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Butch strode toward the stable. Inside, Paul was brushing Lightning’s mane and crooning to him. Butch stood for a moment, letting the calm of the space seep into him like it always did. Up in the rafters, birds nested, and the only sounds were Paul’s melodic humming and the horses’ breaths. Butch inhaled the scent of dust and hay, grain and mud, and the warm sweet smell of horses. The hint of ammonia lurked beneath the surface. He could smell leather and wood, but the musky aroma of horse overwhelmed them, a fragrance that brought back memories of childhood.
“Something wrong?”
The spell was broken.
Butch strode over to where Paul stood.
“I need to take a horse out.” And then he was going to head out to the pasture where he could be alone for an hour or so. The first guests’ flight wasn’t due in for another couple of hours.
Paul gazed at the stalls behind Butch. “You can take Bailey. You’ve ridden him lots of times.” He nodded toward the saddles. “Help yourself. I’ve already groomed him.” Then he went back to his task.
Butch grabbed everything he’d need and led Bailey out to the paddock. He took his time making sure the saddle was correctly placed and secured, and it wasn’t long before Butch had Bailey trotting along the trail that led to the pasture, past the cabin the boss and Kevin had used when they wanted privacy.
Not that it was a secret. Hell,everyoneknew.
Butch let Bailey trot at his own pace. The meadow gave way to tall grass, and then the trail led toward the edge of the forest. Birds sang, and he could hear the trickle of water. Soon they were in the trees, and the trickle had swelled into a creek. It wasn’t long before he saw the cabin. No one would be around, and he needed a quiet place to think.
He came to a halt at the hitching post, got down, and wound Bailey’s rope around the wooden rail. “You haven’t learned how to untie knots yet, have you, boy?” Butch wouldn’t put it past him. Goddamn horse was smarter than a lot of humans.
The cabin sat on the other side of the creek, and Butch had to admit, a fresh lick of paint had worked wonders. The boss had replaced the wooden porch with a brand new one, and the two Adirondack chairs were glossy white. Butch knew Toby had suggested making the place available to any guests who wanted a little alone time.
BDSM guests.
Butch couldn’t help but think about what those cabin walls might witness, what sounds those walls might muffle.
He patted the breast pocket of his shirt, feeling the pack of cigarettes and the lighter. He glanced at Bailey. “You’re not gonna tell on me, are ya?”
Bailey’s snort didn’t require translation.
Butch crossed the creek, stepping carefully on the boulders, and at last he stood in front of the cabin. He sat on the steps that led to the front door, removed a cigarette from his pocket, and lit up. That first inhale was perfect, marred only by the knowledge that if the boss found him, he’d be in trouble.
I keep saying I’ll quit.Maybe it was time he did. “You were always on at me to stop, weren’t ya?” Butch had always argued that it was his only vice. A lie, of course—he had plenty of others—but it had shut Race up.
For a while, at any rate.
Butch stared into the sparkling water.
“Race, I don’t know if you can hear this, but I’m sorry, dude.”
He wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. Race dying? Or was it more the fact that once their connection had been severed, Butch had been the one who’d let it stay that way.
“We had six years, longer than either of us thought it would last when we first started. And yeah, it was fun. Nothing heavy, just two guys scratching each other’s itches.”
One taste had been enough to make Butch feel as though he’d won the lottery. It was amazing how good sex could be when there were no complications. There’d only been that one time when—
Nope. Not going there.
Thank God Race had been happy with the way things developed.
Friday, October 16, 1998
Butch loved that slow-pulsing, cream-in-his-veins kinda feeling that always followed an orgasm. Lord, if he could bottle it, he’d make a fortune because it had to be the most natural high, not to mention addictive as fuck.
Six years on, it still blew his mind, the direction his life had taken. He loved the lack of complications, the tacit understanding that existed between him and Race. No messy emotions, no explanations—just sex. He didn’t make demands of Race and vice versa. And once they were done, their urges sated, it was back to beer, pool, and the TV. They didn’t discuss the sex, because they didn’t need to.
Butch’s life was perfect.
True to form, Race was already in the bathroom taking a shower, the way he always did. Butch was content to enjoy the sensations a while longer until the bathroom was free.
