar the smell of him. My cock liked the way he smelled. A lot.
“Thanks,” he’d said, easing his arm back into his shirt after using my deodorant. As I laid in bed after I’d turned off the kerosene lamp, I had put together a list of things that I knew about my temporary cabin mate. He’d left his home with no clothes, no personal items of any kind—good thing I’d tossed a spare toothbrush into my bag—in the middle of a blizzard. That told me he and someone at his house had gotten into it. Clay or Morgan. My money was on Morgan, but Clay could be a rotten POS as well. I knew deep down that was what had taken place. It was as obvious as that pretty nose on his fucking pretty face. The only mystery was why. What would make him leave—on horseback—during the worst storm in probably ten years? Had he chosen to leave, or had he been thrown out? And again…why?
Unsolved problems ate at me. Like the thefts both of our ranches had been experiencing all summer. Who had been taking Blue Ice and Hollow Wind stuff and then stashing it out in the middle of nowhere? Had they planned on selling it and waited too long? None of it made any sense. The missing dino bones had been sold off quickly enough. Or had they? Maybe they were stashed somewhere else. And now this little personal dramatic mystery had fallen into my life.
Sleepy, hungry, and beyond irritable, I’d chawed on all the unanswerable things all day long as I fought with this sudden insane lust for Shepherd fucking McCrary. By the time I strode into the cabin that night, I was in fighting form. And Shep was sitting there at the table, eating soup with his pinkie out and reading my book. My motherfucking book. Straw meet camel’s back.
He glanced up. I stalked over and ripped the book from his hands. His puffy eyes flared—as much as they could—and his eyebrows danced up his forehead. He stood up. I took another step and smashed my chest into his. Give the man credit. Even with sore ribs, he did not back down as he squared his shoulders.
“I want my fucking pillow back!” I shouted in his face. His brows tangled in confusion. “And my book!”
“Take the damn book. It’s not that gripping of a tale anyway.”
“Just because it didn’t win a Pulitzer Prize, it’s not good enough for you?”
He glared at me. “I’m not sure where you got this idea that I’m so damn snobby.”
I snorted. “Where would I have ever gotten that idea from, Mr. Vassar Isn’t Prestigious? Gosh, I’m just stumped as to why folks would think that you’re a spoiled little rich boy.”
He slapped both hands to my chest and shoved me. “You’re just looking to find a reason to think badly of me because you’re finding out that I’m not Sinister Sid like you thought I was and your fucking tiny brain can’t live with something that challenges all your preconceived notions!”
“Sinister Sid? What are we pulling names from Dick Tracy or something?” I shoved him back. He grimaced. I felt bad but not bad enough to step away from this caldera of whatever the shit it was bubbling away between us.
“I thought I should keep it at comic strip level so as not to tax your pathetic brain.”
Ouch. That fucker. How dare he?! “Your mouth is fucking lethal.” A sly, little smirk danced over his lips. “You need to shut it or I’ll…”
I floundered. His sneer grew bigger. “You’ll what? Hit me some more?”
I flung the book to the table, grabbed his fat head, and slammed my mouth over his. Oh hell. This was a mistake. A huge mistake. But fuck,did he feel fine so close to me. And the hint of tomato soup on his lips made my prick swell. I loved tomato soup served up on Shepherd’s tender lips. He gave me a shove. I stumbled back a foot or so, heaving and heartily confused by what I’d just done and why.
“What the fuck, Abbott?!” he shouted. I had no reply, at least not one that made sense.
“Sorry, I just…I know you’re not into men.”
“Asshole.” He stormed over to me and then gave me another push. This one sent me into the bunk beds, the hard wooden post smacking into the middle of my back. I brought up my fists but never had to use them. He cupped my face, his thumbs on my cheekbones, and claimed my mouth in a kiss so hot my long johns were in danger of combusting. His tongue slid over mine in a sweep of my mouth that had me grasping at his sides to stay upright. When my hand moved over his ribs he hissed and pulled back, the jolt of pain obviously yanking him—and me—out of this mad moment of passion. His lower lip was bloody. I ran my tongue along his lip and pulled the metallic taste of his blood into my mouth. My dick grew a little fatter, and I worried over the integrity of my zipper.
There was a long, stunned moment where we both stood there, hard as posts, chests working, sucking in air, and simply stared at each other.
“What the hell was that?” I managed to ask. Shep backed away as if he had just French kissed a rattlesnake. “Are you gay or something?” I enquired because it seemed like a good second question after a hated enemy just shoved his tongue down your throat.
He never replied. Instead, he bolted to the door, grabbing a coat, then disappeared into the dark winter night. I went after him, pulling the cabin door shut behind me. There were only two places for him to go. The outhouse or the lean-to. I checked the shitter first, but there was no sign of him in there. Then I followed the skinny, shoveled path to the horse shelter and there he was, trying his best to toss his saddle up onto his stallion’s wide back.
“You’re especially stupid when it comes to Dundee,” I tossed out, my hard-on fading a bit as I pulled the door shut. Shepherd refused to acknowledge me. So I stomped over, still in my stupid snowmobile suit, and wrenched the saddle out of his hands. The horse side-stepped, picking up the discord between us. “Stop.” He reached for the expensive western saddle, his face red with rage…or was it shame? “Stop.” He lunged for the saddle. “Stop!” I barked. Dundee tossed his head. “Stop before this fucking horse kicks one of us through the wall.” Given how old and weak the boards were, it was a distinct possibility. “Unless you want a matching hoof print on the other side?”
“He never kicked me! Now give me my fucking saddle!” Shep growled low in his throat. The stallion bumped me with his ass. I nudged Shep out of the stall and tossed the saddle over the partition.
