Let It Go (5 page)

Creed turned to look at him, confusion in his eyes. “Okay,” was all he said as he waited for Eli to do or say something else. But what?

“You’re really good with horses.” Well, that was pure genius. “The way you ride, sometimes looks like you and the horse are one—person … thing … what? I’m trying to give you a compliment. Stop laughing at me.” Eli reached over with his foot and nudged Creed’s hip. The man moved away as if Eli had kicked him, the amusement in his eyes gone now. Replaced by nothing. Too guarded. That was it. He’d closed the blinds on those damned incredible eyes. “The way they come to you. I’ve never seen anyone do that. Of course, I’ve never seen anyone do a backflip off a horse’s ass either.”

“Yeah, well, it’s something I do sometimes. I had a lot of time to kill growing up. Did a lot of stupid stuff. Have the scars to prove it.” His voice was even, no emotion, nothing. The kid was all kinds of scary sometimes.

“Why didn’t you go to vet school? You’re a natural, and equine vets are getting harder to find.” And once again, eyes cold and distant. Like every damned time they crossed paths. Cold, calculating hate pouring off him. It’s what drove Eli nuts. From way back in the day when they were let loose on the world.

“You have company coming.” Creed avoided answering, Eli noticed, as he followed his gaze into the back pasture and the truck meandering down the two-path road.

“That’s Sawyer. He owns the next property over. He comes out to check on things for me. Helps me maintain this rancher act I’ve cultivated. I let him farm my fields in return. Keeps me honest.” Eli stood up as Creed pushed away from the railing and turned to watch a kid climb out of the truck and open the gate. Closing it behind when they were through. “And Sawyer’s daughter Becca. I think she’s about sixteen. Horse-crazy tomboy. Loves to barrel race. Sawyer wanted sons, but he had Becca.”

Eli walked out to meet the truck, leaving the silent man behind.

“Eli, I thought you’d be on your way out to Texas by now,” the good-natured voice barked out of the truck. Becca climbed out and bounced into Eli’s arms with a hug before her father even came to a complete stop. “Damn, girl, you’d think you hadn’t seen him since yesterday at the rodeo grounds.”

“I haven’t. Hey, Eli who’s the hottie?” Becca looked past him and Eli turned with her to see Creed standing with his hands in his pockets looking out of place and nervous. “Oh my God, that’s Creed Dickson. Why’s Creed Dickson here? Are you two flying out together or something?”

Creed turned an amazing shade of red, his lips turning up at the corners in a shy sort of way that had Eli staring at him as if he’d never seen him before. “Something not at all like that.” Eli couldn’t stop staring at Creed. Maybe he’d never looked close enough before. Maybe that arrogance he always thought he saw in the kid was something else entirely. Sawyer finally made it around the truck and had his hand out to the newcomer while Eli was still flummoxed.

“Sawyer Roland. Nice to meet you, Creed. Becca and I saw you win the national title in broncs three years ago out in Vegas. It’s so nice to meet you.” Sawyer looked as if he’d seen Elvis or something the way he was acting over Creed. And Creed was eating it up, with that blush and aw-shucks grin. The bastard. Of course it was an act.

Becca bounced over and stood beside him, her head only coming up to his shoulder while Sawyer snapped a picture with his cell phone of the two of them together. “So, are you and Eli friends? He’s never mentioned he knew you. Are y’all flying out to Dallas together later? Come on, Eli, I thought you were driving.”

“Well, it’s, ah, sort of complicated.” Eli pointed to the black band around his ankle. “I’m not going to be riding in events in the foreseeable future. Creed either. At least not until Tom gets over this need to teach me a lesson.”

“That’s a shame. Creed was odds-on favorite to win another title this year,” Sawyer said, looking from Creed back to Eli shaking his head. “Guess I don’t need to ask why half his face is black-and-blue, then, do I?”

“No, sir, I guess not.” Eli looked down at his feet instead of at the silent trio surrounding him. “I have a temper. It’s worse when I drink. Working on it. Creed got in the way. It’ll all be fine. It’s only the start of the season. He’ll be back out there before it’s too late.”

“Well, nothing to be done about it today, is there? Tom is doing what he thinks is best. I’m sure in the long run this will work out. In the meantime, is there anything you need? I’ve checked the herd. I’ll come back on Wednesday and we’ll move them into the east pasture. I’ve got a load of hay coming from Tennessee. Pickings are slim this year with the drought and all. I’ll keep you up on where I find more.” Sawyer got down to business without taking a breath and all Eli could do was keep up. He tried not to think about the bruise growing darker on the right side of Creed’s face. Or his bare feet. Or the shy smile that had twitched his lips. Jesus.

“It’s been dry all over. We’ll probably have to look farther than the southeast this year. I’ve got plenty of feed. Still need hay. Keep me posted on what you find. I’ll get you the money for my share. Oh, yeah. Guess I’ll have to get permission from Tom to take the calves to auction next week. And Sawyer, could you send someone into town to pick up an order from Piggly Wiggly? I’ll call it in tonight and I’ll pay him for his time and gas.”

“Sure. Not a problem. Do you need someone to find your truck? The sheriff probably has it in impound. I can send someone for it tomorrow.” Sawyer took off his hat and scratched his balding scalp; he did that when he was getting ready to broach a subject he wasn’t comfortable with. “I have to ask one more time about that stallion my cousin has for sale. He’s a good choice to replace Old Paint with. Good stock, big fella. Be great on the farm. And if you want to get back into racing—”

“Same deal. He’s unbroken and I don’t have the time to break him and—” Eli stopped when he remembered that he now had too much time on his hands. And the horse was gorgeous. Great bones. Spirited. What was he going to say now? That he didn’t want to replace Opie? Opie had served him for a long time. There was no replacement for that old pony. “Sure. But offer five hundred less. There’s a reason he’s still got the damned thing after all these months. Probably unbreakable. God damn, what the hell is wrong with Tom?”

Sawyer slapped his big hand on Eli’s shoulder and laughed. “One day you’ll figure that out for yourself. Becca, you’ll be seeing Creed around for a while now; get in the truck and stop embarrassing the man. Eli, call around to the house in the morning. I’ll be running Becca in to school. I’ll be happy to stop and pick up your grocery order, and I’ll get back to you on that bronc. Nice meeting you, Creed. Well, gotta get to the house; the missus will have supper ready soon. You boys need anything? I’ll send some back.”

“I got some steaks thawing. I’m good on meat at least.” Eli waited for them to climb into the cab, and with a swat to the hood they drove away, leaving him alone with the painfully quiet Creed Dickson with night rapidly approaching. “Please don’t tell me you’re a vegetarian. Because right now, man, if you are, you are just shit out of luck.”

Creed actually laughed, a quick, almost timid sound that had Eli looking at him again. Curiosity burning now for this person he thought he knew.

“No, steak and potatoes is pretty much all it takes to make me happy.”

Somehow those words made the hairs on the back of Eli’s neck tingle. Or maybe it was the way Creed looked at him for a moment before he remembered to close the blinds tight. “Well, good, because that and green beans are pretty much all I’ve got right now.”

Chapter 4

Eli Mason in a pair of tight jeans and a pair of worn-out chaps ought to be declared illegal. Creed, on Kip, followed Eli on his borrowed ride out to the back pasture. The horses kicked up dust that Creed washed down with bottled water. It was hot. Fucking hot. And a two-mile ride out to the back pasture. There were six of them: Eli, Sawyer, three of Sawyer’s hands, and him. With two hundred Black Angus looking at them with suspicion at best, dry grass hanging from their mouths, as if they were trying to decide what the strange animals were up to.

Ahead of all that was a truck loaded with sweet hay that Eli said would lure some of the cattle toward the east pasture that he’d planted with alfalfa earlier in the summer. The plan was to move the herd and separate out the calves destined for auction the following week all at the same time.

Creed followed instructions from one of the cowboys from the neighboring ranch. Keep ’em moving. Don’t let the calves bolt. It was like in the ring, except not in the structured world of rodeo. “What do you mean you’ve never done this before?” Eli had shouted at him that morning. “What the hell? You win this event all the damned time and you’ve never done this for real? Are you fucking with me?”

Creed didn’t have the stomach to tell the man he grew up in the Cheyenne suburbs and the closest he’d ever gotten to cattle was on the circuit. His dad ran the circuit from the day he could walk, but his mother preferred the quiet life not far from her job, the one that actually supported the family while his dad chased bulls around the country. Winning more often than not. Creed looked over to where Eli stood in the stirrups watching the cows in the middle of the herd as they neared the gate.

The truck went through, followed by the lead cows, and then slowly the others, smelling the sweet, fresh grain, began to rush. “Let’s get that line moving,” Eli shouted to the two hands near him. They worked their way to the front to hurry the lead cows through before there could be trouble. Later when the gate was closed Sawyer and Eli rode back to check for stragglers while Creed and the three hands moved the calves into a separate section of pasture. There were twenty-nine all totaled. When Eli was satisfied that every cow was accounted for they rode together to check the water troughs in the pastures. And then as the sun was still high in the sky Creed collapsed in the still cool shade of the stable. His clothes were soaked through with sweat and dust turned to mud on his skin. He’d worn sunglasses and his beat-up hat and his eyes still stung from the sun.

“Jesus, Creed, you’re a damned tenderfoot aren’t you? Big bad fucking Creed Dickson is a lightweight when it comes to real cowboy work.” Eli led the borrowed horse into the cool of the stable and started stripping him of saddle and blanket. Pausing, he took a moment to pull his own sweat-soaked shirt over his head. He tossed it along with his chaps across one of the stall rails.

Creed turned his head. Freckles. The man was covered in freckles from the neck down. Creed did not need or want to know that. “It’s this fucking heat, you douche; it’s almost October. Why in the hell is it so damned hot? I can’t catch my breath.” Creed poured what was left of his water over his head, hoping the tepid liquid would cool him down faster. No such luck. “It’s like breathing in liquid air. And then all the damned dust. How do you people live like this?”

Eli laughed as he worked to brush his horse down before letting one of Sawyer’s boys take him. “You get used to it. It’s that dry heat out west that gets to me. Air should have water in it, know what I mean?” Brush still in hand, he came over to help with Kip. Wiped sweat off the horse as best he could. “Go find the hose, Creed, the horse looks better than you do. Get out of those chaps and wet your head. I’ve got the horse. Better yet, go jump in the pool.”

He was right. Besides a little sweat, Kip seemed fine. Creed’s head spun when he pushed off the railing. His vision blurred a little. He started fumbling at the buckles at his waist when a second set of hands joined his. Reaching out a hand to steady himself, he found nothing but smooth, sweaty skin. Not his.

“Boots. Gimme a foot,” Eli ordered when the leather chaps were lying on the rail. Creed didn’t think; he held on to one shoulder and stuck up a foot. Followed by a second. “Shirt. Strip now.”

Creed tugged at the hem of his shirt. Eli so close made his brain sluggish. Not good. “Dammit, Creed man, look at me.” Creed felt his shirt slide up his body and over his head, not really sure how he’d done that when he couldn’t find his fingers. “Creed, look at me.” Strong fingers gripped his chin, making Creed want to whimper.

“Which one of you?” Creed smiled for some unknown reason. Light-headed and woozy. He liked Eli’s hands on him. Both Elis. “There are two. Did you know you have freckles on your nose?”

“Shit,” Eli swore, his hands all over Creed, holding him up, pushing him toward the back of the stables. “Creed, walk. Time to cooperate just a little. Walk. Okay, now you can sit.”

Creed sat on cold concrete over a grate-covered drain, which was good because his knees weren’t going to stay in the standing position too much longer. He didn’t know what the hell the drain was for. Was it a drain? He was about to lie on the cold floor to investigate when something cold and wet hit him square in the chest. Cold felt so damned good. He looked up to see both Elis holding a water hose over his head. He wanted to smile and say something about how sexy Eli was when he was pissed. He always thought so. But then the urge to vomit shook that thought loose.

“Creed?” There was panic in the other man’s voice when Creed rolled onto his knees and leaned over the drain to empty the contents of his belly. And still the water ran over him, running down his back and over his head. His jeans were soaked and plastered to his body—cold, wet material that felt so damned good. His arms shook when the dry heaves came.

“Eli, what’s going on?” It was the other rancher’s voice. Creed couldn’t remember his fucking name. “You left the horse all … fuck.”

“Heatstroke. Go to the house and get some sports drinks. Some towels. Ice. You know the drill, Sawyer. Just hurry up.” There really was panic in Eli’s voice. Creed tried to lift his head to find out what was so wrong that the heartless son of a bitch sounded so damned afraid, but another wave of nausea left him lying on the floor shaking. “Here, take the hose,” Creed heard him say before strong hands pulled him into a sitting position. Arms around him from behind, Creed leaned back against a broad chest, his head on a shoulder. Stubble from a warm jaw grazed his neck. “Drink.”