The Best of J.D. Walker Box Set

A Cowboy For Keeps“See you next month, Slim,” Fred Jenkins said with a smile as he handed over the receipt for my purchases. He was the owner of the only supply store for forty miles. “Bye now,” I replied as I walked out the door. The warm summer sun was low in the sky, spreading pretty colors all over as twilight slowly took hold of the heavens. It was something I loved, almost as much as the mountains around me. I ambled along, admiring the view above me, when suddenly I tripped over something on the sidewalk which nearly made me drop the feed bags off my shoulders. I could almost hear the voice of my dearly departed mother saying, “Boy, your head’s always in the clouds.” God, I missed her. When I got my balance back, I turned around to see what had caused me to stumble. A pair of long, lean, and dusty jeans-clad legs were in the middle of the pavement. The legs belonged to a very shabby-looking man who sat on the ground, slumped against the dirty wall near the boarded up store to his left. His dusty black cowboy hat was pulled down low over his face, but I could make out a strong, firm jaw line with many days’ worth of beard growth on it. A ragged old backpack was on the ground beside him. Concerned, I walked toward him and put my bags down nearby. “Hey there, cowboy.” A weak groan was the only response. Alarm bells went off in my head. Pushing my brown hat up on my forehead, I stooped next to the man and reached a hand out to touch him, but he jerked away, a small cry of pain escaping him. “Whoa, there. Didn’t mean to startle you,” I said, backing off a little. The man slowly pushed his hat up, wincing as he did so. Tired brown eyes looked up at me and my heart stopped. The man before me was even prettier than the sunset on the horizon. And that was saying something. He was bruised something awful, though. I dragged my eyes away from his defeated gaze—and black eye turning purple—to inspect the arms at his sides. Black and blue all over, it seemed. His hands looked like he’d been in a fight, and scrapes covered what I could see of his knuckles. Guess he gave as good as he got, whatever the tussle had been about, if that was the reason for his present condition. Good for him, but…Jesus. “What happened, man?” The stranger removed his hat, and I saw a full head of dark brown hair, the strands sweaty and a mess. I made a snap decision. “Scratch that. I don’t care. You need to get cleaned up, and a place to rest for a while, I’m thinking.” And some tender loving from yours truly. I looked him dead in the eye. “You ever kill anybody?” Startled, the man slowly shook his head. “Steal anything?” In the fading light, I saw a blush steal up his cheeks. He slowly nodded. “Was it because you were desperate?” Nod. “Got any family?” Shake. “Were you roughed up here in town?” Shake. “On the way here?” Nod. “Mind being around gay cowboys?” I thought I’d make it clear right off the bat what he’d be getting into, if he came with me. Shake. The blush came back again in full force. All righty then. “Okay. I own a ranch some miles down the road. Nothing fancy, just a few horses and cows, and a sizeable garden for fresh vegetables. Not really in it for the money, since I already have a job as a consultant online. I just love the land, and the scenery. Got a couple guys working for me who live there, too. Got a big enough house for ten people. It’s a safe place, and we don’t mind company. We’re real friendly and laid back. You interested?” The tired stranger gave me a look that said, “This is too good to be true.” I felt sympathy for the man, and something else, too, which I didn’t want to delve into—not yet, anyway. After a minute or two, he nodded. I stood up and stepped back to give him room to get up off the ground. It was painful to watch him move because he was obviously hurting. I wanted to leave his pride intact, so I let him do it on his own. Finally, after bracing himself against the wall, the man stood, the old backpack in one hand, and his hat in the other. We were the same height, which had me thinking all kinds of wicked things which he wasn’t in any shape to handle, even if he were interested. He put his hat back on and waited for my next move. I picked up the bags of feed and led the way to Lodi, my faithful pickup truck. I put the sacks in the back and unlocked the doors so my soon-to-be guest could get in. Once buckled up, I started the truck and headed down the road for the long trip back home. * * * * Five minutes into our journey, I asked, “You got a name?” I was curious as to what he would sound like. He cleared his throat. “Daniel Tiberius Crane.” Oh now, that voice was something else, pulling at me down low in my belly. Though hesitant and scratchy, its timber was soothing to my ears. “That’s a mouthful, isn’t it? Slim Montagne, at your service.” He gave me a slight nod, and that was all we said for the rest of the trip. * * * * By the time I pulled up at the ranch, it was nightfall. The lights were bright on the front porch. “Hey, Slim.” Out the window, I saw Ret—all five feet ten inches of him—walk to the back of the truck to get the sacks of feed. I got out and closed the door behind me. “Ret.” I walked up to him and wrapped an arm around his trim waistline, kissing him lightly on the mouth. He turned it into a mini make out session that curled my toes. Damn, he was good at that. When I could catch my breath, I cleared my throat and said, “We have a guest for a while. This is Daniel.” The man in question had slowly gotten out on his side of the truck, and now swayed slightly, dead on his feet. That he barely responded to the intimate exchange between Ret and me was telling, except for his slightly raised eyebrows. After taking a good look at him, Ret left my side, ignored the feed bags, and sauntered over to Daniel to shake his hand. Daniel flinched a little, but he caught himself and shook it. “Nice to meet you,” Ret said. “Likewise,” Daniel replied. “All right, Ret.” I nodded at the back of the truck. “Why don’t you put away the feed and we’ll see you at the dinner table in a little bit, okay?” “Sure thing, babe.” With that, I escorted Daniel inside the rambling house. I took my hat off and placed it on one of the hooks on the wall near the front door. Daniel did the same. As I walked with him toward the sleeping area, I pointed out things of interest in my home—his now, too, for as long as he needed it. There was the usual in the way of furniture in the front room. The kitchen to the right was modern and huge. Beside it was a small office where I worked on the computer most days. A long hallway led to the back of the house. Bedrooms were on either side. The whole time, I watched Daniel out of the corner of my eye. He didn’t say much, just took it all in. I figured he needed a little time to himself before dinner. “Hey, why don’t you take a nice hot shower and get situated? I’ll have some painkillers waiting for you at the dinner table. Any room on the left hand side of the hallway is yours. Got three bathrooms down there, too. Just pick one. Dinner in a bit, okay?” “Thanks,” he said in a low voice. With an effort, his eyes met mine. “I don’t even know what to…just…thank you.” That said, he moved carefully down the hall, his dusty boots clacking with every step against the wooden floors. As exhausted as he was, Daniel was still a sight to behold, all lean, firm lines, tight ass, narrow waist. I reminded myself that he was here to heal, not be manhandled by me, unless that was what he wanted, later on. Something about the man called to me in a way that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Mine, it said. I strolled back toward the kitchen, where Roscoe—house manager, cook, and Man Friday—was putting the finishing touches on a great-smelling stew. He was an inch shorter than me, and built like a bear. “Something smells good, honey,” I said as I walked up to him and patted him on the ass. I wasn’t kidding when I said we were real friendly on this ranch. “I know what you want, and you can’t have any until it’s ready,” Roscoe said, stirring the huge pot on the stove. “Now, how do you know what I want? I might surprise you,” I teased, running a finger up and down the crease of his ass through the tight jeans he wore. I grabbed a firm cheek and squeezed. Roscoe pushed back into my hand, briefly. “No surprise there, cowboy. And the answer’s still no.” “You’re so mean to me,” I groused, stepping away to set the table. “You say that all the time, but I’m still here, so—” “Can I help it if I love having you around, and not just because you’re a good cook?” I said. “Trying to sweet talk me won’t work, either. Tell me about the new guy.” I pulled out silverware for four people and was about to give him the story when Ret walked in. “What’s the story on our guest?” Ret asked as he grabbed bowls from one of the cabinets near the refrigerator. “I was just about to tell Roscoe,” I replied. “I was on my way back to the truck from the store when I tripped over this guy’s legs.” “You were staring at the sunset again, weren’t you?” Roscoe cut in. I stuck my tongue out at him. “He was just sittin’ there on the sidewalk, leaning against a wall. Man looked like he hadn’t a friend in the world.” “So you picked up another stray.” Ret took a bag of rolls and a stick of butter out of the refrigerator and placed them on the table. Then he grabbed a six-pack of beer. “I couldn’t help it,” I said. “You don’t mind do you?” “Hell, no! Roscoe and I were strays of a kind, too, at one point. And we always help people in need. It’s what we do. And if he decides to stay, well—” “Ditto,” Roscoe concurred. “Thought so. He’s bruised up pretty bad, but I think he might be hurting worse on the inside. We gotta help him heal, best way we know how. Deal?” “Sure thing, boss,” Ret said. * * * * Fifteen minutes later, the stew was done and ready to be served when Daniel walked into the kitchen. Apparently, he had at least a change of clothing in his backpack. He wore an old white T-shirt that molded to his sleek chest, sweatpants that hung from his hips, and his lovely, large feet were bare. Daniel’s hair was wet and combed. He definitely cleaned up well, though he still looked like the walking wounded. Definitely needs someone to take care of him, I thought. Out loud, I said, “Have a seat, Daniel.” “Thanks,” he replied quietly. “And you can call me Danny, if you like.” He sat in the chair next to Ret. I placed some pain pills beside his bowl, along with a bottle of water. He gave me a tired smile as a thank you. Roscoe introduced himself and they shook hands across the table. Danny wasn’t as skittish as before about being touched. That was an improvement, at least. “All right, folks. Dig in,” I said. That’s as close to a prayer as we ever got in this household. While we ate, Ret gave us an update on the ranch in general. Then Roscoe mentioned the need for some household supplies. I’d have to make a run into town again soon. While I listened with one ear, I observed Danny as he inhaled his food in mere minutes. Seemed he hadn’t eaten in a while. He ate heartily, consuming at least two steaming bowls of stew and four rolls slathered with butter. Good thing Roscoe always made enough food for a herd. Throughout the meal, Ret and Roscoe would feed each other—and sometimes me—and touch affectionately. They were definitely a couple, though I was always welcome as a part of their circle. I took full advantage of that, too. Danny watched the interplay between us with amusement, but didn’t say anything.