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Butch swung his legs out of the bed and grabbed his jeans. “I’ll go find him.” The previous night Paul had been fast asleep when they’d returned from the barn, and he and Butch hadn’t spoken about the time they planned on heading out. Butch shoved his bare feet into his boots, pulled on a shirt, and staggered out of the bunkhouse.
His intention to get a good night’s sleep had flown out of the window.
That photo session…
It had been fun, especially when Matt stripped off, but what Toby had said afterward? Butch could still hear his voice.
Never heard him talk like that before.
It was like Butch told Sol—things had gotten kind of intense, but not in a bad way.
Sure openedmyeyes.
As for the rest of his sleepless night? He blamed Sol. All that talk about skinny-dipping, not to mention the fact Sol had been out-and-outflirtingwith him—because what else could he call that final remark? —had resulted in a few hours of tossing and turning, and when he did sleep, his dreams had been…
Hot. They’d been hot as fuck, and it was a miracle he hadn’t woken up with a raging boner.
The stable was unnaturally quiet for that time of day. Stranger still, there was no sign Paul had even been in there, and that was just wrong. All the stalls were occupied, so he hadn’t gone for a morning ride. Butch headed to behind the stable where the horse trailer usually stood. The blue and white truck was empty.
Butch hurried back to the bunkhouse and grabbed his phone. “Teague? You seen Paul this morning?”
“Nope.”
“Well, he isn’t here, and he isn’t in the stable either.”
“I’m coming over for breakfast. I’ll stop by the house and see if Toby or the boss know anything.”
Zeeb frowned. “This ain’t like him.”
That was what worried Butch too.
Sol strolled out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around him, so low that Butch saw the top of his pubes, not to mention the swell of his dick pushing against the fabric.
He’s doing it on purpose.It seemed Sol could flirt just fine without a single word.
It took a concerted effort to raise his chin and look Sol in the eye.
“Did you go for a ride before your shower?” he asked.
Sol shook his head. “Paul wasn’t in the stable, and I wasn’t going to take a horse without his say so.” He went over to his bed where he’d laid a pair of jeans, a white tee, and a plaid shirt. Butch got an eyeful of that towel hugging Sol’s ass.
Dear Lord, kill me now.
“Butch?” Zeeb pointed to the bathroom. “Grab a shower.”
He waved his hand. “The guys can take theirs first.” He gave himself a mental shove. Paul’s absence was a deviation from the norm, and Butch didn’t like things he couldn’t explain.
When Toby walked into the bunkhouse, Teague behind him, Butch knew something was up. For one thing, neither of them was smiling.
Toby beckoned them. “Butch, Zeeb, Walt, you got a minute?”
Yeah, something was wrong.
They joined him, and Toby lowered his voice. “Guys, we’ve got a problem. Paul is sick.”
Butch couldn’t recall Paul having even one day of illness in all the years he’d known him. “What’s wrong with him? And where is he?”
“He’s at the house. The doc’s coming.”
