All About the Cowboy Box Set

A Cowboy For Keeps-2

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.