Love in Xxchange: Rory's Last Chance (9 page)

“You’re all set, girl.” After checking her water and filling her feed bucket, Rory headed to the bunkhouse, unable to suppress the nervous sensation in his belly. He and Max had missed each other this morning, and throughout the day they had crossed each other’s paths and even moved the cattle together—but now he’d have to face the other ranch hand outside of work, so to speak.

Knowing that the wiry little man was aware of the budding relationship between Rory and Chance, had even told the boss to go find Rory…that still didn’t quell the nerves riding up Rory’s spine. What the man said to the boss and what he actually felt might not be the same thing—God knew with the way the economy was right now many people would say or do whatever they had to for a job.

Rory’s phone vibrated in his shirt pocket as he walked out of the barn. Taking it out and noting the unknown number on the display screen, he thought about letting it go to voice mail. Nothing good ever came from such a call. Better to get it over with.

“Hello.” As soon as he answered, Rory wished he hadn’t. The voice on the other end had him pressing a hand to his stomach to push back the wave of nausea that hit him.

“Hey, cock sucker. Heard you managed to find a job with a fag in Texas. Should suit you just fine.” Art Johnson’s mocking laughter slapped against Rory’s ear with the force of a sledgehammer.
That motherfucker…

“You have no room to talk, Art, considering you liked fucking me every chance you got.”
In more ways than one.

“I told you, boy—” Art had gone from laughing to cruel, something he excelled at. “I only fucked you ‘cause you were there and wanting it so bad. Now, if your sister had been a bit more accommodating—”

Rory’s temper exploded. “Stay away from my sister, you twisted son of a bitch, or RORY’S LAST CHANCE

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I’ll—”

Laughter cut him off before he could finish. “Or you’ll what? You step one foot on this ranch and it’s mine, remember? Then where will your pretty little sister go? I might let her stay on the ranch if she suckss dick as well as you do.”

Anger unlike anything he’d ever felt seeped through Rory’s veins. He hadn’t considered that Art would go after Annabelle, but he should have. The man was the sickest fuck Rory had ever known.

“I swear to you, you touch Annabelle and I will kill you. Then it won’t matter if I step on the property or not, and it would be worth a prison sentence to rid the world of your useless ass.”

Rory issued the vow with a calmness that surprised him; he’d never considered himself a violent man, but he would not let Art hurt Annabelle—physically or any other way. When there was no immediate reply, he figured Art had hung up. Rory started to do the same, jerking the phone back to his ear when he heard the man say something that had Rory seeing red before he hung up instead.

Hands shaking, Rory dialed his sister’s number and cursed when he got her voice mail.

He left her a terse message to call him immediately then disconnected the call.

Fury and fear roared through Rory and he looked around for some outlet. Rory slammed his fist into the barn wall, the shock of pain doing nothing to dull his anger.

Gripping his injured hand, he managed to reach the back of the barn before he fell to his knees and threw up, Art’s parting words ringing in his ears.
Tell Chance your ass is the only one
I’ve fucked that could measure up to his—

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The smell from the grill had Chance’s stomach rumbling. Another ten minutes and it would be ready. He checked his watch and tried to rein in his frustration. Where was Rory?

It’d been a good hour since they had finished for the day—he’d thought Rory would have been here by now. He would give the man until the steaks were done. If he didn’t show by then, Chance would hunt him down.

Since he had decided to let go of his hang-ups regarding younger, very attractive men—

okay, one particular younger, very attractive man—Chance would be damned if he let Rory go. The realisation of that thought scared the shit out of him. Where had that possessive feeling come from? They’d only spent one night together, and already Rory was burrowed somewhere deep inside Chance and he didn’t know how to handle it or what to make of it.

A sharp rap of knuckles on the front door sent Chance’s heart skittering with an eagerness he couldn’t quite hide. He was at the door and pulling it open before Rory’s hand lowered back to his side. Chance was taken aback once again by the man’s beauty, fingers itching to trace the firm jaw and slip into the mass of pale gold hair.

“Come in, dinner’s just about ready.” Chance smiled, feeling timid and nervous and not liking it one damn bit.

Rory stepped inside, shoulders tensed enough that it was noticeable, as was the forced nature of his answering smile. Chance narrowed his eyes and studied the younger man, taking in his subdued look and dull eyes. Then he noticed his hand.

“What the hell happened?” Chance reached for Rory’s hand before it could be tucked away and hidden. Scraped raw at the knuckles and swollen. Chance knew from personal experience how an injury like that occurred. He glanced up at Rory, who didn’t seem to want to meet his eyes. “There’s a punching bag that you can use if you need to. You want to tell me what you hit and why?”

Rory’s Adam’s apple bobbed a couple of times, almost distracting Chance with the need to press his lips to it. Rory finally looked at him and swallowed nervously again.

“Could we maybe…eat first?”

And there, in his lover’s voice and midnight eyes, was pain and something close to fear RORY’S LAST CHANCE

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that hit Chance like a physical blow. Something was hurting Rory, and it tore Chance up inside in a way he’d never felt for someone else.

It clicked like a light switched on in a pitch black room—he felt things for this man that he had given up all hope of experiencing. Instead of making him want to head for the hills, Chance wanted to pull Rory close and promise to heal his wounds. He was fairly certain his lover wasn’t ready for that just yet.

Chance looked at Rory’s hand again and nodded. “Yeah. Come on and have a seat while I pick up the steaks.”

“Okay.” Heavy footsteps sounded behind him as Chance led the way to the small kitchen table.

“Just relax, it’ll only be a few minutes.” Chance opened the fridge and took out the salads he’d made before stepping outside and placing the thick steaks and foil-wrapped potatoes on a platter. He’d set the table earlier, wanting to have everything in place for dinner.

Okay, he had been nervous—he hadn’t forgotten his promise from this morning to tell Rory why he had been such an ass. Not that he was in a hurry to do so, but damn, he hadn’t been able to stand the wariness that had cloaked Rory so suddenly. He was well aware of the fact he had helped put that look there and the knowledge weighed heavily on his conscience.

Chance sat the platter on the table and walked back over to the fridge. “You want beer, soda, water…uh, I don’t think the milk is safe to drink. Kinda looks like cottage cheese.” He held the jug up and checked the expiration date. Well, fuck, no wonder it was all chunky—he was lucky the stuff hadn’t sprouted legs and walked off. Or maybe not. At least then he wouldn’t have to pull off the lid and get hit with a fetid scent whenever he got brave enough to dump it out. Chance shoved the milk back in and turned to Rory, who still hadn’t answered.

A real smile split Rory’s face and set his eyes to gleaming. Warmth built in Chance’s chest as a tingling sensation spread in his belly. Jesus, he had it bad.

“You sure the beer is safe? Judging from the look of that gallon of milk, I’m a bit worried.”

Laughing, Chance pulled out a couple of beers and popped the caps off. “The beer is fresh. Guess that’s telling, that the milk is kind of rotten but all the beer is just fine.”

“‘Kind of rotten’?” Rory reached up and took his beer. “That’s like saying August in RORY’S LAST CHANCE

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Texas is kind of hot.” Rory’s blue eyes deepened, turning almost black in a way that should have prepared Chance for his next words. “Or that what we did last night was kind of hot.

I’m pretty sure it was fucking scorching—or scorching fucking.”

And that quick Chance’s prick swelled full, pressing uncomfortably against his zipper as sweat broke out on his forehead. Christ, what the man could do to him. Rory’s eyes were burning a trail over Chance’s body before settling on the rigid length threatening to leave a wet spot on his jeans.

“Rory.” Chance took a step forward, unable to resist the strident need in Rory’s eyes.

He stopped when the younger man shook his head slightly and glanced away, that wary expression slipping back into place. What the hell was going on?

Chance pulled out a chair and sat across from Rory, measuring the man’s body language. Something had his lover wound tight. He would give Rory a little time, but if he didn’t loosen up and relax, Chance would start digging until he found out what was going on.

Placing a steak and baked potato on Rory’s plate, Chance thought about his options. If the man wouldn’t talk, there were two ways Chance could see to get answers. Talking or seduction. The former might result in angry words and a night alone. The latter, however, didn’t guarantee anything except the very real possibility of distraction on both their parts.

Plus, it seemed wrong to use sex in such a way. Damn it. At least he could enjoy the meal first—he would eat even though his appetite had fled with Rory’s shift in mood.

Conversation was stilted and Chance couldn’t help but notice that Rory shuffled his food around his plate rather than eating much of anything. Maybe he wasn’t an expert on the whole relationship business, but Chance did know enough to realise nothing was going to get better unless whatever it was eating at his lover came to light.

Pushing his plate away, Chance leant back in his chair and waited for Rory to meet his eyes. The anguish he saw in those blue depths would have buckled his knees had he been standing.

“Why don’t you just spit it out, Rory, before you up and bolt? The longer you wait, the harder it’s going to be.” He waited while Rory made up his mind, praying the man would open up and talk. When Rory’s shoulders slumped slightly, Chance had his answer. He got up then walked to Rory and hooked his arm through his lover’s.

“Come on, let’s go into the living room. Dishes will wait.” Rory let himself be led along RORY’S LAST CHANCE

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to the couch, where Chance gave him a slight push encouraging him to sit. Rather than sit beside Rory, Chance sat directly in front of him on the coffee table, knee to knee. Whatever was coming, he figured it would be best to face it head on, literally and every other way.

Moisture gleamed in Rory’s eyes, squeezing Chance’s heart with a compassion he hadn’t known was in him. Gently he took his lover’s hands, resting them on their knees.

“It’s all right, baby. If it’s not, we’ll make it all right. Go ahead and talk. Whatever you’re worried about, it won’t run me off.”

Rory turned away from the sincerity and warmth in Chance’s soothing gaze, afraid if he didn’t the tears he was struggling to hold back would burst free. What he had to say was humiliating enough. Crying would be the straw that broke the camel’s back—Rory would feel like the worst sort of fool.

Swallowing around the knot of fear that threatened to choke him, Rory turned back to face Chance. There was no disgust or anger on the man’s face, just compassion and concern that was perhaps an even bigger threat to Rory’s emotional stability. Rory turned away again; he couldn’t do this watching for signs of Chance’s expression changing to something that would break Rory’s heart.

“When I…” No, that wasn’t the way to start, damn it. Rory tried to organise what he wanted to say, something he’d failed to do every time he had tried since Art called. It wasn’t happening. “Fuck it.” Rory turned back to Chance, steeling himself and determined to get the whole sordid story out as a sudden burst of strength settled over him.

“You probably already figured out what happened with my dad, yeah?”

Chance didn’t answer immediately, studying Rory for a long moment instead. “I’m guessing, from what you told me and the voicemails Ian left me that your old man disowned you when he found out you were gay.”

Rory nodded at the questioning tone in Chance’s voice, felt a rush of warmth at the sympathy gleaming in those rich brown eyes.

“Yeah. Sorry he did that. He’s just really bitter and…nothing is going to change his mind about what I am. I knew that, grew up listening to him rant about gays. I tried to keep it from him.” Rory just shook his head. He’d been naïve to think his father would never find RORY’S LAST CHANCE

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out, and just plain stupid to hope the man would change his views if he did learn that his own son was gay. “I should have known better.”

“Rory, it doesn’t make you a fool to want your family to accept you, to hope that they love you unconditionally. Mine didn’t, either, but they just cut me out and never had anything to do with me again.” Chance glanced down and cleared his throat before continuing. “I always hoped that me and my folks would reconcile, but they were killed in a house fire three years after I told them.”

Chance’s eyes filled, but unlike Rory, he didn’t seem inclined to stop the tears from escaping. “In truth, they probably wouldn’t have ever changed their minds, opened their hearts, but as long as they were alive, I had hope.” Chance tugged on Rory’s hands, bringing them to rest on the older man’s thighs. “I wouldn’t wish it for you, Rory, but maybe it’s best to know that your father will probably never change and try to deal with it as well as you can.”

Rory tried, he really did, but he couldn’t just sit there and watch while his lover’s cheeks were tracked with silent tears. It only took a good tug to pull Chance onto the couch, where Rory stretched out and held the man to his side. Even if this talk ended with Chance telling him they were done, Rory would at least have this, the memory of holding his lover…as the man grumbled something about not being a pussy. Biting back a smile, Rory held Chance close.