Texas and Tarantulas (6 page)

Trent drove to the other grocer. Inside, he used the bathroom, cleaning off his private parts with a damp paper towel. He felt like he smelled of spunk, which normally he would say was a good thing, only he didn’t want anyone else catching on to what he’d been doing.

After he’d soaped up and wiped off, he resumed his errand and picked up the things from Diego’s list. It seemed like everyone was watching him now, whispering behind his back. He didn’t let his inner turmoil show, instead smiling and greeting people. Accepting condolences that tore him up inside. Thanking people for caring when some of them were just being nosy sons of bitches.

By the time he got back to his truck, Trent’s nerves were frayed and his face felt brittle from the fake smiles he’d worn. He set the groceries in the passenger seat.

It wasn’t until he was on the way back to the ranch that he felt less likely to shatter. Odd the way that worked. He’d all but run off a couple of hours ago, and now he couldn’t wait to be home again. “Weird.”

When he stopped at Joe and Diego’s place, they were sitting in the swing on the porch. All the other vehicles were gone except for the ones that belonged on the ranch. Trent’s chest didn’t feel so tight then—he hadn’t realized he’d been wound so tense until that moment. He shut the truck off then got out and took the groceries with him.

“Y’all want these in the kitchen?” he asked, stopping by the porch swing.

Diego hopped up and grabbed the bags. “I’ll put everything up. Thanks, Trent.”

Trent watched him rush inside then looked at Joe. “He’s leaving us alone to talk. What is it you need to tell me?”

Joe grimaced, taking his hat off and brushing at the band around it. “Just, we gotta go do that DNA stuff. It’ll take a while to get the results back and compare with…with…”

“You know it’s her,” Trent said. “You know it. I know it. The whole fucking town knows it.”

Joe swallowed and didn’t deny it.

“If Dad killed her—” Trent shut up. What was there to say?

“I never found the records for the two ranch hands working here back then.” Joe obviously had excess words to spew.

Trent wrangled his anger under control. He had no cause to be mad at Joe, never had, even though their father had so clearly favored him. Hell, the old man had left Joe the whole ranch when he’d died, all except for the acre Trent lived on, the old trailer on it, and a pick-up truck.

None of that was Joe’s fault. At some point, Trent’s dad had quit liking him, much less loving him. That was always going to hurt, because despite the whippings with the belt and the harsh punishment for stupid shit, Trent loved his dad.

He wasn’t going to let any resentment he felt for the old man spill over onto Joe. Trent sighed and sat down beside his brother. “As horrible as it sounds, it’d be nice if it was one of them.”

Joe looked at him. “You know, the truth might never come out. I don’t even see how they can figure the cause of death.”

“She didn’t dig her own grave.” He wasn’t trying to be mean. Someone had buried her.

Joe leaned his head back, his hat tumbling off. “No, she sure as fuck did not. Still doesn’t tell us how she died. Unless there’s damage to some bones they can rule out as not being from wild animals…”

“Yeah.” Trent didn’t want to talk about it anymore, but he did have to add one thing. “Make the appointments. I’m ready to go whenever you are for the DNA stuff. For now, I’m going home, then I plan to just sit back, roll one, and have a beer or three. Tomorrow we got a lot of work to do.”

“We do. Me and Diego might be down in a bit. Can bring you dinner,” Joe offered.

Trent didn’t feel like he could eat a bite or like he wanted company. Not that he’d say as much. “All right. Might see you in a bit.”

“Yeah. I think you will.” Joe stood up.

Trent followed suit. He debated telling Joe about the guy in town then decided against it for now. He wanted to savor the whole experience, but maybe after some beer and all, that would change.

He took his second shower of the day. Images of those bones were interspersed with much more pleasant memories of a romp in a room at Hollis House. Trent didn’t do more than rinse the sweat from his skin this time around. He turned the water off then got out and went to find some shorts to throw on.

Except when he stuck his hand in the dresser drawer, it wasn’t a pair of shorts that he grabbed. The second he felt the dual stings, the quick sharp pain, he knew exactly what had happened. “Fuck!” He pulled his hand out. The tarantula didn’t hang on for the ride.

“You fucker, I ought to stomp on you,” he muttered, holding his injured hand to his chest. He wasn’t really injured, and tarantula bites weren’t poisonous. They weren’t even scary to him, having grown up playing with the damned things.

“Doesn’t mean I like getting bit, you hairy bastard.” There was hardly any blood where he’d been bitten. Trent still wasn’t happy at all. He took the whole drawer from the dresser, intending to dump the spider outside, but the fucker leaped over the shallow side and skittered under the bed.

“Okay, now
that
I do mind. No tarantulas inside, and definitely none of you fuckers in or under or anywhere near my bed!” Trent put the drawer back then got down on his hands and knees so he could look under the bed. “Shit!” he screeched as the tarantula came running out at him. “Shit, shit, shit!” He was up and bounding backwards in a heartbeat. “Bad spider! Bad fucking huge spider!”

God, it had to be bigger than they normally were—“Babies! You aren’t even gonna—” Trent was big on live and let live when it came to most things, unless they were dinner or trying to hurt him or someone he loved.

The tarantula got it with a boot. Trent blinked at the mess. Parts of the segmented legs had broken off. He didn’t even remember grabbing the boot and bashing the critter.

“Shit. Oh shit!” Guilt slammed into him. He forced himself to raise the boot. When no tiny little spiderlings scrambled around, he felt better. For a minute there, he’d thought he had killed off a whole tarantula family. He wasn’t sorry for killing the adult—it was attacking him, for shit’s sake.

Although, the spider was almost certainly more scared than he’d been. “Aw, damn it all.” Trent dropped the boot. “I could have handled that better.”

But he hadn’t, and Joe showed up with Diego while Trent was still trying to clean the spider guts out of the carpet.

Joe and Diego walked in unannounced, and when Trent told them about the tarantula, Diego was clearly rattled. He visibly paled and all but climbed up Joe.

“Tarantulas? No one told me there were tarantulas out here,” Diego complained.

Trent looked up from the carpet. “You didn’t see any of them all the times you were out skulking around as a wolf?”

Diego glared at him. “What do you think?”

Trent winked. “I imagine they were too scared of the big, bad wolf to come out of their burrows. Unlike this spider I just finished scraping up. It was one pissed off SOB, let me tell you. Or scared. How fucked up is it that I feel worse for killing it than I do for killing the shifters that were trying to take you away?”

“They were going to kill us, too,” Joe pointed out. “That spider bit you. It had bad intent.”

“I scared it. It wasn’t lying in wait.” Though it kind of was, being as the critter had been in his clothes drawer.

“You do remember we never found just one at a time in the house?” Joe asked.

To which Diego yelped and did leap on Joe, jabbering the whole time. “In the house? There’s another one in here? Or more? And they come in our house too?”

“Looks like you’re in for fun times,” Trent observed.

Joe gave him a death glare.

Trent winked at him, too. “Hey, Diego, you want to see where it bit me?”

“Trent,” Joe grumbled.

He smiled brightly. “What? I’m just going to let him see where the big ol’ fangs went into my hand.”

“I ought to smack you.” Joe glowered, looking like he wanted to say more.

“You’d have to put your boyfriend down, on the floor, where another tarantula might sneak out and get him.” Trent dodged a kick by his brother, but Diego kind of whimpered and Trent decided to stop teasing. “Hey, Diego. That won’t happen. Tarantulas try to avoid us. I was thinking, I probably hurt the one in the bedroom when it bit me and I shook it off. For being big, hairy spiders, they’re surprisingly fragile and a fall from even a few inches can end up killing them. Normally they don’t charge you like that.”

“He’s telling the truth, honey,” Joe murmured. “And maybe Trent should show you the bite.”

“Yeah, it ain’t much of anything. A red wasp, now those fuckers will make a grown man cry if one stings you, but this didn’t hurt more than a little sting.” He’d be forgiven the small lie. “And see? I don’t even swell.”

“I’d die of a heart attack if one got on me,” Diego proclaimed. “Or…or pass out and hit my head then die.”

Joe’s expression turned utterly sad. “Enough with the dying. We’ve had too much of that around here.”

Diego’s eyes rounded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“It’s okay.”

“You really can get down,” Trent added when Joe didn’t say anything more. He was relatively sure if there was another spider in the trailer—and with his luck, there was—it wouldn’t come out to play.

“O-okay.” Diego shuddered when his feet hit the floor, but he stood straight and tipped his chin up. “We brought dinner. I want a beer, and maybe to try the stuff you smoke.”

Trent hated to tell Diego, but—“Well, here’s the thing. I have beer, and that’s all. The other? It’s still a plant. Haven’t had time to mess with it.”

“Beer’s good,” he said brightly. “I like beer now.”

So they sat at the table, Diego with his feet tucked in the chair beneath his butt, and talked about the barn and the plans for the ranch. They discussed everything having to do with business, they joked and teased each other, but they all avoided bringing up the bones.

And Trent didn’t once mention the man he’d fucked that day. The man who was on his mind even when he’d been scrubbing the carpet.

Seeing Diego and Joe together made Trent regret being so quick to leave Hollis House. It wouldn’t have hurt to have gotten the guy’s name and number. Of course, that worked both ways. He had to remind himself that the stranger he’d fucked hadn’t been any more interested in getting his info, either.

Plus, if his dad had killed his mom, Trent needed to figure out what that meant for him. He wasn’t stupid and wouldn’t automatically assume he was going to murder his partner if he ever had one. He didn’t have the anger his father seemed to have carried in his core, disguised as righteousness and the God-given command to discipline his boys.

“You worried about what people will say?” he finally asked, when Joe stood to leave with a passed out Diego in his arms. “I mean, if people talk shit about it, I don’t think Diego will care.”

Joe nodded sagely. “But you think it might make a difference to a guy you’re into?”

“If that ever happens, maybe.” Trent rolled his lips in, thinking about how much to say.

Diego sniffled, burrowing closer to Joe.

Trent decided to let them be on their way. “Y’all be careful. See you in the morning.”

Joe didn’t leave. He had an intense look on his face. “Anyone worth being yours won’t be an asshole about a past we had nothing to do with.”

“Not like I’ll be able to go out for a while anyway,” Trent observed. “Not just the barn, but, you know. It’d be a good idea to wait a couple of months and make sure Diego’s former pack isn’t going to try anything.”

“You were eager to go, now you’re not. Guess the crappy sex with Bill was enough to tide you over, huh?”

Trent shrugged. “Almost as good as fucking my hand, yeah.”

Joe laughed and after he left, Trent wondered if he was lying to his brother.

“No. We never did tell each other who we fucked in the first place. We’re not that kind of brothers.” Even if Trent did tease Joe about being noisy and spanking Diego now, it was different. Joe and Diego were committed. That meant something to Trent, too.

It meant Diego was a part of their family, a brother-in-law he could joke around with and harass, not a fly-by fuck he wouldn’t see again. Diego and he could be friends, and he thought they kind of already were.

Trent cleaned up the kitchen, tossing the beer cans into the recycling bin. He stepped out onto the back porch and watered his plants. Standing there, he had the oddest sensation of being watched. The short hairs on his nape felt like they quivered with an electric current of alarm.

He knew that feeling. Trent went very still, hardly daring to breathe. Someone, some
thing
was watching him.

Chapter Six

Mahon wasn’t going to be fooled again. Trent froze, his senses alerting him to the fact he was once again being stalked. Mahon didn’t doubt for one moment that was what happened. Trent had been aware of him in Uvalde. He was aware of Mahon now, though perhaps not on a conscious level. Some part of him knew.

Mahon had been patient, watching the old trailer, waiting. He’d been close enough to inspect the plants growing on the porch—marijuana, which surprised him for reasons he couldn’t fathom. He supposed he never thought of cowboys smoking pot, just figured they all dipped that nasty chewing tobacco.

There’d been no snuff can rings on Trent’s back pockets. He hadn’t smelled like tobacco, or pot, or anything but clean, sexy man. Mahon had been battling hard-ons half the evening, thinking about Trent’s personal aroma.

And how he wanted to know more of it, from the muskier scent of his balls and ass, to the rich fragrance beneath his arms. Mahon wanted to lick him from head to toe, learn every flavor there was to him.

Which made his job really hard to do. Mahon stayed in the dark, careful to keep his eyes shielded.

Slowly, Trent turned his head, giving the area a thorough perusal. There was no way he could see Mahon.

Yet when Trent looked in his direction finally, Mahon’s internal alarms went off. There was an almost palpable connection between them, one Mahon thought he should be able to reach out and get an electrical shock from.