Mossy Glenn Ranch 3 -Saddles and Memories (23 page)

BOOK: Mossy Glenn Ranch 3 -Saddles and Memories

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The old man had been dead for a while now, and Mack hadn’t heard anything else about Justin for a good while. Strange, really, because his tiny little hometown was a hive of gossip.
Guess there ain’t no one who knows anything about Justin, so they can’t talk about him.

Well, regardless, he reckoned it was a good thing he had just been an experiment. That way Justin hadn’t had to worry about that whole Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell thing. Mack would bet even with it being lifted, there was still plenty of problems facing anyone who wasn’t straight in the military. Hell, unless you was straight, you couldn’t marry in most states, and your spouse didn’t get military benefits anyway even if the marriage was done up all legal.

“Enough already,” he scolded himself. It was a certainty that Justin hadn’t wasted years—
years
—dwelling on what might have been. Normally Mack didn’t think on it so heavily himself, but that angry red horse just stirred up memories. He really shouldn’t have agreed to tame the damn critter.

The stallion snorted, pawing at the ground and tossing its head, sending that silky mane rippling in the faint afternoon breeze.

“Fuckin’ red devil.” Mack reached slowly into his shirt pocket to pull out a few sugar cubes. He was vaguely aware of hoof beats coming from off to the side, but didn’t pay any attention since he figured it was just one of the hands coming back in from working.

Mack concentrated on keeping his body relaxed, his voice low and smooth and sweet. The words didn’t matter so much, but the tone… Well, that was the trick, wasn’t it? Making a mean beast listen to you, lulling it into complacency—or at least out of murderous intent. Mack extended his arm, sugar cubes in hand. Bribing the beautiful bastard hadn’t worked yet, but maybe eventually it would.

“Shit!” Mack jerked away from the corral as the stallion charged at him, rearing high in the air and bringing those deadly hooves down like hell’s condemnation. They missed the slat by mere inches. Mack stumbled back a few steps, his heart slamming against his ribs—then promptly flailed forward when he bounced off a hard surface. A hard, living surface.

Two strong arms reached out and caught him, and Mack’s breath gusted from him. He could have sworn his heart went from jackhammering to a complete stop.

Just like that, he knew from the brief touch—just from the scent that had hit him the very second his back had made contact with the broad chest—oh, he knew from the way his body flooded with lust and his cock snapped to attention…

Justin was back.

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About the Author

A native Texan, Bailey spends her days spinning stories around in her head, which has contributed to more than one incident of tripping over her own feet. Evenings are reserved for pounding away at the keyboard, as are early morning hours. Sleep? Doesn’t happen much. Writing is too much fun, and there are too many characters bouncing about, tapping on Bailey’s brain demanding to be let out.

Caffeine and chocolate are permanent fixtures in Bailey’s office and are never far from hand at any given time. Removing either of those necessities from Bailey’s presence can result in what is known as A Very, Very Scary Bailey and is not advised under any circumstances.

Email:
[email protected]

Bailey loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
http://www.total-e-bound.com

Also by Bailey Bradford

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Southwestern Shifters: Rendered

Southwestern Shifters: Resilience

Southwestern Shifters: Reverence

Southwestern Shifters: Revolution

Southwestern Shifters: Revenge

Southern Spirits: A Subtle Breeze