Strung Up: A Blacktop Cowboys® Novella (12 page)

I wasn’t sure how to answer.

Then Jerry’s cell phone rang. He said, “Sorry, I gotta take this,” and swung his legs over the other side of the log, disappearing into the darkness.

Staring into the flames, I brooded about my uncertain future. I didn’t trust my ambivalence toward teaching because I was a master at self-sabotage. Maybe I considered this teaching experiment a failure so I had an excuse not to sign on for the next session. Then I could stick with the “I’m a ramblin’ man” warning I’d given Cres and return to the blacktop.

But I didn’t want to go back on the road. Facing miles of empty highway day after day…I knew firsthand it was as lonely as it sounded.

Loneliness hadn’t been an issue since I’d rolled into the Grade A complex. I spent my days surrounded by students and staff and my nights wrapped up in Cres.

Sexy, funny, sweet Cres.

I’d been such a fool to think I could work him out of my system. The more time we spent together the more I wanted. Yet Cres hadn’t mentioned extending our time.

Maybe because you’ve done a bang-up job convincing him of your “itchy feet.”

Only because he’d been so insistent about never getting into another serious relationship, and I didn’t want to be the pathetic hanger-on, trying to convince him that I was worth the risk to his heart, because I wasn’t sure I was.

There was some confidence. I’d gotten my mo-jo back in the arena, but I didn’t have the same certainty with Cres unless I was fucking him. 

Why did this have to be so fucked up? Why couldn’t I just tell him my feelings had changed and I needed more than “just sex?”

Because I was worried that his feelings hadn’t changed. He’d made some strides in letting go of his guilt for moving on from Mick, but I knew he was still hung up on the guy. In all the weeks we’d been together, Cres hadn’t asked me to sleep over at his house. Which made no sense…unless he considered the bedroom he’d shared with Mick a sacred place he never wanted to share with another man. By denying me access to his personal space, he believed he was keeping to his original declaration he didn’t want anything but a physical relationship.

As much as it bugged me that I hadn’t gotten an invite into his bed, I had too much fucking pride to ask for one.

Boot steps stomping across the underbrush had me shaking off the melancholy. I expected to see Jerry reappear, but Macon stepped out of the dark woods.

“Breck! What are you doin’ out here?”

“Enjoying the campfire, the stars, and the clean Colorado air.”
While I’m wallowing in uncertainty of where “what is” intersects with “what could be.”

Jesus. Where had that hippie-dippy philosophy come from? I sounded like I’d been sampling some of their product.

Macon eyed Jerry’s empty beer can. “Are you enjoying an icy cold beer? Because I’d take one if you were offering.”

“Sorry. Fresh out.”

“I forget you’re a teetotaler now.”

I shrugged. “I don’t miss it, to be honest. I really don’t miss the bad decisions I made when I was liquored up.” I’d been hesitant to mention my non-drinker status to Cres, but he’d been fully supportive. He didn’t drink around me—his choice, not something I’d asked of him. He’d told me he’d rather have the taste of me in his mouth than beer anyway.

“I hear ya. So where’s Cres?”

“At his home, I reckon. Why?”

He lowered onto the log. “No reason. You two are usually joined at the hip.”

“He’s hit the busy season at the ranch now, so he’ll be around less.”

“Sucks for you,” Macon said. “So what’s this bullshit I’ve heard from Mom that you’re not re-upping to teach next session?”

“I’m not…
not
re-upping. I haven’t decided yet.”

“No need to get defensive. I get that dealing with teens isn’t for everyone. I thought you’d give it more than one session. Especially now that you’ve found someone worth sticking around for.”

“Me’n Cres haven’t discussed makin’ this relationship permanent, so we’ll see.”

“Yeah, right.” Macon smirked. “After seeing you two together, you’re feeling the burning need to go back on the road?”

I didn’t need him grilling me on things that were already pissing me off. “What are you doin’ here, counselor?”

“Babysitting, apparently.”

“Lemme guess. Stirling and Liam got into it again.”

He touched his nose.

“What is the deal with them?”

“They were both used to bein’ the alpha dog in their previous positions and neither is willing to be the beta even for one damn day.” He pinned me with a look. “Organic farming was my little sister’s bright idea, not mine. If I had my way, we’d use that acreage for pot. But it’s too late in the season to build grow houses. If she intends to plant anything next season, she has to prep that soil now before it snows so it’s ready to go in the spring.”

“What needs done before it’s ready to go?”

“Plowing, tilling, taking soil samples, figuring out what needs to be added to adjust the PH levels for each heirloom variety. Hiring a certifying agent. But instead of getting a jump on that, she thought it’d be funny to put powdered purple Kool-Aid in Liam’s favorite lab gloves.”

I winced. “Shit.”

“Yeah. His hands are stained the most hideous shade of purple. She bought him new gloves only after I chewed her ass, but she refused to apologize. She said he needs to grow a sense of humor. Then she added that next time she’ll dump blue powder in his cup.” He sighed. “Now I have to worry how Liam will retaliate, because there’s no way he’ll let this slide.”

Kool-Aid reminded me of the summers I’d spent toiling on the farm in South Dakota. I’d never minded the work—it was working with family that drove me away. I’d known from age ten that I wanted to rodeo and farm, so I’d practiced my rodeo skills during the day and pored over Ag magazines at night. I’d taken great satisfaction in the purple ribbons I’d won in 4H and for FFA at the state fair for the produce I’d grown in my section.

“What were you thinking about just now?” Macon asked.

“Sorry.” I shot him a sheepish look. “Didn’t mean to tune you out. I was just thinkin’ about farming and college. Lost opportunities.”

“Or ones that were taken from you?”

“I’ve had enough distance to admit that goin’ back home and helping run the family farm hadn’t ever been in the cards for me.”

Macon leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “So if you really hate teaching, would you consider coming to work for us on the organic farming side of Grade A?”

“You askin’ me because you wanna pass off the babysitting duties?”

He laughed. “I’m pleading the fifth on that one. But I am serious because if you would’ve said no to the rodeo school, I planned to ask if you’d be interested in the Ag side.”

Maybe I did have options besides hitting the happy trail to nowhere. “Why?”

“I’ve known you since college. I trust you and you’ve got the background to be a real asset. And I don’t think you’ll find anyplace else that suits you better on a personal level either. You have acceptance and respect here, Breck. That’s something you were looking for the past couple of years.”

He’d poked every one of my “Yes! Where do I sign?” buttons. That was the perfect example of Macon being the Gradskys’ secret weapon in negotiations; he wouldn’t walk away unless he got what he wanted.

Maybe you should adopt that philosophy.

“I’ll think about it.”

A log popped with enough force it sounded like a gunshot and I jumped.

“Is this a private party?”

I jumped again and my head snapped up.

Cres stood on the other side of the campfire, his hands jammed in the front pockets of his jeans.

Macon chuckled and stood. “It is now.”

“Hey, Macon. How’s it goin’?” Cres asked.

“I can’t complain. How’ve you been?”

“Busy and cranky.”

Macon pointed at me. “Maybe you can pull each other out of your bad moods.” He hopped over the log and vanished into the forest.

I refocused on Cres. Firelight created a glow as if he were a mythical woodland creature.

“You’re lookin’ at me like I’m a ghost, Breck.”

“Since I hadn’t expected to see you tonight, I worried you were just an apparition I’d conjured up.”

“Nope. I’m flesh and blood and bone.”

I cocked my head. “Did you say you had a boner?”

He laughed. “Not yet.”

“The night is still young.” Except it wasn’t. It was after eleven and past the time early rising ranchers were usually in bed. “So you were in the neighborhood?”

Cres plopped down on the log across from me. “Nah. I was restless. So I took a drive.”

“And ended up here.” Why? Because he wanted to watch the next episode of
Archer
on Netflix with me? For a fast goodnight fuck to take off the restless edge?

If he was here to get fucked, I’d oblige him. Happily. At least twice if he did a little sweet talkin’. Or better yet, dirty talkin’.

Then he shocked the hell out of me by saying, “I took a drive here because I missed you, dumbass.”

The tightness in my chest loosened. I crooked my finger at him. “Prove it.”

He sauntered over, intending to sit next to me.

“Huh-uh. Down there”—I pointed to the ground—“so I can put my hands on you.”

“Bossy bulldogger wants me worshipping at his feet,” he said with a sly grin. “Not a surprise.” He situated himself between my legs, propping his forearms on my thighs.

“Forget something?”

Cres tilted his head back. “What?”

“This.” I lowered my lips to his and we kissed for a good long time. We needed that connection since Cres’s working hours had kept us apart of late.

“This is romantic,” he said softly.

“Only now that you’re here.” I leaned closer. “I wanna fuck you by a fire sometime. I’ll bet your ass looks hot with a red glow to it.”

Cres cranked his head around and narrowed his eyes at me. “Was that a hint that you want to spank me? Get my ass glowing red from these big hands of yours?”

“No. I never wanna hit you. Even when it’s supposed to be fun or hot and sexy or whatever.” The idea of touching him with anything except reverence—even the roughness that exploded between us wasn’t borne out of violence but passion—turned my stomach.

“Hey. I’d never ask that of you, okay?”

Sensing my tension, he nuzzled the inside of my thigh until I relaxed and said, “Okay.”

“I’d like to see you nekkid by firelight too, farmboy.”

“Maybe someday soon we’ll both get our wish.” I laced our fingers together and rested our joined hands on my knees. I dropped my chin onto the top of his head. “So tell me about your day, rancher.”

As Cres filled me in with the details about his long-assed day, while he was warm and pliant in my arms, I had a sense of rightness I hadn’t felt…maybe ever.

And I knew I’d do whatever it took to keep it.

Chapter Eight

Cres

Buzzing on the nightstand at four a.m. woke me and it wasn’t the alarm on my phone. I immediately reached for my cell and blinked at the caller ID.

Wyn.

“Bro, did you butt dial me again when you got up with Evan?” I said groggily.

“No. Melissa’s water broke.”

The panic in my brother’s voice had me sitting up. “She’s not due for another two months.”

“I know. I’m dropping Evan off with Sutton and London and takin’ her to the hospital.”

“What can I do?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be back so you’ll probably be doin’ everything by yourself the next couple of days at least.”

“Wyn, I’ll be fine. Take care of your wife and baby.”

He blew out a breath. “I’m not calling Mom and Dad—no reason to wake them up when there’s nothin’ they can do. I’ll give them an update when I know more.”

“Sounds good. Keep in touch as best as you can. Give Mel my love.”

“I will. Thanks.” He hung up.

I eased back down into the pillows, but I was wide awake and worried so it’d be pointless to try to go back to sleep. I got up, dressed, and shuffled to the kitchen to make coffee. Guess I’d get chores done early today.

If you’re doing them by yourself? Wrong.

In the past four years since our dad had retired and turned the ranch over to us, Wyn and I had doubled our herd. We’d leased grazing land instead of buying it outright to see how difficult a larger herd was to manage. Some times of the year one person could handle it all. But this time of year, Wyn and I both could stay busy from sunup to sundown. After Mick died, I’d willingly taken on more responsibilities because working until exhaustion had been easier than being alone in an empty house.

Before I’d met Mick it hadn’t bothered me to live alone.

That’s because you hadn’t known what you were missing.

Over the past few weeks that Breck and I had been together, I’d realized he’d exaggerated his contentment about being a lone wolf. We were together nearly every night. If we weren’t physically in the same space, we were on the phone. Or texting.

The pink and orange glow of sunrise spread across the horizon as I started down the porch steps. Banjo greeted me, his tail wagging crazily. I scratched behind his ears. “Let’s get you fed so we can start the day.”

He yipped in agreement.

I finished my coffee as Banjo chowed down. It’d be faster to check the herd on horseback than going over to Wyn’s and getting out a 4-wheeler. Then I could return for the truck before I started baling the grass we’d cut last week. I hoped the baler cooperated. Damn thing was old and touchy as hell. Only Wyn seemed to have the magic touch with it. We were babying it, trying to eke one last season out of it before we upgraded.

Banjo scrambled down the steps and rolled in the dirt. Then he shook himself and barked at me.

“Okay, okay, let’s get Petey saddled and we’ll be on our way to check cattle.”

Had I always talked to my dog this much?

Yes. Mick complained you talked to the dog more than you talked to most people.

For the first time in a long time, thinking about Mick didn’t cause me pain.