Long Tall Drink

Long Tall Drink

L. C. Chase

www.loose-id.com

Long Tall Drink

Copyright © August 2011 by L. C. Chase

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

eISBN 978-1-61118-499-0

Editor: Jana J. Hanson

Cover Artist: Justin James

Printed in the United States of America

Published by

Loose Id LLC

PO Box 425960

San Francisco CA 94142-5960

www.loose-id.com

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning

This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

* * *

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Dedication

For all my fabulous and amazing critique partners in the CBC and RRW who helped make this story happen.

For my mom, who taught me I could do anything I set my mind to.

Chapter One

Hands braced at ten and two on the steering wheel, Ray Ford locked his elbows and pressed his shoulders firmly into the solid backrest. Forty minutes in the cab of his pickup hadn’t helped the kink in his spine. A kink that had less to do with last night’s lumpy motel bed than his and Landon’s horizontal acrobatics.

With a satisfying
pop
he relaxed into the heated leather seat and dropped his right hand from the wheel onto the center console. His fingers tapped along with Toby Keith, who was singing on the radio about bullets and guns and Mexican hotels. A slow smile stretched his lips. Today was a good day to be alive.

Landon had been as wild as a Pryor Mountain mustang—nearly a year and a half later and still endlessly creative. It often surprised Ray when he thought about how that one-time Internet hookup had turned into the mutually beneficial relationship they had now. The hour-plus drive for a night in Billings with his secret lover had always been exactly what he’d needed to take the edge off.

But Ray wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up with the much younger man, even if it was only every other month. After forty years on this earth, he was beginning to feel every hard-lived day. There was more to it than age. Landon was tiring of the secrecy and had begun to drop subtle hints about wanting a relationship he didn’t have to hide. If Ray were honest with himself, he was tiring too. And that scared the shit out of him. Landon was a good man and deserved much more than Ray could, or would, give him.

For now though, he was content as things stood, and those few stolen hours that allowed him to be himself. But if Landon pushed—

A moving flash of gold light ahead, like a distress signal, pulled him from his thoughts. Focusing on the source of the signal, Ray made out the shape of a lone cowboy camouflaged in faded jeans and a tan jacket, walking along the cracked edge of rough road, a beat-up dust-colored duffel bag heaped over his shoulder. If the sun hadn’t reflected off a buckle, Ray probably wouldn’t have noticed the man until he was on him.

Closing in on the wanderer, Ray realized the smooth, effortless gait couldn’t really be called a walk, more like a swagger.

The cowboy turned around and hooked his thumb to the sky. Long legs planted shoulder-width apart staked his ground. The collar of the well-worn ranch jacket was flipped up, shielding against the chill spring breeze that danced across the plains from the East.

Even though dark sunglasses and a cowboy hat that sat low on the brow worked together to hide most of his face, it was his presence alone that seemed to command attention.

Ray wasn’t one for picking up hitchhikers—not that there were many, if any, on this deserted stretch of US-310, especially in the early hours of a Sunday morning—but something about the man on the side of the road compelled him.

Before he’d thought it through, his foot had moved from the gas pedal to the brake. As if on its own accord, the truck pulled off the two-lane highway, steel-belted tires growling over rumble strips, and came to a stop fifty yards beyond where the cowboy stood. Dust billowed into a small tornado in the wake of the vehicle’s draft, obscuring the man from view. Ray watched in his rearview mirror as the cowboy stepped out of the swirling cloud like a rising phoenix—or the hero in an action movie emerging in slow motion unscathed from a fireball.

“Well, would you look at that,” Ray mumbled. “There’s a long, tall drink of sexy if I ever did see one.”

Lean legs ate up the pavement with an unhurried stride only a truly confident man could master. Now that the cowboy was facing the bright morning sun, the concealing Stetson and sunglasses couldn’t hide the slightly crooked nose, strong square jaw, cleft chin, and lips worthy of exploration.

An odd niggle of anticipation teased the edges of Ray’s consciousness.

He turned off the radio and pressed a button on his armrest to lower the passenger-side window as the cowboy reached the truck. The hitcher removed his sunglasses and leaned in. Intelligent, deep green eyes flecked with bronze, a hint of mischief sparked in their shadows, gazed back at Ray.

“Where you headed, cowboy?”

“Bridger.” Just one word and the deep, resonant voice sent an unexpected spike of heat through Ray’s nervous system.

The words escaped before his brain caught up. “You’re in luck. Hop in.”

The cowboy flashed a magazine-cover smile that revealed impossibly white teeth and inclined his head. “Thanks.”

He opened the door, tossed his duffel on the backseat, and climbed gracefully into the cab. A rush of cold air followed him in and swirled around Ray’s legs.

The quad cab of the fire-engine red Dodge Ram 3500 shrank to the size of a Mini Cooper as the man settled into the leather bucket seat beside him. Ray watched as his passenger hit the button to close the window and buckled himself in. He was tall, solid, and exuded a kinetic energy that could knock a bottle off the fence at a hundred paces.

The cowboy turned to face him, and time stretched out in weighted silence. A glint in the man’s eye held Ray captive, as though he were on the verge of sharing a great secret—a secret Ray suddenly wanted to know.
Needed
to know.

A crooked grin spread across the ruggedly handsome face. “Name’s Travis.”

The skin at the back of Ray’s neck warmed. He nodded. “Ray.”

Time continued to saunter on without them as they sat facing each other, immobile, truck idling smoothly. Travis broke the time glitch by tapping his forefinger to the brim of his hat, his intense gaze not leaving Ray’s. In that deep, whiskey voice, he drawled, “S’a pleasure, Ray.”

The air in the cab buzzed. Perspiration broke out between Ray’s shoulder blades. He pushed his hat back on his forehead a little. He briefly contemplated switching the truck’s heater off in favor of the air-conditioning.

Ray had experienced the occasional instant attraction in the past, but nothing at this level. Not this…biting. Not to the point where if he squinted his eyes, he’d see electricity arcing between them.

His groin tightened.
What the hell
? Had he not just left Landon’s bed less than two hours ago? At the moment, however, it felt as though he hadn’t seen to the need in years. The sudden urge to lean over and run his hands over Travis’s solid legs, peel off his jacket and shirt, and feel smooth skin under his hands was overwhelming. And more than a little disconcerting.

Ray cleared his throat. “Okay then.”

He forced himself to face forward, shifted the big truck into gear, and pulled back onto the deserted highway. Both hands tight on the wheel, he was acutely aware of the man sitting on the other side of the cab. He stole a sideways glance at the strong, rugged profile. Dirty-blond hair long enough to fist spilled over the jacket collar. A lean-fingered hand splayed loosely on a muscular thigh. What would that hand feel like on his own thigh, strong and sure, inching slowly upward…?

Ray looked away, cleared his throat again, and shifted in his seat. He had Landon when he needed him. Landon was safe. Landon took care of him. What he didn’t need was some crazy attraction to a drifter that could only come to trouble. The kind of trouble Ray had managed to avoid his whole life.

The quicker he got rid of his passenger, the better. “What’s in Bridger?”

“Ranch job,” Travis said. “Hopefully.”

“Hopefully?”

“Heard there might be work.”

Ray chanced another look at his passenger, staring longer than someone behind the wheel of a three-ton machine should. “There are only two working ranches near Bridger.”
And please, God, say you’re headed to the Double T.

Travis shrugged a shoulder in response, gaze focused on the passing Montana landscape. The man seemed completely at ease, unconcerned with the possibility of having to turn right back around to wherever he came from.

Ray forced his attention back to the long, straight road ahead of him—a feeble attempt at ignoring the increasing discomfort of his jeans. Wide-open empty highway, sparsely treed plains, and endless blue sky left entirely too few distractions from his entirely too sexy passenger. “Any ranch in particular?”

“Ford Creek.”

Ray nearly choked. His heart kicked up a triple beat. He looked over at his passenger again. “Ford Creek Ranch?” He winced at hearing his voice crack on the last word.

“Yep.” Travis angled himself to face Ray, one eyebrow cocked, that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Know the place?”

“You could say,” he replied quietly and turned away from the heavy gaze that burned his skin.
Rein it in, Ford
. “What are you hoping to do there?”

“The best quarter horses in the country deserve the best trainer.”

Silence filled the cab again as Ray struggled for an air of indifference. “You’re a horse trainer?”