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Butch had a feeling this wasn’t his night.
Nine times out of ten, he’d strike lucky at the Murray bar, but no one was biting. It wasn’t as if he was there often—maybe every two months or so—and he never stayed long, just enough time to get off, and if that meant getting down and dirty in an alley, then so be it.
He’d gotten good at recognizing the signs. What had one guy called it? His gaydar? Whatever the fuckthatmeant. He just knew it had worked for him so far. No one had punched his lights out.
Yet.
The fella he’d been drinking with was giving off the right vibes, but Butch’s tentative forays had met a brick wall. And when the guy thanked him for the beer, made his excuses and left, Butch figured the night was a bust.
Back to Salvation with a severe case of blue balls.
“Well, color me intrigued.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Butch didn’t need to turn around to know who stood there. He’d know that voice anywhere. Teague McKay had been at Salvation for about thirteen years or so. Back then, he’d been a skinny kid and the boss had taken him on.
Theoldboss, he corrected. Robert Thorston had been in charge the last couple of years after his dad’s death, and so far, he measured up just fine. It helped that the boss and he were the same age: he didn’t think he could take orders from a guy tons younger than himself.
Then he remembered. He was going to have to, because that very day the boss had promoted Teague. Twenty-nine years old, and suddenly he was the foreman of Salvation.
Christ almighty.
“Oh,Iget it. You’re just gonna ignore me and hope I’ll leave you alone? Uh-uh. Not tonight.”
A chair scraped across the floor and Teague sat, his hat in his hand. He set a tall frosted glass of beer on the table. His eyes sparkled, his lips twitched, and none of that was a good sign.
“Why don’t you pull up a chair and join me?” Butch quipped.
“Don’t mind if I do.” Teague gave him a lazy smile.
“I hear congratulations are in order.” Butch went with polite. He liked Teague, no doubt about that. The guy was lean, with a sparse beard, pretty eyes, and soft-looking lips that reminded him of someone.
Then it came to him. Race Prettyman.
Yeah, heiskinda pretty at that.
Butch shoved such thoughts way out of his mind. The pretty young guy was now his boss too.
Teague beamed. “Yeah, that was a surprise. Can’t believe the boss picked me. I thoughtyou’dhave been a shoe-in for the position.”
He snorted. “Who says I’d want it? You’d better do a good job though. You’ve got some awful big shoes to fill.”
Teague’s face tightened. “Yeah. Still can’t believe he’s gone. And I didn’t expect the boss to make a decision so soon. The funeral was only last week.”
The shock of Kevin Porter’s death clung to the ranch. His horse Lightning had stood in the stable since then, with only Paul taking him out for a trot around the paddock. No one wanted to ride him, which was stupid because it wasn’t the damn horse’s fault.
Kevin had been off his ass drunk, and he shouldn’t have gone out riding in the first place.
“The boss is taking it hard,” Butch muttered.
“Of course he is. Kevin was more than just the foreman, after all.”
Butch stilled. “You knew about them?”
Teague snorted. “Everyoneknew about them. Hell, I knew the night I came to Salvation, when I hid in that barn. Just because none of us talk about it doesn’t mean we were clueless.” He drank some of his beer. “It was one of the things about the boss that made me feel safe.”
“What do you mean?”
