A Cowboy's Heart

Chapter 1 The last of the summer heat bore down on the land with a dry, crushing weight that trampled the stunted grass. Ranch hand Tommy Prout leaned over the split-rail fence encircling the cattle pasture and stared at the horizon, that magical spot where the faded denim sky touched distant rocks, and tried to think of nothing at all. It was too hot for thought—the sun hung low in the west, the last of its rays stretching across the landscape, bleaching everything it touched. Tommy chewed on a piece of broken grass, his jaw working with a slow rhythm that matched the chaw of the cattle closest to him. His cowboy hat was pulled low to shield his eyes, and the span across his shoulders burned beneath the rugged shirt he wore. A stillness draped the world, a lull broken only by the occasional sigh of the breeze and the cattle’s muttered lowing. At nineteen, Tommy thought life didn’t get much better than this. He’d started out back East, the only son of a young cotton mill weaver who’d had him out of wedlock. When he was born, his mother returned to the mill, leaving him in the care of her aging parents. He grew fast and strong, despite his slim frame, and by the time he was eight, he worked on the family orchard picking apples, hauling baskets, cleaning or canning or selling fruit. He was no stranger to an honest day’s labor. Sometimes, in the early morning before dawn broke and the foreman came out to the bunkhouse to rouse the ranch hands, Tommy would lie awake in his bunk and swear he could smell the sweet, sharp scent of freshly cut apples, crisp and so tart, it made his eyes sting. He missed that farm and his family, not in any tangible fashion any more but in a nostalgic, achy way, because he knew he’d never be back. He had a new life now, here on the prairie, among the cattle. There were a few coins rattling in his pocket; that evening, his latest pay would join them, and he’d be richer than ever until he went into town. He had steady work at the Triple S Ranch, a place to lay his head at night, breakfast and dinner every day. He didn’t think he could ask for much more than that. But he’d like to. The thought startled him and he stood to stretch, tilting his hat back to shade the nape of his neck. Yeah, maybe, he conceded. Maybe he’d like a place of his own, a small plot of land with a few head of cattle on it, shorter hours in cooler weather, someone to share his bedroll with at night. Someone whose strong arms and large hands would rouse in him feelings he’d never felt with another before. Someone to snuggle up to or wake against, with thin lips that would feel like a brand on his skin, whose stare would make Tommy weak from the brim of his hat all the way down to the tips of his boots. Someone like…just say it, he chided himself. No one else will hear it. Someone like Hal. With a furtive glance, Tommy looked around, but he stood alone on the dirt road that ran the length of the Triple S property. The only creatures nearby were the cattle in their pasture, chewing cud and ignoring him, and his dappled mare grazing nearby. Like the other ranch hands, he was supposed to be patrolling the fence, checking for fallen logs or gaps through which the cattle might escape, but he’d pulled up short when the sun began to set and leaned over the fence to watch it drop from the sky. Now he straightened his hat, brushed red dirt from the front of his shirt, and tugged at his belt buckle to settle it into place. His jeans cut sweetly over his crotch, where a small ache had bloomed at the thought of Hal Bolstrum, the ranch foreman and Tommy’s boss. Easily fifteen years Tommy’s senior, Hal ran the daily operations of the ranch. He was firm, but fair. Tommy fell for him the moment he first saw the man, six months ago when Hal rode into town looking to hire. With his short-trimmed hair a steely shade of blond-gray and his flint-like eyes that seemed almost colorless in the sun, Hal stood a head taller than Tommy, his shoulders almost twice the breadth of the younger man’s. Hal’s was the first voice Tommy heard in the morning when the foreman came calling at the bunkhouse, and the last he recalled as he drifted off to sleep after a hard day. Nothing Hal ever said or did indicated an interest in Tommy—he knew the boy’s name, and the sound of it always made Tommy straighten his posture and throw back his shoulders. Whenever Hal spoke to him, Tommy replayed the scene later in his mind, searching for hidden nuances in things his boss said or did. But their roles were well-defined—Hal ran the show, and Tommy was just another kid he employed. Still, that never stopped Tommy from dreaming. As Tommy approached his mare, he let his gaze roam over the fence that kept the cattle penned. There were no fallen logs or broken rails for as far as he could see. Gathering his horse’s reins in one hand, he pulled himself up into the saddle and turned his mare around in a circle to stare down the fence’s length. It looked sound to him, all along the dirt road, around the edge of the pasture, and down the far side, as well. He squinted into the setting sun, but the fence continued into the distance and disappeared. No matter—other ranch hands would be checking out that way. Tommy had the few miles nearest the main house, and they looked good to him. Pointing his mare up the road, Tommy headed in for the day. With the sun so low in the sky, he knew it had to be close to dinner time, and being one of the youngest hands on the ranch, he usually found himself at the end of the mess line. Not tonight. He’d ride in early, brush down his horse, wash up a bit, maybe run into Hal somewhere along the way… A slow grin split Tommy’s features. A moment or two alone with the foreman, in the quiet of the bunkhouse, would be worth any hell he might catch for coming in off the ranch early. Who knew where things might lead? Tommy could picture the scene in his mind—standing by his bunk with his shirt off as he changed for dinner, Hal right up behind him, the air tense between them, as if a storm were brewing. What would it take to close that distance? To feel those large hands rest on Tommy’s shoulders, to feel Hal’s breath on the back of his neck, to hear that stern voice soften to an intimate whisper? Yeah, right. Tommy spurred his horse on faster, as if he could outrun those fantasies. The saddle’s pommel bumped the front of his jeans with each step the mare took, jostling his crotch and making it hard for him to put his mind on his job. He scanned the fence as he trotted beside it, almost disappointed there wasn’t something broken or out of place, something to concentrate on, something that wasn’t his foreman and the thought of the two of them together in the bunkhouse. By the time Tommy passed the fence and angled his horse toward the main house, Hal had him pinned down onto his bunk, fly unbuttoned, under drawers bulging through the spread denim, his d**k aching from the man’s gentle touch. Hal would be gentle, Tommy suspected, especially when Tommy trembled beneath him and whispered Hal was his first. He imagined Hal kissing the words away, that husky voice deepening an octave or two when he murmured Tommy’s name. In his saddle Tommy leaned forward, pressing himself against the pommel and enjoying the rub. In his mind, the sweet ache was the pressure of Hal’s palm against his c**k, and Tommy’s bottom lip stung where he bit into it from the sensations. He hoped the bunkhouse would be empty; nothing sounded better than sitting on the edge of his bed and fisting his d**k in an old bandana for quick relief. As he neared the main house, Tommy saw two women on the wide front porch—one of cattle baron Gus Sharpley’s daughters and Juana, the ranch’s Mexican servant girl. At the sound of the horse’s hooves, they glanced up from their quilting. Juana nodded his way; the daughter was one of Mr. Sharpley’s twins whose names Tommy always got mixed up, Sallie or Susie, one of the two. She glanced up as he rode by, then turned back to her sewing without acknowledging him. Behind the main house sat the bunkhouse, a squalid, one-story shed just barely large enough to sleep a dozen men. Inside, twin rows of bunks lined either wall; there was one entrance, facing the main house, and along the back wall, drawn curtains hid a hand pump, two large washing tubs, and an old washboard that had seen better days. Tommy’s bunk was the fourth one in on the left hand side. A short ways off from the bunkhouse sat the stables, and Tommy headed there first to unsaddle his mare and brush her down. He did a shoddy job of it, his mind still lost in daydreams, his groin throbbing with a fierce ache he couldn’t wait to address. Leading his mare to her stall, he broke a fresh bale of hay for her, then hurried to the bunkhouse. In another few minutes, the cook would ring the dinner triangle, bringing the other cowboys in off the ranch, and Tommy would lose any semblance of privacy. Three wooden steps led to a short porch that spanned the bunkhouse. Tommy jumped from the ground to the porch, missing the steps completely in his haste. His boots clomped on the wooden boards as he headed for the half-open door. Inside he could hear low voices, a man’s murmur, a woman’s laugh. Tommy frowned. Who…? He set a hand against the door and eased it open, letting the hinges announce his presence. Inside, Hal sat on Tommy’s bunk, his back to the door. Sharpley’s oldest daughter, Sarah, was busy making the bed beside him, her skirts in disarray as Hal’s hands roamed up her legs. She giggled as she sidestepped, but never far enough to pull out of Hal’s reach. As Tommy watched, one of those same hands he’d envisioned on his own body slipped between Sarah’s knees, then caressed up her inner thigh until it disappeared within the folds of her petticoats. Tommy cleared his throat. “Hal,” he called out. “Miss Sarah. Hey.” At the sound of his voice, Sarah whirled around, slapping her skirts into place. Her hair was disheveled, the once tight bun now loosened into curls framing her heart-shaped face. “Oh!” she said, in a small, startled voice. Her gaze flickered from Tommy to Hal and back again. Then, without another word, she scurried around the bed, away from Hal, and hurried to tuck in the sheets. Hal glanced over his shoulder, saw Tommy, and visibly relaxed. “Tommy,” he said, his voice thick with lust. He fell back to the mattress and stretched his arms above his head—my bunk, Tommy thought, his mind a blur, that’s my bunk he’s in, mine. His shirt was unbuttoned, his pale chest covered with tufts of graying blond hair through which his n*****s looked like twin freckles. His jeans were unbuttoned, as well, his belt unbuckled, and Tommy stared at the obscene bulge tenting the front of his drawers. When Hal grasped that bulge and shoved it down to button his jeans, Tommy’s mind went blank. “Why are you back early?” Hal asked. He began buttoning his shirt, sitting up to do so. “Um.” With Hal’s shirted back to him, all business again, Tommy pulled his thoughts from his foreman’s sheathed erection and tried to make his throat work around the desire distracting him. “Tommy?” Hal prompted. “You hear me, son?” “It’s about supper time,” Tommy replied. At the harsh look Hal threw his way, he explained, “I done my part of the fence. I had the bit out here closest to the house. It’s all secure, I swear it. The other guys must still be farther out but I thought I’d save some time and ride on in, ‘stead of waiting.” With a laugh, Hal stood and tucked the ends of his shirt into his jeans. “I’m surprised all y’all ain’t in here, clamoring for your pay.” He flashed Tommy a rare smile that made his knees weak. Tommy gripped the doorjamb to keep from puddling on the porch. “Give me ten minutes, kid, what d’ya say? I’ll have your money ready then.” Tommy nodded, quick to please. “Ten minutes, sure.” He could give Hal that, and anything else the man might want, as well. He backed out of the bunkhouse, pulling the door into its original half-shut position. But he hadn’t taken a step before he heard Sarah’s giggle again. “Hal, stop,” she admonished. “That boy’s still outside. I think he fancies you.” Tommy caught his breath, straining to hear the foreman’s reply. When it came, it cut him to the quick. “He ain’t known a woman’s touch,” Hal joked. “When he does, I guarantee he’ll stop jerking off over me.” He knows. God. Blindly Tommy stumbled down the steps, tripping over his own boots. Damn. Was it that obvious? If Hal knew, and Sarah knew…who else? The other cowboys? What did they say about him when he wasn’t around? That’s why they rode on. Jim Joe and Jose, had they been snickering earlier that morning when Slim told Tommy to focus on the part of the fence closest to the house? “Not much to be done on this half, Tom,” Slim had said. Were they laughing at him even then? “I’m sure you can handle it alone. If you run into any trouble, just holler for Hal.” Tommy’s face heated at the memory of those words. He’d thought nothing of them at the time, and had even nodded in agreement, yes, holler for Hal. Will do. Damn him for being so stupid, so naive. Damn them for taking advantage of that. He headed for the stable—he needed to be alone. Not for the same reason he had headed for the bunkhouse, though; his ardor had left him, all thought of indulging in his fantasies gone. He needed to tuck himself into a corner and hide away from the world, at least until the embarrassment passed and his flushed cheeks cooled. How could he sit among his friends at dinner and look them in the eye? If they knew his sordid thoughts, if they suspected his feelings for Hal? How could he share their sleeping space, or change his clothing among them, or bathe in their company? They would think him interested in their bodies, and any glance, any word, any sound would be misconstrued and vilified. How would he ever look at Hal again? With his head held high and his shoulders back? The man knew what Tommy thought of him, he knew, they all knew… From the main house came the clang and clash of the dinner triangle, calling the men in off the ranch. Tommy stopped, uncertain. Another couple minutes and the other ranch hands would descend on the stables. He couldn’t hide there. And if he weren’t at the meal table, would anything be said? Better to be with them and stem any overt conversation instead of letting them have their say. There would be questions, later. Where had he been? Tommy could almost hear the snide comments now. Doing what? they’d want to know. Thinking of whom? A strong hand clapped him on the back, startling him. Tommy jumped and turned to find Hal grinning down at him. Tommy no longer tried to read into that smile—he knew what lay behind it, and he fought the urge to wrap his arms around himself and pull away. “C’mon, kid,” Hal said. His voice still sounded the same, no hint of judgment or mockery in it. “I’ll hand out the pay after supper.” Before Tommy could reply, Hal’s hand clamped onto his shoulder, steering him toward the main house. A part of him still savored the touch, and damn his stubborn d**k if it didn’t take interest, as well. Tommy hurried to keep up with Hal, taking a step and a half for each of the older man’s long strides. With the weight of Hal’s hand on him, Tommy wondered if maybe it didn’t matter if everyone knew what he thought of the foreman. If his boss didn’t care, why should the others? Why should he? “Oh,” Hal started, as if remembering something. Tommy’s heart stopped in his chest, but a gentle squeeze from Hal set it beating in double time. “And what you saw this afternoon, with me and Sarah in the bunkhouse? Let’s keep that just between us, if we could. Her paw’d have a fit. You know what I mean.” Quickly, Tommy nodded, eager to please. “Sure.” Hal ran his arm around Tommy’s shoulders and pulled him into a quick half-hug. “‘Preciate it, kid. I knew I could count on you.” Tommy ducked his head to hide his own foolish grin. He almost hoped Hal would still be holding onto him when the others rode in, if only to give them something to talk about. Who cared what they thought? Tommy would face two dozen snickering ranch hands for another few moments in Hal’s one-armed embrace, and tonight, while everyone else slept, he’d have something more than dewy-eyed daydreams to mull over as he massaged his d**k beneath the sheets. He’d have this moment, this arm around him, and the lingering scent of the man beside him to rouse his libido all over again.