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Yeah, there seemed little point in denying it any longer. Teague had nailed it. Butch liked guys.
The realization brought a brief flicker of relief.
He was right about that too. It felt good to be honest about it.
Then Sol turned and Butch couldn’t miss that long shaft tenting the cotton. He lowered his gaze, holding his breath until Sol climbed between the sheets, thumping his pillow before resting his head upon it…
His eyes focused on Butch.
“Goodnight, guys.” Sol smiled. “Looking forward to whatever tomorrow brings.”
Jesus, that sounded ominous as fuck.
Butch got into bed, rolled over to face the wall, and closed his eyes.
Except all he could see was Sol.
God, you are such a tease. You could’ve made him look like a toad, but noooo,youhad to go make him a walking sex dream.
With a voice that reminded Butch of Race Prettyman.
Then all traces of lust were swept away by those last words.
Butch had played the ‘We’re strangers’ card, and that hadn’t worked. All that left him was avoiding Sol like the fuckingplague, but that look on Sol’s face told him plenty.
He’s not gonna keep his distance.
He’s gonna want to talk.
Butch was starting to get a very bad feeling about this. And the more he thought about it, the madder he got.
You can’t say anything. Not now. Not with everyone around.
Fine. He’d wait until he got Sol alone, andthenhe’d find out exactly what he’d told the boss and Toby.
Butch’s life on Salvation wasn’t perfect, but it was as close as it could be, and he wasn’t about to let Sol fucking Davenport ruin it.
The room was dark, and everyone seemed to be fast asleep judging by the soft snores and rhythmic breathing.
Butch hadn’t slept a wink, and the prospects of getting any shuteye before dawn were slim to non-existent.
The nightlight above his head gave his sheets a ghostly green appearance. He turned his head to peer at Sol’s bunk. Sol slept on his side, the sheet around his waist.
So what am I going to do? Lie here all night while he sleeps like a baby?
Wasn’t it bad enough that his past was never far from his dreams? Sol’s arrival had the potential to thrust him into a waking nightmare.
Butch knew he could never forget what he’d done to Scott, not that his tattoo would let him. But he didn’t need more reminders in the shape of Sol Davenport. He didn’t intend to let Sol ruin his sleep, not when he had an alternative plan.
As quietly as he could, he threw back the sheets and swung his legs out of the bed. Butch eased into his jeans at a snail’s pace. Normally he didn’t give a shit who heard him—they all knew where he was going, right? —but this was different.
Sol had made it different.
Butch shoved his feet into his boots, grabbed his shirt, and crept out of the bunkhouse. Outside, the moon cast its glow over the landscape, reflecting on the pale gravel that covered the path past the paddock. He stood still for a moment, taking deep breaths.
Bad news comes in threes, isn’t that what everyone says?
By Butch’s reckoning, he’d had his three. First Race’s death, then learning that Sol was coming to Salvation, and finally Teague’s decision to call it a day.
