Stars & Stripes (11 page)

“Okay, that’s not weird at all.”

“Please?”

Zane gave him a tolerant sigh. “The closest town to us is Dripping Springs, and it’s about a twenty-minute drive. The ranches out this way are all pretty massive and self-sufficient. The Carter Garrett Ranch is five thousand acres, the largest in the area. We raise horses mostly, but there’s also cattle, sheep, and some llamas and emus.”

“Your accent has come out,” Ty said when Zane paused.

Zane glanced at him, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“It’s . . . incredibly sexy.”

“What?”

“Say something else.”

“No, stop it,” Zane said with a laugh.

Ty grinned, unable to take his eyes off Zane. “We need to go down to the front gate. I really did leave my rental there.”

“I thought you were kidding.”

“Nope. Climbed the big-ass fence. Impressive, by the way. It’s like a castle gate and somebody forgot to build the rest of the castle.”

“Yeah, well, around here people don’t see your house or your yard or your front door. You have to impress them with your gate. And Mother is all for impressing people.”

Ty nodded. The gate to the Carter Garrett Ranch was quite beautiful: Two towers of stacked stone on either side of the drive, with a twisted metal art piece weaving between them. A sign hung from the metal, a stylized C and G intertwined with an ampersand. A simple iron gate between the towers kept visitors out.

“I’ll call and have one of the guys go fetch it,” Zane promised.

“Why do you keep the gate closed? Is it to keep livestock in or people out?”

“The ranch is open three days a week to the public. We have school trips and tour buses and people can book times for riding the trails or getting riding lessons. Supplemental income for the ranch.”

“Really? People just drive up at any given time?”

Zane shrugged. “Thursday through Saturday, yeah. So the other days they keep the gate closed, just in case people get the wrong day or get nosy.”

Ty cleared his throat, barely able to concentrate on what Zane was saying for listening to how he was saying it. Jesus, where had
that
accent been all these months? He wondered if Zane suppressed it or if it was just something he’d lost along the way and then had fallen back into when he’d submerged himself back home.

He waved his broken hand toward the side of the road. “Can you pull over for a minute?”

Zane shot him a concerned glance and pulled the truck to the side of the gravel driveway, putting it in park.

Ty unbuckled his seatbelt and crawled toward him. The only thing preventing him from climbing right into Zane’s lap was the steering wheel. Zane grabbed at him, laughing as they kissed again, over and over. Ty unbuckled Zane’s seatbelt, pulling at him and leaning backward, and Zane wriggled out of the seatbelt and followed, laying Ty down on the bench seat. Ty propped his foot on the door and held on as Zane dug his hands into Ty’s hair.

“Christ, why’d you have to start this?” Zane grumbled. Ty could feel his body responding, and his jeans were going to be impossible to unzip in a few minutes if this kept up. “We’re five fucking seconds from the house.”

“I missed you.” Zane felt solid against his fingers, and after a week of closing his eyes and imagining it was Zane’s touch in place of his own, Zane’s weight felt incredible against him.

“I’m not going to fuck you here,” Zane said through gritted teeth, though he appeared to be trying to convince himself and not Ty.

Ty shook his head and hummed, but he pushed his hips up against Zane’s and closed his eyes as sensation swept through him. “Does anyone else stay at this guesthouse?” he asked, voice going lower.

“No,” Zane growled. He bent to kiss Ty’s chin, and then kissed and nipped along his jawline until he reached Ty’s neck and began to suck. “We’ll have the whole place to ourselves.”

Ty groaned, squirming under him. “Are there washing machines at this guesthouse?”

“Yeah, why?” Zane whispered against Ty’s ear.

Ty answered by delving into a messy, hungry kiss. He thrust up against Zane, rubbing their cocks together through the thick denim of their jeans.

“Jesus, Ty,” Zane ground out. He shoved his hand under Ty, dragging his fingers against Ty’s shoulder blades as he pushed their hips together. Ty gasped, thrust back, desire flowing between them in a feedback loop of desperate need.

Zane lapped at his lips, forcing his way in to lick and suck at Ty’s as the kisses got messier and harder. They didn’t even bother trying to unbutton their jeans, just rutted against each other. Ty rolled his hips to increase the friction. They were like teenagers necking, stealing a moment that couldn’t be put off one second longer.

Zane shouted his name, clamping down on him so hard that Ty bowed his back to keep from being hurt. When he realized Zane was coming against him, he let go of the last vestiges of his pride and self-control as well, clutching at Zane and gritting his teeth against a moan as he came in his jeans.

It was a good mile before they hit a curve around a copse of trees that brought a group of buildings into view. Ty had seen the turn-off when he’d walked up the driveway, but he hadn’t paid it much attention at the time.

Zane stopped in front of the house, though he didn’t cut the engine. “This is the guesthouse.”

Ty nodded and looked around. There was a garage made to look like a barn, and a storage shed built like a carriage house. The house itself was a cabin, the bucolic façade broken only by solar panels on the roof and a satellite bolted to the side. Ty glanced over at Zane, unsure of what to say now. He’d known Zane and his family had money, but he hadn’t realized until setting foot on the ranch that they were downright loaded. It took serious coin to keep a ranch like this running.

Zane glanced over at him but didn’t press for a comment. “I hope you’ll consider it home for a while.”

Ty enjoyed it when Zane got a little on the sentimental side. He was so sweet and vulnerable, it was hard not to love him. “I’ll do that.”

Zane nodded, smiling.

Ty pointed at him sternly. “As long as I get a hat. And boots. Red ones. And I want a belt buckle bigger than my hand,” he added as he held up his broken hand.

Zane was laughing as Ty rattled on. “I can handle the hat and the boots,” he said. “But I draw the line at the belt buckle.” He grabbed the keys and unfastened his seatbelt.

“But why?”

Zane reached over and dug his fingers into the front of Ty’s jeans, which were still a mess from their foray into illicit groping. “I’m not breaking my hand when I want to get into your pants.”

Ty snorted. “Fair enough. But don’t be grabby, it’s rude.” He smacked at Zane’s hand. “And wash your hands.” Grinning, Zane let him loose, then opened his door and climbed out of the truck.

Ty hopped out and reached into the bed of the truck to retrieve his bags, looking around at the house and trying to ignore how uncomfortable his jeans were. He liked the place. It was small and almost quaint, with hints of modern luxuries hidden behind the rustic details. He followed Zane through the little gate and up to the door. Zane didn’t get out his keys; the door was unlocked.

Most of the inside was open up to the two-story pitched roof, with only a bedroom loft to break the space, and the back of the house was all glass, looking out to rolling hills and pasture. A huge stone fireplace dominated one wall, and a couple of comfortable-looking leather couches faced it. The furniture was minimal but functional.

Zane walked through the main room to open a sliding door that led out to a wraparound deck. A cross-breeze started up that was almost cool. Then he turned and looked at Ty. “How about we just lose the truck keys and stay awhile?”

“Will we have to barricade the door?”

Zane sniffed. “Nah. Although, as soon as Annie learns you’re here, she’ll barge in like a Tasmanian devil and demand to meet you.”

Ty barked a laugh. Zane crossed the room back to Ty, pulling off his denim shirt and tossing it on a chair nearby.

“What’d you do with the cats?”

“I asked Alston to feed them every night on his way home.”

“Alston?” Zane said, his voice going alarmingly high. “What if he goes upstairs? What if he sees all my shit in the closet?”

“It’s okay, Zane.”

“Ty!”

“He’s scared of Smith and Wesson. And I told them not to let him past the first step.”

“Ty,” Zane said in exasperation.

Ty knew it made Zane nervous, but that was half the fun of it. He just raised an eyebrow and smiled.

Zane sighed and returned the smile, looking almost unwilling. “Thank you for coming.” He stepped forward and pulled Ty into a kiss.

Ty returned it with something like relief. After so long apart, it was wonderful to get that kiss without the added urgency of needing to get off. Zane stepped back just long enough to unbutton his jeans and then Ty’s, pushing them down so they could both kick out of them. Ty’s boxer briefs went next, falling alongside Zane’s. Then Zane slid his arms around Ty’s waist so he could hold him close, drawing the kiss out. Ty hummed as he dragged both hands up Zane’s arms and started to tug on his undershirt, but just as things were really starting to get interesting, the phone in the pocket of his jeans began to vibrate, followed by a loud sound that could only be described as an old car horn.

Ty grunted in annoyance as Zane stepped back.

“What the hell was that?”

Ty snorted. “I had to get a new phone. Got one like yours.”

The phone honked at them again, and Ty bent to find it.

“What happened to your other one?”

“Relish. Long story.” Ty rummaged through the pockets of his jeans. He held up his cast. “Had to get a new cast, too. Everything got . . . I was covered in condiments.”

“Uh-huh.”

He’d have to spill that story soon, because Zane rarely let things like that go for long, but he didn’t offer to tell it right now. He sighed as he finally found his phone and looked at the display. It was a text message, one of the dozens he received every day. He shook his head and stood.

“It’s from Nick,” he said, knowing his old friend was a sore spot for Zane, and with good reason. But he was always honest with Zane whenever he spoke to Nick, even if it grated on the man. Hiding it would be a mistake, and Ty’s conscience wouldn’t condone it.

Zane wrinkled his nose but didn’t seem annoyed, which was a vast improvement from the way he’d initially felt about Nick. “What’s he say?”

Ty shrugged and looked down at the phone again. “He’s working a weird case. I asked him to text me every now and then to let me know he’s alive.” He read the text with a frown. “He says Canadians are scary.” He looked up at Zane. “I don’t know what that means.”

Zane pulled him closer and kissed him again before bending to gather their pile of clothes. “You deal with that, then. I’m going to go throw these in the wash. There’s a shower and a bed in the loft upstairs if you want to get some rest before dinner.”

He headed for the kitchen and what was presumably a washer and dryer near the back door.

“Will it be bad?” Ty called after him.

“So very bad.”

Ty dozed on the couch, trying to recuperate from his trek to Texas, while Zane did whatever the hell it was Zane did when Ty wasn’t paying attention.

He was vaguely aware of his surroundings, not quite comfortable with the unfamiliar sounds just yet. The ceiling fan high above, the dryer whirring in the kitchen, Zane’s occasional footsteps on the creaking hardwood floors. A tiny, quiet breath.

Ty cracked open an eye.

Just inches from his nose was a pair of large Hershey brown eyes. They were accompanied by long dark lashes and ringlet curls that framed a cherub’s face. Said cherub was wearing a yellow sundress, red bows in her hair, and red shoes. She stared at him, her hands clasped behind her back as she turned her shoulders back and forth.

Ty looked at her for another moment, disconcerted. “Hi,” he said, voice still hoarse with sleep.

She gave him a frown that looked familiar. Zane’s niece was three or four, if Ty remembered correctly. “You’re a stranger.”

“You’re right.” Ty unfolded his arms where he’d had them wrapped around his chest and let his broken hand extend toward her. “I’m Ty. Are you Sadie?”