Finding Home (Finding Series, Book 1) (6 page)

Rhys wanted to shove Callan for the dark look he was giving the vet. Trust was clearly something Callan had lost somewhere along the way and a man like him wouldn’t look too kindly on charity or pity. He finally relaxed and reached out his hand to the vet. “Sounds good. I can pick Kirby up tomorrow when I come get the calf,” Callan offered.

“That’d be great. Thank you,” Dane said, shaking Callan’s hand, a wide smile on his kind face. They followed Dane out of the building and gave him a wave as he carried his daughter into the house.

“You think he has any idea what a fucked up town he moved to?” Rhys asked.

Callan grunted and went to the truck. Rhys climbed into the passenger side and within minutes they were back on the dirt road leading to the ranch. Callan seemed edgy and tense as his fingers drummed on the steering wheel, but Rhys was too worn out to try and draw the moody man into conversation.

Suddenly Callan slammed on the brakes and threw the truck into park, the motion jerking Rhys forward.

“What the fu-” Rhys said an instant before Callan reached across the seat, grabbed him by the neck and slammed his mouth down on his. The pleasure that surged through Rhys was instantaneous, but his entire body lit up like a brush fire when Callan’s tongue licked across his lips, seeking entry. Before he could even react though, Callan was pulling back, but he didn’t let go of Rhys’ neck.

Callan dropped his forehead to Rhys’ and the combined sounds of their harsh breathing actually seemed louder than the idling truck. Rhys’ hand had somehow found its way to Callan’s thigh and the muscles were tight beneath his palm as Callan seemed to try to regain his control. Any second now he knew Callan would pull away from him, put the truck in gear and they’d both try to forget this had happened – they’d just chalk it up to the traumatic events of the day.

But Callan didn’t pull back, didn’t release him. Instead, those lips found their way back to his and Callan kissed him softly, almost reverently. Rhys knew it was crazy, but Callan’s sudden gentleness somehow seemed like an apology. Rhys opened to Callan’s seeking tongue and groaned in satisfaction as his mouth was explored – worshipped. Callan kissed him like he had all the time in the world and Rhys felt heat spread from his belly to his groin as the need intensified. He pushed his own tongue into Callan’s mouth to get a taste, then used his weight to press Callan back against the seat. It took only a little maneuvering before he was sprawled on top of the bigger man. He grabbed Callan’s arms to pin them above his head so he could plunder Callan’s mouth exactly the way he wanted to, but the second his fingers closed around Callan’s wrists, the other man froze and then it was like his whole body shut down.

Rhys pulled back slightly and saw that Callan had his eyes squeezed shut and his face was clenched as if in pain. “Callan,” Rhys said gently as he carefully released his hold on Callan’s wrists. “Callan, look at me,” Rhys ordered softly as a surge of realization went through him. The man had been enjoying what was happening between them until Rhys had taken control – had restrained him. But instead of lashing out in fear or anger, Callan had shut down, turned off.

Worry shot through Rhys at the complete lack of response. “Callan, please, open your eyes, baby. You’re safe,” he said as he stroked his fingers along Callan’s tight jaw. The man’s teeth were gnashed together so hard Rhys was afraid he’d hurt himself. Rhys carefully lifted all his weight off of Callan, but continued to stroke him gently. Finally, he felt some of the tension in Callan’s body ease and his eyes opened and focused on Rhys. Something inside the other man seemed to switch back on and he pushed up, then grabbed for the door handle and stumbled out of the truck. Rhys followed him out and watched him suck in deep gasps of air as he fought to regain control of himself.

***

What the fuck had he done?
Callan tried to drag in air, but his chest hurt so bad that every breath seemed to just whistle uselessly through him. He felt a warm palm settle over his back and rub in large circles, but the touch made things worse so he pulled away. Feeling Rhys’ knowing gaze burning into him, Callan took several steps away from the truck and was glad when he didn’t hear Rhys follow. He bent over and closed his eyes and forced himself to focus only on taking in a breath and releasing it. Then another. He wasn’t sure how long he did it for but the stabbing pain finally went away, only to be replaced by a knot of shame low in his belly. Not only had he just outed himself, he’d done it with a man he knew Finn was interested in. Worse yet, Rhys had witnessed his secret shame.

“You okay?” he heard Rhys ask from just behind him. The pity in the other man’s voice was proof that Rhys suspected what had caused Callan’s reaction. Callan managed a quick nod, then pushed past the other man and headed back to the truck.

“We should get moving. Finn’s probably got his hands full with the fence.”

“We need to talk about what just happened, Callan,” he heard Rhys say.

Callan climbed into the truck and kept his eyes straight ahead as Rhys returned to the passenger seat. The second the door closed he put the truck in gear and hit the gas. He was glad when Rhys didn’t press him further. Pulling the truck in front of the barn, he put it in park and turned it off, but didn’t get out. Rhys sat quietly next to him as if waiting for Callan’s next move.

“He can’t find out about this,” Callan said quietly. He actually felt sorry for Rhys when he saw the indecision flicker across the other man’s features.

“He has a right to know,” Rhys responded.

Callan sighed, then looked out the window at the property. God, the place was falling apart. Everywhere he looked he saw something that needed attention and he suddenly felt overwhelmed by it all. He was fighting a losing battle and he knew it and there was absolutely no way out.

“I’m so tired, Rhys,” he admitted as he felt the sting of tears. “So fucking tired.”

***

Rhys felt the overwhelming urge to pull Callan against him as he saw all the fight leave the other man’s body. He reached out and skimmed his fingers through the soft hair above Callan’s right ear. His cowboy hat had somehow ended up in the backseat of the truck during their encounter earlier and Rhys realized he’d never seen Callan without it.

Callan actually seemed to press into Rhys’ touch and then he leaned his head back against the seat as Rhys continued to pet him. “Thank you for what you did today for the calf. Sometimes it’s too much, you know?” he said as he turned his eyes on Rhys.

“What is?” Rhys asked gently.

“Fighting. We’ve been doing it for so long that sometimes it’s just easier not to I guess.” Callan closed his eyes again. “If you tell him, you know he’ll never go.”

Rhys dropped his hand from Callan’s hair. Everything in his gut told him it was wrong to be a part of Callan’s lie, but it wasn’t his truth to tell, was it?

“If Finn thinks he has any chance at a life with me, he’ll never move on. He’ll stay here in a town that punishes him because he refuses to be someone he’s not,” Callan reminded him.

“
Does
he have a chance with you?” Rhys held his breath waiting for the answer, not sure why it really mattered and not sure what he wanted that answer to actually be.

Callan didn’t respond and Rhys wasn’t surprised. Whatever secrets this man held, they ran deep. A quick make-out session wasn’t going to get him to magically open up to Rhys.

“I won’t tell him,” Rhys finally said. “But what happened between us can’t happen again. I won’t hurt him,” he declared as he reached for the door handle of the truck. He hesitated, then glanced back at Callan. “Maybe fighting wouldn’t be so hard if you let Finn stand beside you instead of behind you. He’s not a child, Callan. And I think you’d be a fucking fool to let him go.”

Finn stared at the ceiling above him and tried to quell the knot of anxiety in his gut. The day had sucked from beginning to end and the only brief, bright spot had been when Rhys had kissed him. And then Finn had fucked that up too. Any hope that Rhys might have forgiven him the transgression had disintegrated upon Cal and Rhys’ arrival to help him fix the fence. Both men had kept their distance from him and Rhys had only offered clipped, one word responses when he asked how the calf was doing. He’d hoped that once they got back to the house things might change, but Rhys had fixed himself a sandwich and then disappeared into his room. Finn hadn’t bothered with food since he wasn’t sure he could keep anything down anyway, so he’d climbed into the shower, then crawled into bed. That was three hours ago and he was no closer to falling asleep.

How had he messed things up so badly? He’d only known Rhys for a couple of days but it somehow felt longer. And it shouldn’t matter what went on between him and Rhys going forward because Finn was leaving. Even if he weren’t, Rhys was going back to Chicago as soon as his parole was done. Any relationship he might have with the man would be purely physical and he knew in his gut that it wouldn’t be enough. He’d be in the same position he was in with Cal – wanting someone who didn’t want him back. Pain lanced through him at the prospect and he began to fear that he’d waited too long to walk away.

***

Rhys heard his already ajar door being opened and he tensed, though not because he was worried about a stranger coming into his room in the middle of the night. He’d debated locking the door when he’d gone to bed, but even just the thought of being in a completely closed off room had brought back the old anxiety from being locked in his jail cell for 23 hours a day for two years and he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He hadn’t even been able to close the door all the way. Ignoring Finn for the rest of the day was supposed to have been the first step in his plan to distance himself from the two men that were wreaking havoc on his senses, but apparently the other man hadn’t gotten the message. Rhys’ back was to the door so he had to glance over his shoulder to see the slumped form standing next to the bed.

“Finn-” he began, steeling himself to send the man away.

“Please, Rhys,” he heard Finn whisper brokenly. “I just need to sleep,” he said, his voice pleading.

Rhys tried to stiffen his resolve, but an image of Finn smiling at him when he’d picked him up in the truck that first day went through his head. Rhys pulled the covers back and Finn went around to the other side of the bed and crawled in, putting his back to Rhys. It wasn’t a big bed, but Finn pressed himself up along the edge of the mattress, putting as much distance between him and Rhys as he could and Rhys wondered if he did it because that was what he wanted or it was because he thought it was what Rhys wanted.

Rhys let out a soft curse, then reached out his arm and grabbed Finn by the waist and dragged him back against his chest. Finn gasped as Rhys’ thickening cock settled against his ass, the thin fabric of Finn’s pajama bottoms and Rhys’ briefs doing little to inhibit the contact. He felt Finn’s hand close over his own. God, it would be so easy to roll Finn on his back and take him. He knew from the heavy breathing and tight body pressed against his that Finn wanted him just as badly. And if today hadn’t happened then he’d probably already have his dick pressed deep inside the other man as he watched him come apart around him. But seeing firsthand what Finn would suffer through if he stayed in this place had him saying, “Go to sleep, Finn,” instead. Rhys had never claimed to be an honorable man, but he’d be damned if he was going to add himself to the long list of people fucking with Finn’s emotions.

***

Rhys tinkered with the manure spreader as the early morning heat burned into his back. It was barely eight o’clock in the morning and he felt like he’d lost half his body weight through his sweat. He’d never understood why Callan and Finn continued to wear long sleeved shirts in the blazing sun, but as his sunburned skin flamed where his T-shirt sleeve grazed the sensitive flesh, he started to realize he was the one on the losing end of that particular argument. The cowboy hat that always seemed like an accessory before was now on the top of his wish list.

He climbed out of the foul-smelling spreader and threw the tools in the ramshackle box that Finn called the toolbox. Heading back to the barn, he saw Finn cleaning the last stall. This had become their routine over the last few days. Callan would be out most of the day riding the fence line and Finn would be taking care of the horses. Rhys had taken it upon himself to start fixing the many things that were broken around the place including repairing siding, patching holes in the roof of the barn, mending the paddock fences, and now fixing the spreader. Neither of them talked to one another throughout the day unless it was absolutely necessary and when the work day ended, Callan would disappear up to the main house to work on the books while Finn wandered off on one of his many walks. Rhys managed to watch the news or an old sitcom as he forced down some tasteless food before crawling into bed. The hardest part of his day came when Finn crawled into the bed next to him.

It was something he should have stopped after the first night he dragged Finn against him and held him all night, but each time Finn showed up, he remained silent and waited until that warm, lean body was pressed against his, filling places Rhys hadn’t realized were empty. His arm would go around Finn before he could even think better of it and he’d wait for the desire in his body to settle enough that sleep could claim him. And for the first time in a long time, he slept through the night. Finn was always gone the next morning before he awoke and it was just something that
was
and they never talked about it.

“Finn, I need a ride to the hardware store,” he said as he stopped outside the stall Finn was working on.

“Keys are in the truck,” came the clipped response.

Rhys bit back his frustration. “You have to drive me.”

Finn stopped cleaning and looked up. “It’s not far. You won’t get lost,” he said.

“I don’t have a license,” Rhys finally admitted. “And I’m not about to risk my parole by driving without one.”

Finn fidgeted. “Just leave the spreader. We’ve been doing fine without it,” he said lamely.

“Yeah, well ‘we’ will be me when you leave and I don’t want to keep busting my ass hauling shit out to the field when there’s a perfectly good piece of machinery capable of doing the job.” Finn stiffened at the reminder that he was leaving and then anger flashed across his features as he shoved past the wheelbarrow and headed towards the truck. Rhys felt a stirring of lust at finally getting some kind of a response out of the other man who’d been on autopilot for the better part of a week now.

The trip to town was made in silence which had Rhys’ frustration ticking up with each mile that flew past. Finn pulled to a stop in front of the hardware store and turned the truck off, then just sat there.

“You’re coming in with me,” Rhys snapped as he reached for the door handle.

“No, I’m not,” Finn said quietly, his eyes dropping to his hands as a man walked past the front of a truck, his beady eyes fastened on Finn.

Rhys leaned over and grabbed Finn’s arm. “Get your fucking ass out of the truck right now!” Rhys got out of the truck and was satisfied to see Finn following his order.

“Why are you doing this?” Finn whispered.

Rhys didn’t answer as he headed into the store, Finn trailing a few steps behind. He marched past the portly clerk behind the counter who’d started to greet them, but fell silent when his eyes settled on Finn. It took Rhys only minutes to find the screws he needed and then they were making their way back to the front of the store. He dropped the screws on the counter.

The clerk ignored Rhys and stared at Finn, his face ruddy with anger. “I told you you weren’t welcome in my store anymore,” he nearly spit out.

“Hey!” Rhys said sharply, forcing the clerk’s gaze to his face. “You’ve got something to say, you say it to me!”

The man glanced back at Finn with disgust, then settled his eyes on Rhys and said, “I don’t want his kind in my store.”

White hot rage went through Rhys. “His kind?” he asked, his voice low.

“Rhys,” Finn said from behind him.

The clerk finally seemed to sense Rhys’ anger because he fell silent and the sneer disappeared from his face as apprehension went through him.

“Tell me exactly what ‘his kind’ is,” Rhys said.

“Rhys,” Finn tried again.

“You mean guys who take it up the ass? Or guys who prefer sucking dick to pussy?” Rhys snarled. “What do hillbilly fucks like you call ‘his kind’ out here? Queer, fag? Or you got some fancy bible-ass term you hide behind like sinner or abomination?”

“Rhys, let’s just go,” Finn pleaded. Rhys turned and saw that the few customers in the store were all watching them now.

“Fucking cowards and hypocrites,” Rhys quipped as he focused on each person who just stood there transfixed. “Well, guess what, you’ve got two fags invading your precious little town now,” he said with a smile.

“Three,” came another voice and Rhys hid a smile when Dane Winters appeared from one of the aisles, Emma cradled in one arm, a shopping basket in the other. He dropped the basket in front of the clerk and said, “I believe we’re ready to check out now, Mr. Henry.”

The clerk looked like he was about to have a heart attack, but he managed to start ringing up Dane’s purchases. ‘These too,” Dane said as he pushed the screws Rhys had dropped on the counter forward. The clerk hesitated before finally taking them.

As he began bagging the items, Dane turned and smiled at Finn, then extended his hand. “Dane Winters,” he said. Finn managed to stick out a shaky hand. Dane turned his attention to Rhys and began chatting as if there weren’t half a dozen eyes staring at them in mute shock. “Thought I’d bring Emma by this afternoon to check in on Kirby. How’s he doing?”

“He’s good,” Rhys said, his respect for this man skyrocketing.

“And the calf?” Dane asked as he handed the clerk his credit card.

“On the mend,” Finn interjected. “Back out with his mama.”

“Can you believe it, Mr. Henry?” Dane said. The clerk seemed caught off guard that Dane was speaking with him directly and stilled as he was about to run the credit card through. “Someone cut the fence on Mr. Bale’s ranch and one of the little ones got caught up in the wire and nearly died.”

The clerk was at a loss for words, so he just shook his head awkwardly.

Dane glanced around at the other customers, then turned his cool gaze back on Mr. Henry. “You know what else, Mr. Henry?”

Dane let his question hang there until the clerk finally managed to rasp out, “What?”

“It turns out your town’s one vet isn’t available to treat emergencies anymore. I guess Mrs. Parson’s cat needed its yearly shots more than that calf needed saving. Damn shame your only other option is someone who likes sucking dick too,” he said with a sad shake of his head as he took the bag from the clerk. “Oh, and Mr. Henry, would you please cancel the order I placed yesterday for the lumbar for my new barn? I think I’ll be taking my business elsewhere.”

The clerk’s mouth fell open at that and Rhys smiled as Dane pushed past him and left the store. Finn, still looking shell-shocked, followed the vet out the door.

“One last thing,” Rhys said as he leaned over the counter and dropped his voice. “If Finn so much as gets a hangnail the next time he comes into this town…” Rhys let his words drop off and Mr. Henry went pale. He turned and nodded politely at the gawkers, then left.

***

Rhys waited for the explosion he knew was coming. After he’d walked out of the store, Finn’s furious gaze had pinned him, but the younger man had kept it together long enough to say his goodbyes to Dane. Rhys had settled in the passenger seat and waited for the shouting to commence, but Finn had remained silent. But when Rhys had mentioned he’d needed to stop and get a hat and a couple of shirts, Finn had completely ignored him and steered the truck back to the ranch.

The truck flew up the dirt road leading to the ranch, dust and gravel shooting up in its wake. The vehicle came within inches of slamming into the side of the barn before Finn smashed down the brakes and the truck lurched to a halt. Finn barreled out the door and stormed into the barn. Rhys trailed after him and leaned against one of the stall doors as he waited for Finn to unleash his fury.

“You had no fucking right,” Finn said bitterly, his back to Rhys. Rhys remained silent which seemed to piss Finn of further. He swung around, stalked up to Rhys and threw a punch. Rhys had been expecting it though, and easily caught the fist aimed at his face. He shoved Finn back up against the door and held him there, pinning his wrists to the door. But Finn wasn’t about to submit and head butted Rhys. The glancing blow had him seeing stars, but he managed to maintain his hold on Finn.

“Stop it!” he snarled.

“Go to hell!”

“Rhys.” Callan’s voice came from somewhere behind him and Rhys chuckled harshly, but kept his eyes on Finn.

“Running to his rescue again, Callan?” Rhys said and he felt Finn lurch against him once more as he tried to escape.