Conrad, Kelly - Rogue Preacher (Siren Publishing Ménage and More ManLove) (2 page)

Chapter One

Seminole Canyon three years later…

As Sunset loaded and unloaded his gun on a row of whiskey bottles, his lean, wiry body had become hard with muscles, and he walked with a determined stride. He kept his guns loaded and practiced day after day, destroying every whiskey bottle he emptied. He’d been at it for the three years he’d walked away from it all, and by now he could outshoot the best. He no longer wore a frock coat. He had exchanged it for a coat of buckskin and a curled cowboy hat that had a band around it with his wife’s ring attached.

Now that he was alone, he was constantly reminded of the secret he had carried with him all through his ministry. He didn’t remember the first time he finally succumbed to temptation, but in town after town, he filled his needs with faceless cowboys looking to make a quick buck. At first it was every now and then, but it grew into a nightly thing with no one looking but God and the Devil. Now that all his excuses were gone, the secret consumed him. He no longer had anything to keep him from living the life he wanted, but because the Bible taught against it, he had a problem giving himself over to it completely. Women, he could have. The saloons were full of them, but they always left him strangely unsatisfied. And then it began haunting his dreams. Many times he would see a silhouette of a cowboy with a cock so damned long and big, he’d wake up pumping himself hard—so damned hard he thought he was going to pump himself dry.

How many times had he walked into a saloon and found his gaze wandering until he saw a firm ass in a pair of tight jeans, or the lusty frame of a handsome cowboy? He tried to push it out of his mind, but eventually he’d give in and go and stand beside him at the bar just to inhale his scent. And then the day came when he couldn’t recall his wife’s face anymore. It had become blurred by a succession of big, sexy cowboys with cocks so long he dreamed of having them, one by one, rammed up his ass. Guilt filled him. Where would he go now? What would he do? His secret life had always been something that would have to stay hidden. It was part of his fantasy life such as an erotic dream, a dirty habit, or a secret no one could ever know about—until now.

* * * *

“Where’s your Bible, preacher?”

“In a hole in the ground,” came the dusty drawl.

“I was right,” the cowboy said, as he leaned around to get a better look at him. “I’ll be damned if you ain’t the famous Sunset Carson.”

Sunset reached up and pulled his hat a little further down over his face, and kept drinking his whiskey.

“I used to watch you…”

“Shut up!” Sunset growled.

“No, it is you. I know because I used…”

Sunset banged his glass down on the bar and turned to the stranger. “Look, I come in here to relax before I get on the trail again, so I’d appreciate it if you’d get the hell out of my face.”

“Get on the trail? Where you goin’?”

Even though Sunset ignored him, it didn’t discourage the cowboy. He just kept staring at him as if he’d just witnessed the second coming. He could see that the years had changed Sunset. He looked dangerous—like a stone-cold gunslinger. His neat preacher’s hair had grown long and lay curly and untamed several inches below his shoulder. His smooth, handsome face had a stubble of beard on it which hid his dimpled youth. It was hard to tell whether he had been aged by what he’d experienced or if it was his unkempt and rugged appearance. He’d heard about all the suffering he’d gone through, and as near as he could tell, it seemed to have added a sort of maturity to his looks, making him twice as handsome. Maybe a little more sorrow reflected in his eyes, but even through the stubble on his face, you could still see the dimples in his cheeks that made him seem younger than he actually was. He had stood tall in the pulpit, ten feet at least, dressed in a black preacher’s garb, preaching hellfire and brimstone with a boldness no one had ever seen before. The first place he ever preached was in the saloon he stood in now. He could handle the rowdies with one hand tied behind his back and could take a punch with the best of them. He could sure as hell make a believer out of a cowboy with his fists, if not with his words. He was always a wild hare that carried a gun in one hand and a Bible in the other. He didn’t have a problem giving a man a second chance, but now, it seemed the preacher needed one for himself.

Now that it was all over, he had the look of a loner, or a wanderer who nursed a troubled past. With nothing to tie him down, he turned into a drifter, a lone cowboy with no roots and nowhere to hang his hat. Without a family or a home, others would view him with great suspicion, but when the moment was right, he would always prove his worth as a hero. Although he was accepted by those around him, he ultimately packed his bags and rode off into the sunset, never to be seen again. With no direction, he lived the life of a gunman and was often accused of being an outlaw, but in reality, he was just deeply troubled.

“If you need to talk…”

* * * *

Sunset turned his head and looked at the stranger. “Look, cowboy, I—” His words stopped when he saw the spider tattoo on the stranger’s neck. His gaze lingered on it, knowing he’d seen it before, but couldn’t remember where. His gaze lifted, and his eyes narrowed. There was something familiar about his face. He tried to place him, but he just couldn’t seem to put it together. He finally concluded that he must have seen him, or someone like him, during his travels as a frontier preacher, since he covered a big territory. With the stranger waiting for him to continue, he said, “I ain’t lookin’ for company.”

“Yeah? What are you lookin’ for? If it’s lost lambs here in the Oasis Saloon, I’m afraid you won’t have too many takers.”

“Look—” Sunset began, searching for a name.

“Vince…Vince Michaels.”

“Look, Michaels, I’m hot and tired right now, so if you don’t mind, I just came in here to wash the trail dust out of my throat.”

“Sure, preacher—”

Sunset was beginning to show his impatience. “Since I ain’t preachin’ no more, you don’t have to call me that.” He hesitated, a troubled look on his face as he turned back to his whiskey. “I guess maybe I’m one of them lost lambs that needs savin’.”

“Don’t tell me the holier-than-thou preacher fell from grace. Maybe I should buy a round of drinks.”

“It ain’t nothin’ you celebrate, cowboy.”

“I don’t agree. Bein’ religious is as inconvenient as hell…”

As the stranger continued to speak the words of an atheist, Sunset furtively cut his eyes toward him and let his gaze rake freely over his body. He was big and swarthy. His eyes were as bright a blue as he’d ever seen, the color so deep he knew something real bad had to be going on behind that blue curtain that hid his soul. He seemed to smile a lot, as if he were full of mischief. Sunset figured he must stay outside a lot since his brown hair was streaked with blond. His shoulders were wide, and his hips narrow. A couple of curls fell along his brow, making him look like a naughty little boy. His lips weren’t necessarily full, but had an appealing curl to them. He was handsome, and rugged—and there was something about those eyes. Maybe they’d seen a lot in his day, something that turned this hunky type cowboy into a wild creature who could no doubt hold his own—and he hated him. Not only for his interference into his life, but for the strange melting warmth the cowboy made him feel when he looked at him. “So you’re an atheist.”

“I believe in a lot of things, but God ain’t one of ’em,” he said, his blue eyes full of licking fire.

“Then why did you come to hear me preach?”

“I didn’t come to hear you. I came to watch you. Hell, you put on the best show in town. You know, you must’ve saved me about three times, until I realized it wasn’t your hellfire-and-brimstone sermons that drew me. The truth was, I just loved havin’ your hands all over me when I confessed my sins to you.”

Sunset looked at him with a frown. “What do you mean by that?”

“Just what you think I mean.”

“You mean, you’re—”

“I am, preacher. Through and through.”

Sunset turned away quickly. “Look, Vince, or whatever the hell your name is, I’m all out of conversation, so I’d appreciate it if you’d just let me finish my drink in peace.”

“Hey, you’ll get all the peace you want in your grave—”

“I didn’t—” Sunset’s words stopped suddenly when he turned and found Vince’s face too close to his. Before he got his next words out, he was imagining a kiss, a wet mouth, a cock wild and hard, pressing against his. He wanted to lie beneath Vince while he tore into his ass, making him cry out with more pleasure than he’d ever known. “I didn’t come in here to talk. I just want to relax and enjoy my drink,” he finally said, turning back to the bar.

“Then this is the place you need to be. Yeah, I mean you can come in here and relax with a drink, no woman yellin’ in your ear to do the chores. You can play a nice game of poker, talk with friends. And the stories you hear.” He chuckled. “Hey, I heard one just last week. It was all about this preacher turned gunslinger…”

Chapter Two

Preacher turned gunslinger.

It was a story that got printed in the local paper that Sunset was still trying to live down. If the cowboy was trying to get a rise out of him, that did it. He turned on his heels, grabbed Vince’s collar, and pushed his face up close to his. “That’s a lie, cowboy, and if you’re smart, you’ll let it die right here…before you do.” Brutally pushing him away, he said to the barkeep, “Give me a whiskey.”

“A whiskey?” Vince said. “My, my. I can remember a sermon you gave on the sins of—”

“A lot of good it did you, cowboy, since you don’t believe in anything but yourself.”

“Hey, you’re out of the business, so why would you care. Me? I just want to be friends. Is there somethin’ wrong with that?”

“Friends?” Sunset said, looking at Vince as if he were a bug crawling out from under the sink. “Why would I want to be friends with the likes of you?”

“Maybe because you’re just like me. A man that learned late in life what he really was. A man that—”

“Vince,” he said impatiently as he laid a threatening hand on one of his guns. “You know, I’m growin’ awful tired of hearin’ the sound of your voice! Maybe I would have turned the other cheek once, but no more, see? Just take note that I’m givin’ you plenty of warnin’. The mild, patient preacher is gone, and in his place are two six-gun barrels pointed right at you. You want to find out how much I’ve changed in three years, just count the notches because these guns I’m carryin’ ain’t for show. It just could be that them notches on there show the number of dumb cowboys that wouldn’t leave me be. Now, if you can understand that, I’d appreciate it if you’d either keep your mouth shut, or go somewhere I don’t have to lay eyes on you anymore because my trigger finger’s gettin’ awful itchy just lookin’ at you.”

“I don’t seem to remember you bein’ particularly mild or patient. And that trigger finger of yours ain’t been out of business since the first day I saw you.”

Sunset grabbed his whiskey bottle, his glass, and walked to a nearby table. When he saw Vince follow him, he looked up and said, “Are you still here? What is it with you? Are you hard of hearin’, or just plain dumb? Go, damn it!”

* * * *

Now that he’d found him, Vince wasn’t about to let the preacher out of his sight. He remembered the first time he happened to go back behind the tent to smoke a cigarette. He found the preacher out there fucking a cowboy’s ass in the dirt. From that night on, he watched the preacher and saw him sneak out after every meeting. He learned that it was usually a quick, do-it-and-go kind of thing, and he always paid them for their silence out of the donation plate. It was a real shame that these people didn’t know what their hard-earned money was going for. The strange thing was, the preacher seemed to believe what he was preaching. He just had an itch that had to be scratched every now and then. And then one night Vince paid the cowboy off that was waitin’ for the preacher, and met him himself. Vince remembered the night and the familiar voice that spoke to him.

“Are you Clay?”

“He couldn’t come. Will I do?”

He remembered Sunset sizing him up, and then he said, “You know what I want?”

“Clay didn’t tell me, but whatever it is, I think I can handle it.”

He watched Sunset as he began unbuttoning his pants. He had just got it undone, when suddenly his giant cock sprang from its confines and forced the rest of the fly to open. Never had he seen anything so big. He could almost taste it. He quickly lowered himself to his knees and took it in his hands almost worshipfully, stroking and rubbing it with a lustful longing in his eyes.