Author's website: http://www.therentgirls.com

As always, this story is for Melodie, Rentgirl one. You are the technical half of our duo and an amazing motivator. She and I went to Arcadia, a little town a hundred miles and two hundred years away from the city we live in, for a rodeo last year. I was blown away. If y'all haven't been to a bullriding competition, I highly recommend it. Special thanks to the betabunch, especially Pam, Elaine, Minz, Rose and Annette. I couldn't do this without y'all. Your hard work is greatly appreciated.

Prologue

He stood at the payphone outside the bar. Just his fucking luck that his brother had actually answered. Jim Ellison tried to time his monthly check-in so he would only have to speak to the answering machine.

"Jimmy, are you listening to me?"

He tapped down his irritation. Getting into a long-distance shouting match wasn't going to solve a damn thing. "Yeah, Steve, I'm listening."

The bar door opened for a moment, spilling out music, laughter and three drunken cowboys. Jim watched as the trio climbed into their pick-up and drove away.

"Dad needs your help, Jimmy."

"Yeah, right. The old man hasn't had any use for me since I was ten years old."

"Please, Jim, it's been a bad year for the ranch." Steve sounded embarrassed. "It's partially my fault. We tried a few new things that didn't pan out."

"How much?"

"What?"

Jim pushed the anger out of his voice. "How much money do you need this time, Steve?"

"A lot. We're not going to make the loan note."

"What loan note? The ranch has been paid off for a long time."

"We took out a mortgage three years ago. We needed to restock and do some major repairs. He might lose everything."

"I didn't know."

"You weren't supposed to. He didn't want you to."

"But now the old man does."

"No," Steve sighed, "probably not."

Jim was tired of the conversation. He had a cold beer and an almost guaranteed lay waiting in the bar. "Okay, Steve, what aren't you telling me?"

"Dad doesn't know how deep we're in."

"Jesus Christ, Steven, what did you do this time?"

"Nothing, I swear. I just haven't told him everything."

Jim had his doubts about Steve's honesty. His younger brother had never been trustworthy, had always been on the lookout for the better scheme or the easy way out. It didn't matter. He couldn't let them lose the ranch. It had been in his mother's family for generations. "How much and when?"

"By the end of August," Steven said, then named an astronomical dollar amount.

"Steve," Jim felt defeated, "that's three months from now. I'm working as a foreman on a cattle ranch. I don't have that kind of money. I can't get my hands on that kind of money."

"What happened to your rodeo winnings? Two years ago you placed high in the ranks. You had to have made at least a hundred grand."

"I don't get to live for free. I had entry fees and bills and living expenses just like everyone else."

"I know you, brother. You couldn't have made a dent in that much money."

You don't know me at all, brother, Jim thought caustically. "How I spent my prize money is none of your business."

"Look, Jimmy, I made some poor business decisions, not Dad. Are you going to punish him for my stupidity?"

"I'm not trying to punish anyone. I don't have the money."

"Sure," Steve snorted.

Jim was tempted to hang up, walk back into the bar and just forget this phone call ever took place. He couldn't. "I gave Carolyn fifty thousand dollars last year."

"What? Damn it, Jimmy, why?"

"She was my wife. I owe her."

"She was your wife for a couple of months after you got out of school. She ran around on you with every cowboy she could find while you were in the Army."

"Steve, just don't, okay? She was young. I shouldn't have left her alone so soon after we got married."

"I can't believe you're still making excuses for her. It wasn't your fault your chopper went down in Peru and you were stranded there for a year and a half."

"Enough, Steve."

"You always were blind when it came to that girl. She was fucking around while you were in the service, and she's fucking around now. She hasn't changed at all."

"I don't want to discuss Carolyn with you."

"I tried to tell you back then. Dad told you she was a little whore when you were in high school."

"Yeah, well, I didn't appreciate it then and I don't appreciate it now."

"What did she tell you she needed the money for this time, Jimmy?"

"What difference does it make? I gave it to her and it's gone."

"Did she give you another hard-luck story about her folks feed store?"

Jim silence was answer enough.

"I figured. You liked her folks more than you ever liked her. Well, brother, you've been had. If you actually ever came home for a visit instead of just making your monthly duty calls, you'd know the Plummers sold the store two years ago."

Jim refused to be baited. "Whatever she needed the money for, it doesn't matter. I don't have it anymore."

"She's back on the circuit, barrel racing. She's got herself a young boyfriend. Real young. It's a little hometown scandal."

"She's a free woman," Jim replied. "She can see whomever she wants to."

"Yeah," Steve went on as though Jim hadn't spoken, "she hooked up with some pretty boy. Kind of a gigolo, I hear."

"Steve," he warned.

"Looks like the Ellisons are going to lose their home so that you could bankroll Carolyn's latest piece."

"Steve," Jim's fury finally halted his brother's tirade.

"God, I'm sorry, Jimmy. It just makes me sick. This is going to kill Dad. The ranch is all he has left of Mom."

"I'll get the money."

"What?"

"I said that I'll get the money. Dad won't lose the place."

"How? You can bet that little bitch has already spent every dime on him."

"I've got enough cash left to hold me over on the road for a while and pay a couple of entry fees." His left shoulder, one of the reasons he'd quit rodeoing, ached at the thought of climbing up on another bull.

"Thank you, Jimmy."

"This is the last time, Steve. I swear to God, this is the last time I bail your ass out."

"I promise, the last time."

Jim hung the receiver up. Shit. Why had he promised to ride again?

It wasn't just the shoulder that had him dropping off the circuit two years ago. There had been days when he had been sure he was losing his sanity. The roar of the crowd had deafened him, the sun or the spotlights had blinded him, the smell of the animals had overwhelmed him, the touch of the rope around his hand and the clothing against his skin had burned him. In the beginning, he had thought that he was going crazy. In the end, injured and ill, he had chalked it up to burn-out and had walked away.

He would hand in his notice at the ranch tomorrow morning. It was a damn shame; he liked the job.

Decision made, he headed back into the bar.

Tomorrow, his peaceful life was over.

Tonight, he owed himself a cold beer to drink and a hot body to sink into.

Blair Sandburg walked through the strip of concession booths lining the midway. The smell of funnel cakes, onion rings, popcorn and hot dogs filled the still afternoon air. His stomach growled. Almost two years of spiced beans, rice and corn may have filled his belly, but it didn't satisfy his cravings for American carnival cuisine.

Feeling vaguely guilty about the putting so much fat and empty calories into his system, he bought a sausage with grilled peppers and onions and ate it as he continued to stroll.

A twenty-one year old anthropologist, Blair had flown in from Peru that morning. Political unrest in the area had closed the South American expedition from Rainier University three months ahead of schedule. He'd toyed with the idea of heading straight back to Cascade with the rest of the team, but since he didn't start classes till September, he had decided to head out to Colorado Springs and catch up with his mother, Naomi, instead.

He'd grown up on the rodeo circuit. The illegitimate son of a sixteen-year-old barrel rider, Blair had learned to ride almost before he could walk. He had traveled with Naomi until he was five.

From then on, during the school year he lived outside Fort Worth with his Uncle Seth and Aunt Miriam on a small ranch. The couple had a son, Robert, and a daughter, Ruth, both several years older than Blair.

Although they had treated him well, he'd looked forward to the summers when Naomi would sweep in, larger than life, to rush him away.

The school year might have been a hum-drum mixture of classes, 4H and chores, but the summers were a wonderland for him. Naomi didn't believe in bedtimes, rules or routines. They ate when they were hungry, slept when they were tired and did housework only when there were no dishes left to eat off or clean clothes left to dress in. Naomi called it existing in the natural rhythm of life. Blair secretly called it paradise.

The only schedule they had followed during those magical summers was that of the rodeo. The only chores done on a regular basis had been the care, feeding, and training of Naomi's prize horse, Windcatcher.

Blair had roped sheep and calves in competitions as a youngster. He'd shown tremendous promise as a trick rider when he was a young teen. That particular skill had been used to impress more than one potential lover over the years. It was working part-time as a rodeo clown, however, that had helped pay whatever college expenses weren't covered by grants and scholarships.

He was perfect for clowning: compactly built, strong, quick and bright. Blair had suffered a few minor injuries over the years he'd worked but nothing that had kept him from being in the arena the next day. He had loved the danger, the rush, the feeling of invincibility he had gotten working around the half-wild animals. Up until two years ago, he'd worked the circuit during holidays and summer breaks.

He balled up the greasy waxed paper his sandwich had come in and tossed it into an orange trashcan. He realized he missed working the rodeo almost as much as he'd missed the midway delicacies.

Naomi had married a small-town banker, Merv Dickerson, six years ago. She spent most of her time now training young barrel racers, but still competed occasionally in the senior division.

Blair had tried to call her from Peru, but according to her husband, she was in Colorado Springs with the rodeo. Blair had changed his flight from Cascade to Colorado, planning to surprise her.

He made his way into the grandstand. There was no sense in trying to talk to Naomi now. Barrel racing was set to go in a couple of hours, and he knew his unexpected arrival would only distract her. He'd wait until tonight and have some real time to spend with her before the finals tomorrow.

Semi-finals for bull riding were in progress as Blair settled on the hard, wooden benches and leaned back to enjoy the event. As he watched rider after rider attempt to last the required eight seconds on the back of 1800 pounds of churning bull, he felt his cock start to swell. Yeah, he'd always had a thing for big, buff cowboys.

He'd had a short fling with one of the girls on his team in Peru, but that seemed an eternity ago. He had always indulged himself with plenty of pretty girls, but his most intense sexual experiences had been with other men. He'd neither had nor looked for a long-term relationship. Naomi had cautioned him that while he should be kind and generous with his lovers, he should never get his emotions entangled. Enjoy your youth, she'd told him. She'd practiced what she'd preached while he was growing up but he couldn't help but notice that in the end, she'd chosen to give her heart to Merv.

"But I'm old now," she'd laughed when he'd called her on it a few years ago. Blair had laughed, too. Being in her thirties wasn't exactly ancient but Naomi, still lovely and young looking, had lived a full, independent life before committing herself to her much older husband. And she hadn't exactly settled down either, Blair had to admit. She wasn't playing society matron; she was still chasing the rodeo.

The harsh barking of the PA system caught Blair's attention. "The next rider up is back on the circuit after a two year absence. Number 86, Jim Ellison."

Blair was seated close enough to the chute to appreciate the hard lines of the good-looking cowboy's big body. Ellison gave a nod and the gate opened. Blair perched on the edge of the bench as the cowboy and the bull struggled for dominance. Eight breathless seconds of tough rider against bucking animal.

When the buzzer went off, signaling the end of the ride, the cowboy gracefully slid off the bull and away from its unforgiving hooves and horns.

"Amazing rider, huh?" The familiar voice in his ear pulled Blair's eyes from the arena. "Hello, Blair."

Blair smiled in recognition and shook the hand extended to him. "Wayne Gonzales. I can't believe it. You're still with the rodeo?"

"Sure am," he said as he sat down next to Blair. A handsome, whipcord thin blonde, Wayne was about the same age as Blair. "I thought your Momma told me you were in South America, college boy."

"Yeah, well, things got a little hot there, politically, so the project was pulled. I thought I'd hang around till classes start in the fall."

"You going to work?"

"Maybe. I could use the cash for next semester."

"What? Your step-daddy still isn't picking up the tab for you?" Wayne teased.

"Right, Wayne," Blair shot back. "You know that nobody pays poor little Blair's way."

"I can't say the same," Wayne said smugly, as he sprawled his long legs over the vacant seat in front of them.

"What, you get yourself a sugar daddy?" Blair laughed.

Wayne nodded. "Well, technically a sugar momma."

"No shit?" Blair was fascinated and a little appalled.

"No shit." Wayne leaned closer and said in a conspirator's tone, "She'd kinda old but she's decent looking, decent in the sack and completely willing to spoil her young stud."

"God, Wayne. Young stud?"

"Hey, if she believes it, who am I to argue the point?"

Blair shook his head. "If you got some woman paying your way, why are you working the circuit?"

"I'm not really. I'm just tagging along. My sugar momma is a trainer for the barrel racers."

A stricken look passed over Blair's face. "You're not seeing..."

Wayne chuckled. "No, I'm not doing Naomi. Not that I wouldn't mind a little sheet tangling with that one."

"Wayne," Blair warned, "that's my mom you're talking about."

"Leave your sense of humor in the jungle, college boy?"

They both laughed.

"Seriously, Wayne, what are you doing with yourself?"

"Hanging around mostly. I've been helping her tend the stock some, helping with the girls' training a little."

Blair rolled his eyes. "I'll bet."

"Hey, I'm being good. I plan on riding this gravy train for a while." Wayne adjusted his hat to shade his eyes against the late afternoon sun. "You seen your momma yet?"

"No. She doesn't even know I'm coming."

"Some of us are heading out to the Cypress Lounge tonight. Why don't you come along and meet up with Naomi later? She's going to be busy getting ready for tomorrow anyway."

"Is that how you're getting out tonight? Because your benefactor is going to be busy?"

"She's my sugar momma, not my mother."

"God, you're fucking lame, Wayne."

"Yep and the ladies love it. Why don't you meet me at gate six around nine tonight and we'll head out?"

"Okay. That will give me plenty of time to go back to the hotel and get cleaned up."

"Blair, you got a car with you?"

"Yeah, a rental. Why?"

"You drive then. I'm on a brand new Harley now. The latest gift from my gal. I'd rather not drive that baby drunk."

"So, now I'm the designated driver? Fuck you, Wayne."

"You going to do it?"

"Of course. I'll be at the gate at nine."

"Damn fine riding, Jimbo," Skip Jackson said as the two men leaned against the gate, waiting for Jim's score to be posted.

"Thanks," he panted. It had been a damn fine ride. His shoulder ached and his head was throbbing but he knew he'd been good. A score of 88 flashed up on the board. "That's enough to keep me in the top three till tomorrow."

"Hell, you know you're going to place, Jim. No doubt about it." When Jim was fourteen, Skip had recognized the potential in the boy and had coached him for years. Now an old man, Skip still liked to come out and watch when one of "his boys" was riding.

"I hope so."

"Well, I'll be dipped. Look who's here," Skip spat.

"Who?" Jim asked.

"Carolyn's little stud."

Jim's anger unfurled low in his belly. He still couldn't believe Carolyn had betrayed his trust. He had thought that despite the demise of their marriage, the two of them were friends. To discover she had duped him out of his life-savings and spend it on some gigolo infuriated him.

"Where?" He might not be able to beat the shit out of his ex-wife, but he might find it in himself to whip up on the boyfriend.

Skip pointed to the center section of the bleachers. "See the two guys sitting by themselves? One in a blue shirt, one in a red shirt? The pretty boy. I don't know what the hell she sees in him but his looks. He ain't working. Hell, he's just a kid."

Jim looked up. The kid chose that moment to remove his cowboy hat and his long, curly brown hair was snatched up by the wind and blown behind him, giving Jim a clear view of the boy's face. Pretty wasn't the word. The boy was beautiful. And young. God, was he even legal yet? He had huge, bright blue eyes and lush, full lips. Skip might not have been able to pick up what Carolyn saw in the kid, but Jim sure did.

As he studied the way the kid tilted his head, waved his hands and moved his mouth while he talked, Jim was painfully reminded of why his marriage to Carolyn had broken up in the first place. Jim had a thing for the pretty boys, and Carolyn, no matter how hard she tried, couldn't keep Jim from roaming. He knew he had been making a mistake when he had married her, that he was cheating not only her but himself. Even so, he'd gone through with it, believing he would make their marriage work. And now Carolyn not only had his money, she was fucking the kind of man that Jim wanted.

He focused hard and picked up on their conversation.

The Cypress Lounge.

Maybe he wouldn't beat the kid up. Maybe he'd find another way to get back at Carolyn.

The anthropologist in Blair never ceased to be amused by places like this.

Tucked back on a dirt road, straddling the county line, The Cypress Lounge wasn't a bar someone accidentally stumbled over. A dark wood bar lined one side of the open room. A decent sized dance platform was against the other. Several dozen scuffed tables filled the space in between. A huge jukebox leaned near the bar so patrons could fill the void between the band's sets. A mechanical bull, which was in a small padded pen on the far side of the room, had been added in the eighties.

Rocking back on the heels of his boots, Blair smiled as he stood in the doorway. He might not have been in The Cypress Lounge before, but he'd been in hundreds of other bars just like it.

Since he'd been big enough to balance on a high stool, Naomi had propped him up at the bar. There, he'd sucked down boiled eggs and sour pickles fished from the huge glass jars stored along the counter behind the bartender. While his momma had drunk beer and discussed business or shuffled around the dance floor for a bit, he'd slurped down Grape Nehi and watched and listened.

He supposed his uncle and aunt would have been scandalized to know he'd spent a good amount of time in the backwater honky-tonks, but it had been a different world then. It hadn't been that uncommon to see a small child toted along. He'd loved the cool evenings in the bars and the adults who'd chatted with a young boy. He'd loved to see Naomi dance a little and laugh a lot. She'd flash him a glance and a smile, and he'd known he hadn't been forgotten.

Wayne nudged him. "Let's go, Blair." He pointed to a table near the dance floor. "Looks like the boys are already here."

Blair weaved behind Wayne, skirting between crowded tables and milling patrons to reach the half dozen rowdy cowboys waiting for them.

Propped up against the back wall, he observed from the shadows. His glass was long ago empty, but he didn't want to risk clouding his judgment with alcohol. No need, Ellison, his conscience bit at him, anger is doing a fine job.

With the ease of years of practice, he jammed down the emotions he didn't want to deal with and continued to observe his prey.

The pack of cowboys at the kid's table had fallen all over themselves welcoming him. Jim wondered how it was he'd never seen the pretty boy before today. Maybe he'd started his run on the circuit while Jim had been off playing foreman.

A pretty blonde girl coaxed the kid away from the table before he'd even had a chance to sit down. He was laughing by the time she'd pulled him up on the dance floor.

Don't get too comfortable, Sugar, Jim thought as the girl looped her arms around the kid's neck for a two-step.

Jim studied the kid as he skillfully swung the girl across the dance floor. Yeah, he and Carolyn always did have similar tastes in men. The boy, no Blair, he'd heard the kid introduce himself as Blair before he'd tuned out their conversation, was just the kind of man he enjoyed. A tight, rounded ass, and beautiful, masculine face. The only thing he'd change once he'd gotten Blair into bed was that hair would come out of the leather tie it was clubbed back in.

He needed to make a move soon, he realized. The couple was getting a little too friendly, a little too fast. Old Blair must really want to get laid tonight. No problem. It just wouldn't be with the little bottle blonde who was groping his jean-clad ass.

A tall redhead stepped in front of him, momentarily blocking his view. "I watched you ride today," she said.

Perfect. A bucklebunny. "Did you now?" he replied, pushing off the wall. "And did you like what you saw?" he asked, answering her seductive smile with one of his own.

She gave a throaty laugh and traced her finger over the championship belt buckle he'd won two years ago. "Very much. I'm hoping to watch you ride again." She leaned forward to whisper, "Tonight, maybe."

Another time he would have spun her right out the door and off to the nearest hotel, but he had bigger plans right now. Even if he hadn't been seeking a little revenge the rodeo groupie, as attractive as she was, didn't hold a candle to Blair.

"Well," he said, taking her arm, "that's a distinct possibility, darlin'. For now, though, let's dance."

With the ease of a natural athlete and a lifetime of physical labor, he led the redhead around the dance floor, maneuvering himself into Blair's sightline.

Yeah, the kid was a hot piece, no doubt about that. Those full lips would be heavenly wrapped around his cock. Perspiration was beading up at Blair's throat and trickling down the vee of his white shirt. Jim's mouth watered at the though of following that path with his tongue.

First things first, Ellison.

He watched Blair over the redhead's shoulder. The kid looked around, as though he'd felt the weight of Jim's stare on him. Blair's eyes flicked across his, catching them casually.

When Jim held his gaze steady, Blair's eyes widened in surprise.

Even across the dance floor, a bolt of awareness arced between them.

Jim had to work to keep the smugness out of his grin. Apparently his instinct and gaydar were both still working fine. The kid might do the ladies on a fairly regular basis, but Jim had been certain from just the glimpse he'd had at the arena that Blair would rather be under a man.

Not that the signals the kid was sending out were overt. A man wouldn't survive long in the middle of this macho, shit-kicking, redneck world if he was putting out strong vibes.

It was just a classic case of having to be one to know one. And he was definitely going to get to know one tonight.

Jim's dance partner pushed up against him with an appreciative sigh. The stupid bitch probably thought the partial erection filling his jeans was for her. She couldn't be more wrong. The only person his dick was interested in was presently giving him a discreet half nod and leaving the dance floor.

As delightful as it would be, there was no way Blair was going to get off with just a quick blowjob in the men's room. If the kid was old enough to fuck Jim's ex-wife and squander his hard-earned cash, he was big enough to ride the roller coaster instead of the merry-go-round. He intended to let Blair know that just as soon as he dumped old red back at the bar.

It took a minute for Blair's head to catch up with his dick.

He'd pretty much decided before he'd even pulled into the Cypress Lounge parking lot how this evening was going to go. First, he'd grab a couple of beers with the guys. Next, he'd latch onto the first sure thing that wandered across his path, and then he'd spend the rest of the night screwing his brains out. A nearly perfect night.

Even while the plans had been percolating in his head, he'd assumed his partner in crime would be some blonde cowgirl named Tiffany or Amber. He hadn't dared to hope he'd be doing a big, good-looking cowboy like Jim Ellison.

He'd immediately recognized the bull rider from the arena this afternoon. When Ellison had given him what Blair thought of as "the Look," he'd almost stumble over Tiffany. Amber. Whatever the girl's name was.

Blair had been fifteen the first time he'd been the recipient of the Look. Maybe more like he had been fifteen before he had a clue what the Look meant and how to respond. His first sexual encounter had been with a man. His favorite sexual encounters had been with men.

Not that he didn't like women. He loved their sweet smelling flesh and the wonderful way they could talk together. Hell, he planned on settling down with one and having a couple of baby Sandburgs somewhere in the distant future.

If he could just find a woman who didn't leave him just a little off kilter after sex. Just a little unsatisfied.

A man left him satiated and craving more. A woman left him craving more because he wasn't satiated.

If that made him more gay then bi, so be it. It didn't matter much at this point. The suburban Sandburg household complete with kids and a dog was a fucking long way down the pike. He still had a PhD to finish, jungles to explore, exhibits to set up, expeditions to lead and, right now, a gorgeous cowboy to blow.

After giving Jim a quick nod, he escorted Amber-Tiffany back to the table.

"Thanks," he shouted to her over the band.

"You're welcome. Maybe we can dance later."

Why not? He and the cowboy would probably finish up in a hurry. "Sure," he said. "Excuse me."

He didn't bother looking back to see if Jim was following him to the men's room. They both understood how it worked.

Two guys, so young Blair wondered how they'd ever gotten passed the bouncer, were preening at the mirrors hung over the sink. Otherwise, the bathroom was empty. He let himself into the last stall and waited.

He heard the boys leave a couple of minutes later. The door to his stall swung open.

Jim slipped inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

"Hey," Blair said.

"Hey," Jim answered, leaning back against the door.

"By the way," he said, sinking to his knees and reaching for Jim's zipper, "I'm Blair. And you're Jim Ellison. I saw you ride today. Man, you were amazing."

Jim was tempted, sorely tempted, to let Blair suck him off right then and there.

He could see the pink tip of the kid's tongue dart out to moisten his full, pursed lips. He could feel the damp heat of Blair's breath puffing through the heavy denim at the crotch of his jeans. He could hear the excited thump of the boy's heart jumping in his chest. He could smell the little blonde's flowery perfume clinging to Blair's skin and clothing.

Sorely tempted, all right.

The headache that had been creeping around his edges for days had magically vanished at the sound of Blair's voice. The sour scent of smoke and human flesh that permeated the bar had backed down to a tolerable level at the touch of Blair's hand on his thigh.

With the boy kneeling at his feet, Jim felt better than he had in years. Somehow looser and relaxed even as his cock swelled.

Yeah, this was shaping up to be the best oral sex of his life.

A blow job, however, would be far too quick, far too easy. Far too unfulfilling.

He needed more than physical release, no matter how pleasurable. He needed to take something back from Carolyn. He needed her to feel the sting of humiliation when she discovered he'd fucked her boyfriend.

He needed her to taste just a little of the bitterness and betrayal he'd been drinking down since he'd learned of her duplicity. He needed her world to be shaken and displaced, just as his had been.

He needed to stop Blair now, before he changed his mind.

Gently cupping Blair's chin, Jim tilted the boy's head up. Confused, lusty blue eyes met his.

"It doesn't matter what your name is, Blair." He slipped his thumb between the boy's lips. "All that matters is that you're willing. Are you willing to let me run the show tonight, Blair?"

The silky sandpaper of Blair's tongue began to lap at the callused pad of his thumb.

"You are, aren't you, Blair?" He wrapped his other hand around Blair's ponytail and used it to move the kid's head back and forth in a parody of a blowjob. God, that mouth felt so fucking good on his thumb. He wouldn't last three minutes if he pushed his cock into Blair's mouth right now.

"Yeah, you're willing, Blair, but I don't want to waste you on a quick tumble in the bathroom. You don't want that either, do you? No, you want to feel my body on top of yours. You want to feel my hard cock pounding inside you, don't you, Blair?"

The boy's eyes fluttered half closed and he let out a needy whimper around Jim's thumb.

"Stand up," he said, releasing Blair's hair and mouth. The boy scrambled to his feet and Jim pulled him close. He settled his hand over Blair's erection and gave it a firm squeeze.

"I can feel that you want it." Leaning down he whispered into Blair's ear. "I know why you're willing, Blair. You understand that I know just what to do to you. You know I can make you feel incredible, don't you?"

"Yes," Blair moaned and Jim figured he had the kid just where he wanted him.

In an instant, the boy nearly turned the tables on him. Blair brushed that mouth, that fucking ribbon candy mouth over his and Jim felt weak in the knees. When had a tongue ever tasted so hot and sweet?

If this kept up he wouldn't need to worry about coming too quick in that mouth. He'd come from kissing it.

Blair might be willing to let Jim have control, but the little shit was obviously well aware of his own charms.

He grabbed Blair's shoulders and put some distance between them.

"I want you for the whole night."

Jesus, were the cosmos in fucking perfect alignment tonight or what?

Blair cleared his throat. "Yeah?"

"Do you know where the Kaye Motel is?"

"Uh, I think I saw it on my way out of town."

"It's off the interstate on exit eleven going toward the arena."

He was finding it difficult to gather his thoughts when the majority of the blood in his body was throbbing in his dick. "Okay, man, I know where it is."

"Room six in an hour," Jim said as he pushed his left thigh between Blair's legs. "Are you going to be there? Are you willing to play this my way?"

He hesitated, common sense making its first appearance since he'd noticed Ellison on the dance floor. This guy was just a little too, well, intense. Maybe just a little too something. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Blair?"

A little oral sex in a public bathroom was one thing. Sure, it was risky behavior, stupid behavior, but not especially dangerous. Going to an isolated motel with a complete stranger who outweighed him by forty pounds of hard muscle and giving the said stranger carte blanche, now that was dangerous.

Not that he hadn't done it before.

Christ, he was tempted.

Jim gave his ponytail a sharp tug. "Well?"

Licking his lips before he answered, Blair was amused as he noted Jim's eyes following his tongue. He was sorely tempted.

"I promise you it will be all pleasure for you. Nothing but pleasure."

He couldn't say why, but he knew the cowboy was telling him the truth. If he went with him to the Kaye Motel, he'd experience nothing but ball-draining, mind-numbing, toe-tingling pleasure.

Still, that weird single mindedness Jim was displaying concerned him.

What the fuck. "I'll be there."

Jim gave him a smile and slipped out of the stall.

If it wasn't for his rock hard, unrelenting erection, he could almost believe he'd imagined the last ten minutes. He went to one of the chipped, white sinks to splash water on his face and re-tie his hair.

This had to be one of the dumbest things he'd done in recent history.

This wasn't Paris or San Francisco or even Cascade. Being discovered servicing some guy in a honky tonk was a sure-fire way for someone to get his ass kicked. Pure luck had kept anyone from noticing two pair of boots showing from underneath the stall.

Maybe that's why Jim had been so weird, so insistent about moving their party somewhere private.

Yeah, that had to be it.

On the circuit, appearance was everything. It was a totally macho, testosterone driven world of the rodeo. Not that Blair hadn't slept with his share of riders, but being outed could ruin Jim. Why hadn't he thought of that earlier?

A once-over from Ellison and everything he'd learned about discretion had flown out of his head. He'd run back here and fallen on his knees, completely forgetting that Wayne or the boys at their table or any one of a hundred other posturing rednecks could have found him with Jim's dick in his mouth.

Had he brought back a death wish from Peru?

No, he admitted, adjusting his jeans and going back out into the bar. It was Ellison. Knowing Ellison wanted him had filled him with so much lust there hadn't been any room left over for anything resembling rational thought.

He found Wayne sitting at the bar.

"Wayne, man, I need to head out. Can you hitch a ride with one of the other guys?"

"You okay, Blair?"

"Yeah, I'm cool. Just tired. Jetlag must be catching up with me."

Wayne eyed him skeptically. "What about Ashley?"

"Who?"

His friend indicated Amber-Tiffany sitting a few stools down. "Oh, Ashley." Earlier in the evening she'd seemed so perfect. Now that he'd had Ellison's big body pressed up against him, she seemed so much, well, less. "She's a nice girl, but I've really got to go."

"Suit yourself," Wayne shrugged. "I'll see you at the barrel races tomorrow?"

"Definitely. Later, man." He didn't wait for a reply. His earlier trepidation about meeting Jim had disappeared and been replaced by an almost anxious yearning.

If he hurried, he'd have time to run by his hotel on the way.

Maybe he'd fucked up.

Maybe he'd come on too strong. God, he hoped not, but the kid was already twenty minutes late.

Maybe Blair had taken one look at the dilapidated, nearly deserted motel and had kept on driving. Even with the town bursting at the seams with people coming to the rodeo, the Kaye Motel hadn't filled up.

Why hadn't he picked a nicer place? Or even just had Blair meet him at the hotel room he was actually using?

Shirtless and barefooted, Jim paced the length of the rust colored carpet. He knew why. Until he'd touched the boy, revenge had been his sole motivator and he hadn't wanted Carolyn's lover to be surrounded by his possessions. He hadn't wanted to fuck her boyfriend in a decent hotel if he could lure him into a cheap dive.

How was he supposed to know that once he'd felt Blair's mouth move against his that he would remember that sex could be about more than vengeance or anger or just plain physical release? Had it truly been so long since sex had been about joy or celebration? Had it ever been?

Maybe it was better that the boy hadn't shown up.

Somewhere between hearing of his ex-wife's perfidy and sucking on Blair's candied tongue, he'd forgotten his anger. His reasons for wanting to fuck Blair had become muddled. That wouldn't do.

Okay, so this little detour into insanity hadn't panned out. He didn't really have time to indulge himself in a petty game of one-upmanship with Carolyn anyway. The responsibility of bailing his father and brother out weighed heavily on him. He needed to concentrate on winning his next ride, not riding Carolyn's boy.

Yeah, it probably was better the kid didn't make it.

Perhaps it was just a matter of Blair's good sense kicking in before his had.

There was no denying, however, the excitement he'd felt with Blair at the Cypress or the stray threads of desire that ran through him now.

It was better that Blair hadn't shown up.

Maybe if he said it a couple hundred more times it would start to carry a ring of truth.

Feeling disproportionately disappointed, he decided to call it a night. The room was paid for; all Jim had to do was drop the key in the bright orange night box outside the motel office.

As he sat on the bed and grabbed his boots, the squeal of a car through gravel caught his attention. Setting the boots back on the floor, he stood up from the sagging double bed, trying unsuccessfully to stem the hope that was fluttering inside him.

Though he desperately wanted to go to the window and peek out through the threadbare yellow curtains, he remained rooted at the foot of the bed. He listened as the car engine cut, then the car door opened and closed. He tracked the crunch of footsteps through loose stone and dirt. He hesitated for a spilt second as two sharp raps echoed on the wooden door of his room.

Blair had come.

Despite his best efforts, a bubble of joy burst in his chest and spread warmth through him as he opened the door.

Dressed in a white tee shirt, blue jeans and tennis shoes, Blair looked more like a high school student breaking curfew than a gigolo. His hair was slightly damp and the scent of hotel soap, toothpaste and shaving cream hovered on the air around him.

Jim thought he looked wonderful.

"Um, hey," Blair said. His smile was surprisingly young and endearingly shy.

"Hi."

"Can I come in? I know I'm late, man, and if my window of opportunity is closed, I totally understand." In a flash Blair's smile went from shy to sultry. "But I really hope it hasn't."

"Yes," he replied, stepping back when he realized he was blocking the door. "I mean, yes, come in, and no, your window of opportunity hasn't closed."

"Excellent." Blair brushed by him.

As the kid walked around the room, Jim felt a rush of embarrassment. This place was a fucking trash hole. Even a one-night stand deserved better than this flea bag.

"Ah, Blair, about the room," he started, not exactly sure what he intended to say.

Blair turned back to him, his eyes sparkling with humor. "I get it. Discretion. After my little performance at the Cypress, I realize you have no reason to believe I'm even acquainted with the concept, but I do get it."

"Good." He was more than willing to let the kid think the best of him.

"I'm sorry about being so late," Blair said, stepping closer to him.

"I was starting to think that you'd changed your mind. Maybe you were having second thoughts because I came on too strong."

Blair chuckled and a band of tension Jim hadn't even realized was gripping him melted away at the sound. "Absolutely not. I didn't change my mind and you didn't come on too strong." He slipped his arms around Jim's waist and tilted his head up. "I just got a little lost, but I'm, like, completely here now."

"Good," he said, bending his head down to meet Blair's lips.

A single lamp on a beat-up nightstand lit the room.

The place was an absolute dive, but still a hundred times better than camping on the ground under the rainforest canopy.

Blair wondered if Jim had any idea how totally freaked out he'd been. He'd made a wrong turn somehow after leaving his hotel and had spent way too long trying to find his way back to the interstate. A huge sigh of relief had escaped him when he'd spotted a vintage blue and white pick up parked outside of the motel. He'd had a gut feeling it was Ellison's.

Then Jim opened the door and, Jesus, he could hardly draw enough air into his lungs to push out a single word.

Wearing only low riding black jeans, Ellison was the personification of every fantasy he'd beat off to since high school. Jesus.

He tilted his head up and Jim kissed him. It was beyond fucking excellent. If he had ever tasted a mouth hotter, more masculine, he couldn't recall it.

Lifting himself up on the balls of his feet, he pressed hard against Jim's parted lips.

Jim mumbled something into his mouth. Reluctantly, he stepped back. "Hmmm?"

"Shirt off," Jim repeated, grabbing the hem of Blair's tee shirt, pulling it over his head and throwing it to the floor. "This off, too." He wasn't sure what Jim meant until he felt the leather thong binding his hair being plucked off. Ellison sunk both hands into Blair's hair and hauled him close.

The heat of the cowboy's silky skin seeping into him must be dissolving his muscle and bone, Blair decided, because he found it increasingly difficult to stand on his own.

Jim chuckled as he eased him down, supine on the bed. "God, kid, you're really ready for this, aren't you?"

It was stupid, but he didn't want Jim to call him kid or hey, you or whatever-the-fuck. Sure, there had been plenty of times when he'd fucked someone all night or even all weekend without sharing more than a handful of words, let alone names, but this was somehow different.

He wanted to hear his name rolled around in that hard mouth and come out of those deceptively soft lips. The slightly drawled, overtly mocking way Jim had said it at the Cypress appealed to him. He wanted more.

"Blair Sandburg," he corrected, raising his hips so Jim could pull his jeans and boxers down his legs.

Jim stopped. "Excuse me?"

"My name is Blair."

"I thought we established that at the bar," Jim said absently, removing Blair's tennis shoes, pants and boxers with sharp tug.

"I wasn't sure if you remembered, " he said, propping himself up on his elbows to watch Jim shimmy out of his tight pants.

"I remembered," Jim said, kneeling on the bed between his splayed legs. Blair shivered at the naked admiration in Jim's eyes.

"Um, okay then, " he said as Jim settled his weight on him, forcing him flat; trapping him between the smooth heat of Jim's body and the rough coolness of the tattered bedspread. "I mean, it's not like it's really a big deal, right?" Although, for some idiotic reason, in his mind, it was.

"I wouldn't think so, kid," Jim answered just before he dipped his tongue into Blair's mouth.

Jesus, when had he ever be so horny? He pushed his pelvis up, trying to rub his aching cock against Jim's flat abdomen. He slipped his arms around the broad shoulders above him.

"Lay still," Jim growled.

"What?"

"My way, kid. Did you forget?" The thread of steel in Jim's voice sent a crackle of electricity through his belly. "Remember?" Jim demanded, pulling Blair's arms from around him and pinning his wrists to the mattress over his head.

"Right, okay. Your way."

Jim's mouth descended again, nipping lightly at his bottom lip. He meant to lay still, swear to Christ he did. Jim was just too big, too hot, too damned everything and he found himself squirming underneath the cowboy like some teenager being gifted with his first piece of ass.

"Maybe you need a reminder?"

He would have agreed to anything. "Yeah, maybe."

In a flash, Jim was straddling his chest, and the hands encircling his wrists were replaced with something rough and fibrous.

By the time he realized what Jim had in mind, his wrists were bound together, then to the headboard.

"You roped me?" He tried to appear offended, but from the self-satisfied grin on Jim's face, he hadn't been very successful.

"Do you want me to untie you?" The offer sounded utterly insincere, but Blair knew Jim would let him go if he asked.

He gave a quick tug on the rope. There was enough slack to move around on the bed, but not enough to bring his arms down to his sides.

Did he want to be untied?

He glanced down to see a thin line of precome drooling from the tip of Jim's hard on to pool on his chest.

Did he want to be untied?

Wordlessly, he gave a single shake of his head.

"Good," Jim purred, sliding up Blair's torso until his cock was bobbing against his lips. "We've got you still. Now let's see if we can keep you quiet, too."

Jim nearly laughed.

The indignant look on Blair's face when he realized he'd been tied to the bed was almost comical. Almost. Then heat flared back up in those big blues and all thoughts of laughter disappeared. He had Blair just where he wanted him.

Even back in the days when things had been good between them, Carolyn had always been a little stiff, a little indifferent about sex. How did the Ice Princess ever satisfy a smoking pistol like this one?

The fire in his veins froze. The money, of course.

He'd been so enthralled by the responsiveness of this beautiful boy that he'd forgotten he was for sale to the highest bidder.

Well, Blair Sandburg might not know it, but Carolyn had bought and paid for him with Jim's money. He planned to take out the first installment of a payback right now.

Then Blair slurped the head of Jim's cock into the pink ring of his mouth and all thoughts of Carolyn and betrayal and retribution were erased by sheer physical need.

To give the boy better access, he rocked up and forward on his knees. Slipping his hands into the long, coarse curls, he cradled Blair's head, supporting him as he began to fuck the tender mouth in earnest.

God, God, God, this kid was a talented cocksucker. He looked down, wanting to watch as well as feel that amazing mouth on his dick. Startled, he met Blair's knowing gaze.

The utter arrogance and amusement in Blair's eyes should have disgusted him, but a dagger of excitement and fear ripped through him. Blair was the one bound and effectively gagged. Blair was the one submitting and satisfying, but his self-confidence, his faith in his ability to arouse, had somehow stolen the control from Jim.

He could just let it go.

This was by far the best, the most intense oral sex he'd ever experienced. The darting tongue, the steady pull, the wanton loveliness of the boy beneath him were all working to practically turn him inside out.

He could just let it go and enjoy the ride.

Still, he wanted more than the incredible release he knew was waiting for him down Blair's throat.

He wanted Blair to be the one to feel the loss of control. He wanted Blair to be the one dangling just above the fire pit of pleasure.

Drawing in a steadying breath, he slowly withdrew his cock. When Blair would have protested, Jim slanted the fingers of his right hand over the open mouth.

"My way, right?" he asked.

Big eyes suddenly wary, Blair nodded.

The first chink in the kid's cocky armor. Good. Carefully, he slid down Blair's body, dragging his wet cock through the crisp hair on the kid's chest. He was pretty sure that he would explode if he allowed himself to linger for even a moment on the crinkling texture.

He ran his tongue over the crown of Blair's erection before engulfing it.

"Jesus Christ," Blair moaned, arching up as far as the rope allowed.

Just wait, kid.

Blair might be talented, but he had a few years on him. He reached up and sharply pinched Blair's nipples. "Jesus," the boy huffed.

Yeah, class was officially in session.

Blair dug his heels into the spongy mattress as Jim once again nibbled and sucked his way down the length of his cock.

His balls burned he wanted to orgasm so desperately. Each time he'd come close during this endlessly blissful torture session however, Jim gripped the base of his erection tightly and removed the immediate danger of coming.

It had been a long time since his cock had been massaged in the strong throat of a man, but he was pretty sure it had never been this fucking good.

Normally, he wasn't into the whole bondage thing and no way was he ever into pain, but right about now if Jim asked him to sit back on his haunches and howl at the moon, he would.

Fuck. He was ready to howl at the moon requested or not. How could Jim make it seem as though he was being touched everywhere and anywhere all at once? Maybe it was better he was tied down. He could barely stay horizontal on the bed as it was.

Cool air hit his dick as it slipped from the wicked heat of Jim's mouth. Before he had a chance to bemoan the loss, a pillow was placed under his hips and the moist abrasion of Jim's tongue caressed the crevice of his ass.

Jesus.

He bathed the sweet, dark opening into Blair's body again and again with his tongue. He gently scraped his teeth against the tight bud and the kid jerked so hard he wondered if they'd both be plastered to the ceiling before it was done.

Licking and sucking finally softened the tense entrance and he speared his tongue inside. God. The earthy, delicious, secret taste of the boy filled his mouth.

He didn't want to wait any longer.

He stopped to liberally coat his cock and fingers with the lubricant he'd left out on the nightstand earlier. Blair lifted his head off the pillow, no doubt wondering what had interrupted the rim job.

Goddamn, the kid was gorgeous. His hair was wild from thrashing his head from side to side. His lips were swollen and red from cock sucking. His bright eyes were glazed over with lust. An angelic, willing slut.

"Jim?" The husky confusion in Blair's voice was musical.

He slipped a couple of fingers into Blair's ass, gauging how loose he was. Perfect. "Hold on, kid," he said, pulling his fingers out and poising the head of his cock just inside.

"Blair," the boy insisted.

Jim tapped down a smile. Stubborn little fucker. Hitching Blair's hips up, he began to push forward.

The passage was tight, bordering on impenetrable. He'd have to take this much slower than he would have liked. When he tried to retreat the scant few inches he'd gained, Blair groaned, locked his legs around Jim's waist and pulled him deeper.

Despite the almost impossible fit, the boy continued to urge Jim in with steady, even pressure. He could hear Blair's rhythmic panting, could feel the small muscles surrounding his erection being coaxed into relaxation. It might have been a while, but Blair was obviously no novice to this.

When he was at last pressed flushed against Blair's ass, he rested for a second, savoring the sensation, willing his cock to calm down. Heat, furnace hot and skin tight, scorched his penis, and then spread through him.

He was buried into another man's very core, and although he'd done this numerous times, it was somehow both new and wonderful. Watching Blair's face flush with pleasure, he was filled with an unexpected tenderness. Blair smiled at him, and something near his heart, something he hadn't even known existed, suddenly twisted and hurt.

He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't afford to actually feel anything for this gigolo.

"I want you on your knees, kid." His voice came out louder, harsher than he'd intended.

It didn't seem to phase Blair. "Sure, okay."

He leaned down and kissed the kid. "I'll make it good."

Blair gave a reedy laugh. "I don't doubt it."

Jim pulled out carefully then helped Blair, made clumsy by the rope, to turn and get up on his knees. He placed Blair's bound hands on the headboard for support. Nudging Blair's legs further apart, Jim settled in.

Blair tightly gripped the headboard while trying to keep his ass and belly loose.

When Jim slid in, he cried out.

"Did I hurt you?" Jim breathed into his ear.

He shook his head and rocked back on Jim's big cock. How could he explain the pain was in his heart? That having Jim fill his body so completely, so intimately had suddenly revealed a gaping hole in his life?

He had no illusions. The last thing Jim wanted to hear about from a pretty boy one night stand was some philosophical bullshit. Ruthlessly, he clamped down on the sadness that threatened to overwhelm him. After all, guys like Jim didn't come along every day. He needed to quit thinking and enjoy the ride.

"You okay?" Jim asked.

"Yeah," he answered, bearing down. "Way better than okay."

He felt Jim's hesitation.

"Seriously, man," he assured Jim, "I'm good. I mean, I know we're doing this your way and all, but is there any possibility of me talking you into moving?"

"Shut up, kid," Jim grunted, then proceeded to drive him insane with long, slow strokes.

Full, amazingly full, followed by agonizing emptiness. Then full, amazingly full. Over and over until he wanted to scream. He tried to buck back, tried to keep himself impaled on the hard dick, but strong hands dug into his hips to keep him in place.

"Please," he heard himself beg. "Please, please, please."

Mercifully, Jim seemed to understand what he meant for he began to plunge into his ass harder and faster. The mattress springs sang ominously and the bed battered the wall and still Jim fucked him.

With each upward thrust, Blair's cock smacked wetly up against his belly and his balls swung freely. Fucking Christ, it was awesome.

"Please, please, please." Although Jim was giving him exactly what he wanted, exactly what he needed, he was unable to prevent the litany pouring out of his mouth. "Please, please, please."

"God, kid," Jim moaned.

He felt the powerful body above him shudder, then spasm and a blazing rush of come wash inside him.

That was enough to send him over the edge. With a howl that had been boiling in his chest for what seemed like forever, Blair orgasmed, his essence spattering his chest and pumping onto the sheets beneath him.

Jim untied the boy's hands.

This was when he usually showed one night stands the door.

Turning Blair on his side so that they were face-to-face, he tucked him close. They were chest-to-chest, Blair's head under his chin, their limbs tangled together.

This was when he usually gave his screw-of-the-night the bum's rush.

"Wow." He could hear the sleepy awe in Blair's voice.

This was when he usually told the more clingy pieces of ass to hit the road.

"Go to sleep, Blair."

"See?" Blair said with a tired laugh. "I knew you could say my name." He began to snore softly.

Jim reached over and pulled the bedspread to cover them. His hands were trembling, he realized. When had sex ever left him wrung out and shaking like a palsied old man?

For that matter, when had sex ever been so good? When had sex ever unlocked all his senses and yet left him grounded and secure?

Never. Not with Carolyn or the handful of women or the multitude of men since her.

Only with Blair. It was more than the kid being a particularly tasty morsel. He was, but it went beyond the attractive face and delightful body. If he wasn't already aware of what Blair was, he'd say it was something ridiculous like the kid's soul.

In his experience, however, whores didn't score high on the inner goodness scale.

Blair's breath, warm and spearmint scented, fanned over his face. Maybe there was more to Blair than meets the eye. Maybe there were circumstances beyond his control that led him to this. Maybe he really cared for Carolyn.

But if that were true, why had Blair been trawling the Cypress looking to get laid?

He rubbed the soft flesh of Blair's nape. From the moment Blair had shown up at the bar Jim had been, well, soothed. Yeah, he'd been pissed off and horny, but his sensory spikes and the accompanying headache and nausea that had plagued him since Peru had faded away.

Maybe he'd just been so focused on Blair that the spikes had been temporarily relegated to background noise. Maybe he'd been so intent on screwing Blair, and thereby screwing over Carolyn, that he'd been able to ignore his routine discomforts.

The kid shifted slightly, burrowing further into his arms.

No, that explanation didn't ring true. He'd been single-minded about plenty of things and still been incapacitated.

Maybe it was Blair.

A few years ago a Watumsa Indian had told Jim a wild tale about tribal guardians and their half souls and he'd dismissed it as mumbo-jumbo. Could it be true?

His out of control senses and a nagging shoulder injury had forced Jim out of the rodeo. He had tried a few different jobs and ended up on a spread a couple of states over from his dad's place.

At first, things had gone well on the ranch. The work had suited him, the pay and the food were adequate. He'd discovered that without the stadium crowds, the constant travel and the pressure of the contest, his senses seemed to settle down.

Then a shipment of fertilizer stored in a hot warehouse had sent him into a tailspin. He had no idea how long he'd lain next to building, blinded by pain and damned near unresponsive before the foreman, Tomas Dark Winds, had found him. Tomas had somehow brought Jim out of his trance-like state and from then on, had tried to teach him to cope.

Tomas had told Jim that he'd been born on a tiny, poverty-stricken reservation in Washington State. He'd left the Watumsa when he was twenty-two to look for work. He'd also claimed to be descended from a long line of Shamans, or medicine men.

Jim had refused Tomas' assistance. He'd denied his problems, even to himself, for so long that it had become almost impossible to admit his weakness.

Tomas' quiet strength along with his own continued sensory spikes had finally forced him to accept help. The Native American had assured Jim that his powers, as he'd referred to the senses, were a special, natural gift.

"Tribal guardians were once common among The People, Jim," Tomas had explained. "The Watumsa have been without a guardian for at least two generations. A Watumsa born with your gifts would be greatly revered."

He'd been skeptical, but he had allowed Tomas to teach him some techniques to help keep himself under control. The problem was, the tricks he had learned didn't always work.

"What you need is the other half of yourself," Tomas had told him. "Each guardian has a Shaman of his own, someone to protect him."

He'd laughed. "So the guardians, big super heroes that we are, need babysitters?"

Tomas had given a long-suffering sigh. "Not a babysitter. A companion. Someone to watch over the guardian as the guardian watches over The People. Someone to soothe the guardian."

Jim nuzzled Blair's hair. The boy did soothe him. Could Tomas have been right?

Not long after the Indian had helped Jim get a slippery grip on his senses, the tribe had called Tomas to come back to the reservation. His grandfather had fallen ill and it was time for him to come home and take his rightful place.

"Come with me," Tomas had offered. "Come learn more from my grandfather before he passes on."

He'd wanted to, but in the end, he'd been offered the opportunity to take Tomas' job as foreman and stayed. Numerous times he'd questioned whether he'd made the right decision. Now, with Blair in his bed, with his senses both soaring and rooted, with sexual satisfaction purring inside him, he knew this was where he was supposed to be.

Now, he had to convince Blair to leave Carolyn and stay with him.

Blair's rising erection throbbed against his thigh.

It shouldn't take too much convincing.

The mattress shifted and the warmth he'd been wrapped in disappeared.

Blair opened one eye lethargically to see a bit of weak sunlight attempt to illuminate the yellow curtains across the room. Not exactly sure where he was, but certain he was safe and positive it was way too early, he pulled the cover over his head and dozed.

"You still sleeping?"

"Hmmm?" He didn't move.

Whoever was disturbing his sleep shook his shoulder. "Come on, kid, wake up."

It snapped together. Jim. They'd had mind-blowing sex then apparently slept the night away. What a waste.

Shoving the cover away, he found Jim crouched by the side of the bed, his handsome face a scant few inches from his own. Jesus, he was hot. Blair wanted to fan the bedspread open and invite Jim back in for an encore performance.

It occurred to him that for once, he wasn't scurrying to grab his pants and sprint out. For once, he wanted the opportunity to explore the possibilities with a lover. For once, he wondered if there couldn't be something better in store for him than a couple of baby Sandburgs and a woman he could tolerate growing old with.

Jim, freshly showered and dressed in a blue tee shirt and black jeans, was obviously done with him and ready to go. Masking his disappointment with a bright smile, he said, "Hey. Good morning."

"Listen," Jim ground out impatiently, "I've got to get to the arena."

Not wanting the other man to even guess at the stupid ideas that had struck him out of nowhere, he hurried to reassure Jim that he knew the score.

"Right. I can be up and out of here in a minute." When he started to rise, Jim placed his hand on Blair's chest.

"There's no big hurry, kid. Check out isn't for a couple of hours. I just wanted to make sure you were awake before I left."

Ah, Jim was being polite. Pretty funny tactic coming from a guy who had tied him to the bed and refused to call him by his name. If that really bothered him so much, though, why did he want nothing more than for Jim to do it all again?

"Uh, thanks, man." Concerned he was coming off like the idiot kid Jim thought he was rather than the man-of-the-world he really was, he scooted around Jim and hopped out of bed.

"I said there was no hurry, kid. The room is paid for. Just put the key in the orange drop box by the office."

Trying to be nonchalant about his nudity even though he could feel Jim's eyes burning through him, he gathered his clothes up from the floor. "No problem. I've got to get to the arena this morning myself."

Jim grabbed his upper arm and spun him around. "Got an appointment, do you?"

The angry expression on Jim's face caught him off guard. "Sort of." Jim held on tight. Blair tried to tug free, scattering his clothing back on the floor. "Do you have a fucking problem, man?"

"Yeah, I do." The cowboy pulled him close. "I want to see you again. I want to do this again."

The unexpected admission warmed him. He leaned up and pressed a soft kiss under Jim's ear. "I want that, too."

Jim looked relieved. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." This time he kissed his mouth.

Moaning, Jim deepened the kiss, then pulled away. "Damn. I really do have to go."

"I know." Jim's goofy grin emboldened him. Curling the fingers of his right hand just inside the top seam of Jim's jeans, he reeled the other man close. "I've got something I have to take care of, too."

The grin was gone. "Heading out to chat with the barrel racers?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. What are you? Psychic or something?"

"Or something." Jim kissed him hard. "It doesn't matter. I don't need to hear about it. Just do what you have to do early. I'll find you at the fairgrounds after I ride."

"Okay." He sat back on the bed, watching as Jim opened the door.

The cowboy stopped in the doorway. "Hey, kid?" he called over his shoulder.

"Yeah, Jim?"

"Ever been to Cheyenne?"

"Not in a while. Why?"

"It's the next venue for bullriding." He closed the door before Blair could reply.

It was impossible to wipe the smile off his face.

Since Jim had driven out of the Kaye Motel parking lot, he felt as though he were a child's helium balloon, bright, full, and desperate to slip its string.

It's just infatuation, the logical part of his mind warned. Terrific sex with a hot, eager man and the guarantee of more of the same was bound to fling his libido and sense of well being into space. That's all it was.

His heart knew better.

Maybe it wasn't love in the traditional concept, he was ready to concede that, but it was something big, something more important than chemicals within him causing synapses to fire and connections to be made.

Or perhaps it was as simple as that. What made two people think they were right for one another anyway? Pheromones, chemicals, nerve relays? Wasn't the animal part, the basic, cellular, non-thinking part of a human, where at least the start of something more long lasting resided?

He recalled from the few college courses he'd taken in biology, sociology and human sexuality, that for primitive man, choosing a sexual partner hadn't been about hearts and hopes or poetry and promises. It was the basic pull between two beasts. It was the call of one to another, one being causing the endocrine system of another to turn on the juices.

Maybe for primitive man the ultimate goal was more about the need to procreate than about pleasure and release, but the idea was the same. He wasn't a primitive man, however his internal hormone bath was calling him to keep Sandburg close, to find pleasure and release with him.

That same hormonal wash was driving his thoughts, too. Making him hope that with Blair he might have found companionship, an escape from loneliness. Making him hope that with Blair he might have found someone bright enough to ease the darkness in him. Making him hope that Blair might be the one to soothe the dull ache of living away.

If he truly was a tribal guardian, as Tomas believed, maybe his intellectual processes were a little more in tune with the beast than that of the average man. God knows his senses separated him from the average man in so many other ways. Maybe having Blair with him could shave some of the strangeness away and let him have a surer footing in the average world.

He hated to let himself get caught up in the "what if" game. Pinning his possibilities on a young, good looking whore was the epitome of foolishness.

It didn't matter. As he sped to the arena, his buoyancy continued to grow.

A freight train, Blair decided, staring up at the stained popcorn ceiling of the motel room.

Jim Ellison was the human version of a freight train, crashing into his life, blasting immovable objects and scattering plans like so much debris.

Lifting his arms above him, he examined his wrists. They were reddened and sore and he'd be wearing long sleeved shirts for a while. Hickeys and bites were easy to explain. Hell, a guy didn't even have to explain. His buddies saw them with a way-to-go-dude nod.

Rope abrasions and whisker burns were an entirely different matter. Shit, he hoped he didn't have any whisker burns that wouldn't be covered by a shirt.

Only one way to tell, check it out in the bathroom mirror. He grunted with discomfort as he swung his legs to the side of the bed. Damn. Jim was a freight train literally as well as figuratively.

Standing, he carefully made his way to the bathroom. Funny how he hadn't noticed the pain an hour ago while he was trying to prove to Jim what a sophisticated lay he was. Must have been the old glands pumping him full of hormones then.

The adrenaline and testosterone flooding his bloodstream had made him foolishly invincible last night and had provided him with Dutch courage this morning. Now, in the after wash, he was tired and achy and anxious to do it again.

Was he about to make a stupid mistake? It wouldn't be the first time his judgment was faulty because someone caught his eye.

So not the same, something inside him said.

Sure it was same. He'd totally hit the jackpot here. Great sex, no, fantastic sex with a bullrider for Christ's sake, was bound to stir up a little old fashioned longing to go along with the hormones. Anyway, the two of them had barely spoken beyond rut talk. How could it be anything but mutual horniness?

The coolest part was that Jim wanted to continue their fuckfest at the next rodeo stop.

Maybe Jim felt it, too. Maybe Jim felt the pull of like to like just as he did.

Of course, maybe he was thinking like a teenager with his first crush. What Jim felt was hot for a younger guy who'd been pathetically willing. Who still was pathetically willing.

Looking at his reflection in the murky mirror he noted a couple of pink suck marks near the base of his throat. Nothing there to indicate the gender of his lover, no beard abrasion or overly large teeth marks. No, it could have been an Amber-Tiffany gnawing on his neck just as easily as a Jim.

After showering and dressing, he gave the room a quick once-over for anything they might have left behind. The only thing he turned up was a tube of lubricant. He poked it into the pocket of his jeans along with his car keys, picked up the room key and walked out to the orange drop box.

Climbing into his rental car, he blinked against the bright sun. Although still early, the heat had a tight grip on the day. The air above the blacktop shimmered with it. Resigning himself to roasting in a long sleeved shirt he turned his car toward his hotel. There was plenty of time to change, satisfy his growling stomach and check out before going to the fair grounds.

Maybe some coffee and pancakes would help put the last 24 hours into proper perspective. He hadn't eaten since yesterday on the midway. Add to that the fact he'd been standing in a Peruvian jungle three days ago, and there was no wonder his imagination was blowing this sexual encounter with Jim way out of proportion. Yeah, that was it. Too much travel, too little sleep and food.

Since he'd started college five years ago, most of his time had been take up with classes, expeditions, and jobs to pay for classes and expeditions. This summer should have been spent in the rainforest studying the Chopec. Instead, he was at loose ends. He could spend it in Cascade or with Naomi or with a stranger who'd practically turned him inside out last night.

There had been enough changes and enough choices in the past three days to make anyone's head spin.

Good thing Naomi had raised him to be adaptable.

It all came down to this.

Since he was a kid, each step was mastered then practiced over and over until it was letter perfect. Then he did it again. Another ten times, another hundred times, another thousand times so that it became a part of him.

"Do it till you ain't even got to think of it, Jimmy. Do it till your body knows it," Skip had preached to a teenaged Jim.

Someone, either during his short time at the university or his stint in the army, had given the result of repetition a name--muscle memory.

In college, his football coach had tapped into the idea, teaching him to throw passes that were more felt than thought. Eye, arm, snap, eye, arm, snap. The sequence had been performed ad nauseam. Eye, arm, snap until the football, with a perfect spin, had arched flawlessly from his hand to its intended target.

His drill sergeant had used the concept to show him that a rifle was merely an extension of himself. From breaking it down to reassembling it to firing it, the tasks were completed numerous times every day. Eventually his bullets arced as effortlessly to their intended targets as his football passes had.

Bullriding was no different. Skip had seen to that. The old man had dissected the sport into small steps from preparation to performance and had drilled Jim on each segment until they were second nature. Until his body knew.

In the waiting area behind the chute, Jim hung his rope and slicked resin on it with a mindless accuracy as his turn approached.

The bulls were herded up from the holding pen four at a time. Forced single file and without room to maneuver, the huge animals pawed at the dirt impatiently as each cowboy tied his rope around the bull he'd drawn.

In bigger venues, such as this one, the holding line was L-shaped so that four prepped bulls waited to go out the chute while four others could be worked on by their riders. Jim's bull, Poundin' Pedro, was first in the second line.

Slipping his upper body through the metal bars holding his bull stationary, Jim carefully looped his rope around the animal's upper body. Skip had taught him a basic configuration, but he'd perfected and individualized his knot over the years. It had to be strong enough to anchor him during an impossibly rough eight second ride as well as be able to release immediately when it was over.

Checking the hold of his rope with a final pull, he thought of Blair. Amusement swirled in him as he recalled the surprised blue eyes when the kid had found himself tied to the bed.

Blair hadn't fooled him for a second. He'd loved the whole scene. Jim sincerely hoped Blair didn't expect that kind of thing every time they fucked. It had been great, sure, but his personal taste tended to run a little more towards the mundane.

Pushing thoughts of last night and next time away, he adjusted his belt and chaps and went to stand with the other cowboys in his group. There, they could watch the riders before them.

At thirty, he had several years on most of the other bull riders. On the plus side, he reminded himself before pre-performance jitters could start, he was in excellent shape and had more experience.

Yeah, great physical shape if he overlooked his age and the precarious state of his shoulder and the possibility his senses could spike at any time.

Taking a deep breath, then willing his mind to quiet and his body to relax as Tomas had shown him, he rotated his right shoulder. It felt good. He hadn't even had to baby it after yesterday's ride. His senses had been sharp and clear and under control ever since Blair had knelt in front of him in the bathroom stall.

As for his age, well, he'd worn Blair out in the sack, right? He hadn't asked Blair's age, but since he'd picked the kid up in the Cypress, he was at least twenty-one. No bouncer would have risked the bar's liquor license by not ID'ing anyone with as boyish an appearance as Blair had.

He tapped his spurs on the wooden slats of the waiting area. The dirt came off in a dusty cloud. He tugged on his leather gloves, securing their fit a last time.

Everything was good. Everything was within his grasp. Playing head games with himself was counterproductive.

Not only was he young enough, healthy enough, and in control enough, he also had the advantage of actually having been a champion rider. He'd had no trouble qualifying or keeping up.

He could do this.

He would do this.

The four bulls in the ready chute were done. The next four, Poundin' Pedro included, were moved forward. No time for self doubts or thoughts of how much his family needed him to win or memories of last night and how right Blair had felt under him. There could be nothing but the ride.

"Cowboy up." The call was for him.

It all came down to this.

He climbed up and swung his leg over the bull.

Opening his senses a bit, he allowed it all to sweep over him. The smell of leather and sweat, of dirt and perfume, of horses and popcorn. The sound of laughter and insects buzzing, of cattle lowing and cars droning on the highway. The feel of the mid-afternoon sun soaking into his flesh, of the bull he straddled breathing, of his own heart thumping in anticipation.

Then he blotted everything out because there could be no distractions. Positioning his body over his right hand, which was deeply enmeshed in the rope harnessing the bull's body, he waited.

"Our next bull is Poundin' Pedro, sponsored by Kravenas Feed and Tractor Supply. Riding Poundin' Pedro is an old favorite on the circuit," the announcer blared over the PA system. "He'd been missing for a few years, but he's back with a vengeance, folks. Two time PBR champion, number seven, Jim Ellison."

The gate opened, and Pedro surged forward.

"The trick, Jimmy, ain't only to stay on. You got to get a good show out of the bull," Skip's lessons came back to him. Not that his brain needed reminding. His body, his muscle memory, had taken over.

Spurs to the bull's sides, gloved right hand wrapped securely in the rope, left arm held above his head, body over his right hand.

The animal bucked and thrashed between his thighs and he held on. The animal lurched forward and back and he counterbalanced and held on. The animal flung itself from side to side and he moved with it and held on.

It all came down to these eight seconds.

With his head clear, his body obeying years of training, his heart flying with excitement, he held on. Adrenaline and testosterone saturated him and he held on. He was powerful and invincible and soaring.

The buzzer jarred him back.

He kicked his right leg over the bull, jumped to the ground and put some distance between himself and Pedro's hooves. The garishly dressed bullfighters ran forward, diverting the animal's attention while he dove over the wooden gate to safety.

"What a ride, Ladies and Gentlemen," the announcer proclaimed. "What a ride."

"Way to go, Ellison," one of the other riders shouted to him. He nodded his thanks and stared at the scoreboard.

"That's what rodeo is all about, folks," the announcer continued. "Rides just like that."

He had to admit, the ride had felt fine.

The buoyancy that had been with him all morning swelled again as a near perfect score flashed on the board.

Everything was taking ten times longer then usual.

The universe in molasses time.

The restaurant Blair had stopped at had been packed to capacity, but his stomach refused to be denied another meal. He'd ended up at the counter wedged between two huge truckers who'd spent the entire hour arguing with each other over his head. The service had been slow, the coffee bitter, and the pancakes soggy rubber discs.

All in all, it had been the best breakfast he'd ever eaten.

Jesus, he really had forgotten how good sex made everything seem brighter. He was a naturally upbeat person, but this morning, long sleeves and sore ass notwithstanding, the whole world was practically glowing.

Traffic to the fairgrounds was near to a dead stop. His rental car was blowing piss warm air and the radio could only pull in a local talk show and a horrendous easy listening station. He sang along with some sappy song he hadn't realized he knew the words to, his hands keeping time on the steering wheel and the dashboard.

Yep, great sex yanked his chain, revved his motor, just made him feel fucking good. Smiling, he jogged the half-mile from the nearest available parking spot to the ticket booth.

Glancing at the schedule of events he'd received with the price of admission, he saw he'd missed the senior division barrel racing. Bullriding had started an hour ago.

He was torn. If he didn't hit the arena now, he might miss Jim's ride. Hell, he might have missed the ride already. It was also possible that Naomi was packing it in to head home. Since he had every intention of going to Cheyenne with Jim, he would try to catch his mom first.

Her laughter, still pure and girlish, reached him before he saw her. For a moment he was a child again, ransomed by Naomi from his aunt and uncle for a summer full of adventure.

As she came into view, he saw she hadn't changed much from those days. Dressed in a lemon yellow blouse tucked into slim fitting blue jeans with her red hair tucked up in a white cowboy hat, she looked no different than she had when she'd first taught him to ride a horse.

Deep in conversation with an attractive dark-haired woman, she didn't notice him at first.

"Hey, Naomi," he said when he was a few feet from her.

"I can't believe it," she squealed, throwing herself into his arms. "I can't believe it," she said again, kissing his cheek. "What are you doing here, Sweetie?"

"The team got thrown out of Peru. A little political unrest."

She pulled back to run her eyes over him. "You're okay? You weren't hurt were you?"

"I'm great. Rainier pulled us out before things got too out of control."

"You look wonderful, Baby," she hugged him again. "Maybe a little thin."

"Native food and MREs will do that," he agreed and squeezed her tight before releasing her. Jesus, he loved her so much.

"How long can you stay?"

"I have to be back in Cascade in time for the new semester."

"So, I've got you for a couple of months?"

She looked so hopeful he almost said yes, but there was no way he was going to give up time with Jim. Just thinking of last night sent waves of yearning through him.

"Not exactly, Mom," he began.

She interrupted him. "Carolyn, this is my son, Blair. Blair, this is my friend, Carolyn Plummer. She's a barrel racer, too."

He stretched out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Carolyn."

The brunette gave him a small smile. "Nice to finally meet you, Blair. Naomi talks about you all the time." Her hand felt cold in his and he noted her eyes were red rimmed. "You have an exciting life, from the sounds of it. Naomi told me about your expeditions on Indian reservations and in the jungle. Certainly not what school was like for me."

"I'm going to have to shatter your illusions," he laughed. "Most of my time is spent in the classroom or the library. The last couple of years are so not my usual school schedule."

"Still, I'd love to hear about it sometime." She ran a knuckle under her eye. "It was good to meet you, Blair. Naomi, I've got to go." She hurried away.

"Man, it's so great to see you, Naomi." He kissed her cheek. "Is your friend, Carolyn, okay? She seems upset."

"I shouldn't be talking about her personal life, but, well, she's having romantic problems."

"Really?"

"Her boyfriend didn't come back to their hotel last night. Poor Carolyn. It's not the first time, either."

"Ah. Sorry to hear that."

"So, are you coming to the ranch? I know Merv will be happy to see you. He was so sorry he couldn't get away from the bank last year to come to Peru with me."

Blair bit back a smile. Somehow he couldn't imagine Naomi's husband enjoying time in the rainforest. While Naomi thought of the whole world as home, Merv was more of a hometown guy.

"Actually, Mom, I was planning to follow the rodeo to Cheyenne. Hang out with some friends for a while. Then, I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do." At the disappointment in her face he added, "But I'm going to stop by the ranch for a real visit before the next term starts."

Naomi sighed. "Promise?"

"I do. Cross my heart."

"Naomi?" A young girl, dressed for competition, skittered around the crowd.

"Over here, hon," Naomi called.

"Can you help me?" She held up a bridle.

"Certainly. Jill, this is my son, Blair. Blair, this is Jill. She's one of my very best students."

"Hi," the girl said distractedly.

"Hey," he answered. "Look, Mom, I know you're busy so I'll say goodbye now and head over to the arena."

"Got a friend riding today?" she asked with a shrewd smile. He had confessed his bisexuality to Naomi when he was 15 and she'd accepted it with a warning to practice discretion.

Even so, at her knowing look, he blushed. "Yes, indeed." They both laughed. "I'll call and let you know what's going on, okay?"

"Oh, I hate to let you go."

"Me, too, but it's still way sooner than we'd originally thought, right?"

"Right."

"Naomi," Jill whined.

"Coming, hon." She kissed him one last time. "Be careful and don't forget to call."

"I'll call. I love you."

"Love you, too."

He waited until they disappeared around the corner before he went to find Jim.

After storing his vest, rope, chaps and gloves, Jim washed the worst of the grime from his hands and face and began to search for Blair.

When he couldn't find him in the stands, he started toward the other side of the fairgrounds. Carolyn would have ridden earlier with the senior division, but she might have a couple of kids in the younger groups. Blair could still be there, letting her know they were through.

Having been on the receiving end of her temper tantrums himself, he didn't envy the kid. Yesterday he would have said Blair deserved whatever he got and more. This afternoon, however, mellowed by a hot fuck and a great score, he was willing to be a bit more generous.

He still wanted Carolyn to hurt. He hoped the pain of Blair's betrayal stayed with her for a long, long time. She'd upset the life he'd built, he was more than happy to return the favor.

Before his thoughts could become too maudlin, he caught a glimpse of Blair. Twin hums of excitement and satisfaction rolled inside him as he watched the boy approach.

God, he wanted to throw him down right here on the midway and screw him seven ways to Sunday.

"Hey, Jim." With a promising smile Blair stopped in front of him. "Word is that you had a near perfect ride. Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"Sorry I missed it." Damn if he didn't actually sound as if he was. Stepping close enough to whisper, Blair added, "Yeah, second near perfect ride in less than twelve hours. "

The double entendre scored a hit just below Jim's championship belt buckle.

Then he smelled it. The light perfume, the complicated musk, the vaguely dainty scent of woman was smeared all over Blair, head to toe. The faint pink of wiped away lip-gloss marred his cheeks and lips.

He wanted to scream. The red balloon buoyancy that had filled him all day popped and was replaced by a frightening tide of violence.

Carolyn must have been on fucking top of Blair. He could smell Blair's arousal, but whether that had been from his encounter with Carolyn or from the flirting they'd just engaged in, he couldn't tell.

Blair didn't appear in the least flustered or saddened. Breaking it off with one lover and moving on to the next within minutes didn't seem to bother him at all.

Why should it, though? Had he honestly forgotten for a moment what the kid was? Blair was a two-bit whore who assumed he'd just traded up. If there had been any tears when Blair and Carolyn parted ways, Blair hadn't been the one to shed them.

He wasn't sure what was pissing him off--knowing Carolyn had just been climbing all over the damn kid or knowing that Blair had walked away from her without a single glance back.

No matter what inexplicable feelings the kid was pulling out of him, no matter if Tomas had been right and Blair was his half soul, he could not afford to lose sight of Blair's true nature. At his core, the kid was a hustler. He could walk away from Jim as easily as he had walked away from Carolyn.

Some day he would.

Until that day, Jim planned to take advantage of this Shaman, this soother, for as long as he could.

"Come on," he said to Blair.

The boy didn't even ask, he merely followed. Jim made no effort to slow his long legged stride, even as it put Blair six feet behind him, hurrying to catch up.

He pushed through the midway crowd, through the vacant lot, to the side of the fairgrounds where his pick up was parked. He unlocked the passenger's side. "Get in."

While Blair hopped into the cab, Jim went around to driver's side and climbed in. The boy hadn't put on his seat belt. Good. He must have sensed Jim had a different kind of ride in mind.

Although the truck windows were heavily tinted, the air in the cab was so hot, so stale, that Blair's breath was crushed from his chest momentarily.

He drew in a few experimental, shallow huffs and the tension in his lungs relaxed. Jim's scent, a combination of horse, leather and man, filled him. Within seconds, the long sleeved shirt he'd worn to cover last night's passion clung wetly to him.

He watched in fascination as Jim scooted the bench seat back as far as it could go then unbuckled his belt, slid down his zipper and exposed his erection. Silently, Jim wrapped his left hand around the shaft, giving Blair an unobstructed view.

Blair was positive he'd never seen anything more erotic than this cowboy masturbating. An annoying voice in his head tried to interrupt his venture into voyeurism by reminding him that they were parked in a relatively public place. He ignored it. He'd gladly watch this little performance for as long as Jim was willing to star in it.

"Suck me," Jim hissed.

He hesitated. The chances of a passerby peering in the darkened windows were slim, but they did exist. Jim's hard-on could be quickly camouflaged with either of their hats. His head bobbing up and down in Jim's lap would be more difficult to explain away.

"Now, kid."

He didn't move.

"Come on," Jim urged. "Put me in your mouth and suck me off, Blair."

Fuck.

Adjusting his jeans to give his own dick some breathing room, he twisted until he was almost lying down on the seat. He greedily swallowed Jim down.

The sharp intake of breath above him and the helpless upward thrust of Jim's hips pleased him. Jim might think he was in charge of the whole situation, but Blair was just where he wanted to be. He planned to make the most of it.

The surprising thing, Jim decided, was that the kid was really good company.

Soft snoring momentarily drew his attention from the dark highway he was driving. Blair, using a rolled up jacket as a pillow, had propped himself against the truck door. The position didn't look very comfortable, but Blair had been sleeping for the last hundred miles so it couldn't be that bad.

They probably should have stayed at a hotel instead of traveling all night. He hadn't been tired though, and Blair seemed to be able to crash anywhere when he'd finally wound down. Besides, at this rate they'd hit Cheyenne by noon and could then spend an uninterrupted day and night in bed.

Just the thought of 24 hours of privacy with the kid made his dick twitch.

After ranking number two at Sunday's rodeo, he'd helped Blair drop off his rental car. The two of them had spent the rest of the night locked away in Jim's room celebrating. It was a wonder that anything could make his dick twitch after that.

Yeah, the kid was good company and not just because of the sex thing. Or the revenge thing or even the soother thing. Blair was smart and funny. He hadn't really expected that. Why would someone as clever as Blair resort to living like this?

The kid was an opportunistic drifter. Who else could throw everything he had in the back of a virtual stranger's pick-up and head off? Not anyone with a job to report to on Monday or the responsibilities of a home.

On the other hand, Blair'd had enough money to rent a car. Maybe Carolyn had kept him spending money, enough to buy things out of his pocket rather than having to ask her for every dime. That made sense, he supposed. Even a gigolo would want to feel like a man, not a child.

He made a mental note to make sure Blair always had a few bucks in his wallet.

"Where are we?" Blair's sleep husky voice sent another zing through his cock.

"Somewhere between no place and BFE."

Blair chuckled. "Okay."

"Are you thirsty? There's still soda in the cooler."

"Is there any coffee left?" Blair asked, already lifting the thermos from the truck floor.

"Maybe. I don't think I drank it all."

"It's kind of cold, but it's good," Blair said, unfastening his seat belt and scooting close to Jim. "Want some?"

"Sure." He took the thermos top filled with sweet, lukewarm liquid that Blair offered. He'd always hated sharing drinks with anyone, including Carolyn. It was probably related to his heightened senses, so damned much of his life seemed to be, but the idea of swallowing someone's backwash, even someone he'd tongue-kissed, had disgusted him.

Now, he found himself searching for any remnants of Blair on the red plastic. Yeah, right there. His dick upgraded from twitching to a little jumping bean action.

"You want some more, Jim?"

Fuck, yes, he wanted more. He wanted back inside Blair. Back inside his hands, his mouth, his ass. He wanted plenty more. "You can top it off," he said mildly, handing the cup back.

Blair's left thigh was pressed along his right, their arms brushing. This was good, this almost intimacy they were sharing as easily as they were sharing coffee. The warm cab was illuminated only by the green glow of the instrument panel. The only noise was their breathing and the hum of tires on smooth road. This was good.

"Jim, how long have you been riding rodeo?"

For all the breath and bodily fluids they'd shared in the past 48 hours, they hadn't shared much of anything verbal beyond moaning, "oh yeah, harder, faster, right there, just like that."

Not that Blair was complaining. In fact, he was looking forward to more of the same kind of conversation when they hit Cheyenne, but he really did want to know more about Jim.

"I've been riding on and off since I was a teenager."

"Yeah? So, what were you doing while you were off instead of on?" Acutely aware of the denim encased heat of Jim's thigh against his own, he wondered if he could entice him into pulling off the road for a quickie.

"The usual. Some college, the military, ranch work."

"Ah." It took him a minute to string the answer Jim gave him back to the question he'd asked. "What branch of the military?"

"Hey, what is this? Twenty questions?" Jim sounded pissed.

"No, absolutely not, man. I was just making small talk."

"Sounded more like a job interview."

Blair laughed. "I'm kind of nosey. I totally meant no harm."

Jim relaxed beside him. "Okay."

Quiet stretched out comfortably between them.

After several minutes, he couldn't help himself. "So, Jim, if it's not like top secret, off limits information, what branch of the service were you in?"

"Persistent bastard, aren't you?" but Jim seemed amused now rather than angry.

"I've been told that, yeah."

"I was in the army."

"Really? What was that like? The whole closed society thing? The regimented life style?"

"I see I was wrong," Jim interrupted.

"Wrong?"

"You're not playing twenty questions, you're playing Spanish Inquisition."

"Maybe something similar," he said, brushing his fingers along the inseam of Jim's jeans. "Of course, rather than torturing you for a confession, I'll be glad to reward you for information."

"You're something else, kid." Jim moved Blair's hand away from his crotch. "I'll talk, but I don't need any other distractions while I'm driving 90 miles an hour."

"Fair enough," he answered cheerfully, folding his hands in his lap like a child at prayer. "Why'd you pick the army?"

"Crap with my old man mostly. The army was a good way to get away from home. You know how that goes."

"Not really. I never knew my dad. From what I've heard, though, maybe that's better."

"Maybe. Anyway, I liked the army."

"Then why aren't you still in it?"

Jim stiffened beside him. Uh oh. He must have accidentally stumbled across one of those top secret, off limits pieces of information.

"Let's talk about you for a while, kid."

"Okay."

"What do you do for a living?"

He was taken back by Jim's snarling tone. "I'm a student."

"A student of life, right?" Jim said sarcastically.

"Um, I wouldn't put it exactly like that, but kind of, yeah."

"Tell you what, Blair, let's not talk about anything personal."

"Jim, are you tired or sick or something? I could drive for a while if you want. Or we could pull over."

"I'm fine," came the clipped reply.

Blair sighed inwardly. Man, he should have kept his mouth shut, he so didn't want to fight. "I talk too much sometimes. Sorry."

"No, it's not you. I just have a headache."

He was pretty sure Jim was lying and the headache excuse was his attempt at conciliation. Never too proud to accept an apology when it was offered, no matter what the form, he said, "Do you want some Tylenol?"

"Just a little less chatter for now."

"You got it." He started to slide to his side of the bench seat when Jim clamped his hand around his knee.

"Stay."

Most definitely Ellison's version of an apology. Smiling, he settled back against Jim. "Okay."

Jim could have predicted it wouldn't last for long. Two months of happiness had been just too good to be true.

Not to sound like some self pitying bastard, although right now a little self pity was preferable to the molten rage pouring through him, but nothing worthwhile in his life had ever seemed to last.

His mom had passed away when he was ten. Stevie couldn't even remember her. Hell, he'd wondered himself if the memories he had of Grace were his own or just images concocted after years of pouring through photo albums and listening to family stories.

Whatever good there was in family life had been buried with his mom.

As a small child he'd been plagued with headaches and allergies. Grace had been patient with him. Once she was gone, so were any attempts to coddle him.

Coddle him. God, that was a phrase straight from his old man's mouth.

"You're going to grow up to be a goddamn pansy, Jimmy. A man works through the pain. No son of mine is going to be coddled right into being a queer."

It only took a couple of years and numerous fights with his dad to learn to work through his pain. Somewhere along the line, his senses were suppressed, not to make a reappearance until Peru. He'd spent his adolescence trying to please William--honor roll, football, basketball, track.

The joke had been on both of them, though. Despite Jim's tireless efforts, William had never been satisfied with him and never would be. And despite William's rigid control and impossible standards, Jim had grown up to be a goddamn pansy queer.

Carolyn had been a refuge for him. Loving and affectionate, she'd brought softness and acceptance to a teenage boy so amazingly desperate for it. It was only later that he'd come to understand she'd wanted the prestige of being his more than she'd actually wanted him.

After high school, he'd tried college. A few semesters of commuting to the nearest junior college while working the family ranch and trying to satisfy the time demands of both William and Carolyn, had been enough to nearly drive him crazy.

He'd dropped out, married Carolyn and joined the Army.

Rubbing the anger and the midday sun from his eyes, he looked again. He didn't want to believe the scene being played out just a few hundred feet in front of him. He couldn't bring himself to listen in. Seeing her kiss Blair's face and hold him tight was more than enough.

He could just slide back into the crowd.

There was plenty of time to decide what to do, whether to confront Blair or pretend he'd seen nothing, if he just didn't let them see him watching.

Had he really thought that it could be different this time? Had he really thought that he'd found something he would be able hang on to?

At twenty, stupidity was forgivable. At twenty, making a fool of oneself was understandable. At thirty, there were no excuses.

Had he learned nothing in all these years? When he and Carolyn had married, he'd convinced himself that love was enough to keep his demons at bay.

She'd been so eager to become his wife, so willing to wait for him while he did his military tour. With a naivete he found hard to recall, he'd imagined their relationship would be enough to wash away the heartache of a lonely childhood. He'd imagined her devotion to him would fill the void that Grace's death and William's indifference had opened in him. He'd imagined the pleasure of their lovemaking would keep him on the straight and narrow.

He was in boot camp the first time he'd cheated on her.

Each time he'd fucked an anonymous someone, he had been horrified. Trying to blame it all on the heat of the moment and promising himself that it wouldn't, that it couldn't, ever happen again had barely slowed him down.

Like an animal eating him up from the inside out, lust had driven him to endless prowl.

He still wasn't sure if Carolyn had any idea of the full extent of his infidelity. She'd obviously known enough to play on his guilt. Not that his own guilt hadn't been plentiful. He'd gladly given her money during and after their marriage, paying plenary indulgences for his numerous sins against her.

It was the universe's grand nod to perversity, he supposed, that the very money he'd given to his ex-wife in the hope of severing the hurtful past between them had been used to buy Sandburg. The same money he'd used to blot up the end of his sorrow for hurting her, for shaming her, had brought hurt and shame back to him.

He toyed with the idea of slipping behind the funnel cake concession booth. Standing where he was now, all it would take was Blair moving his treacherous body one step back from Carolyn's to put him in their direct sight line.

He could do it, hide behind the booth, and tonight Blair would open his arms and his legs and his lying mouth and pull Jim inside. Just a couple of paces to his left, and tonight he could ride Blair's sweetness into oblivion over and over again.

What had he expected, really? That a beautiful slut wouldn't stray? That Blair was as enamored of him as he was of...He immediately shut down that train of thought. He wasn't stupid enough, wasn't fool enough to have feelings for the kid.

Still, was he ready to give it up?

In public, Blair was a perfect partner. Knowledgeable about the rodeo and its workings, Jim almost believed the boy's vague references to being raised on the circuit and working a couple of seasons as a bullfighter. He could easily imagine Blair's quick, agile body and quick, agile mind distracting bulls from hapless, fallen bullriders. Hell, he could imagine everything Blair hinted about from his past was true.

Since that drive two months ago to Cheyenne, when he'd told Blair he didn't want to discuss anything personal, the kid had been careful not to share too much about himself.

Now, as Carolyn hugged Blair, tears tracking down her cheeks, he wished to God he had let Blair talk about anything and everything. He wished to God he had kept them both in bed this morning for one more bout. He wished to God he'd never turned the corner to see Blair, lying, cheating, fucking around Blair, sitting up in those bleachers in Colorado.

He was going to fuck this up. He knew it. There was no way he was going to be able to let this go, to pretend he hadn't seen Carolyn touch Blair's hair or kiss his face. It wasn't possible.

God, he wanted it to be.

Blair in public was great. Blair in private was damn near perfect.

A week ago Jim had had a hang up. At the end of a near perfect ride, his right hand had become entangled in the flank rope bound about the bull. Luckily, with the assistance of the bullfighters, he was freed before much damage had been done to his bum shoulder.

That night, Blair had taken off the heating pad Jim had slung over his shoulder and replaced it with an ice-pack.

"Fuck, that stings!" he'd shouted, scooting back on his chair while trying to shrug the offending pack away.

"Heat will just make it worse, man."

"Right. You're a doctor now?"

"No, man, I'm not a doctor," Blair had said patiently as he pressed the pack back into place. "I do, however, have a fundamental grasp of first aid. Cold to a new injury to reduce swelling, and maybe some ibuprofen."

"I don't need any ibuprofen, kid. It doesn't hurt that much," he'd grumbled.

"Ibuprofen is an anti-inflammatory, Jim."

"Whatever."

"Look," Blair'd said, kneeling between his legs, "would you just try it? Please? If your shoulder doesn't feel better, I'll personally hold the heating pad for you."

"Well," he'd hesitated, not willing to give in gracefully.

"And if your shoulder does feel better," Blair had promised, running his hand over Jim's leg, "I'll make the rest of you feel better, too."

The kid had been right about the shoulder. They'd fucked all night.

Goddamn it, why couldn't he make his feet move? Why couldn't he just walk away and let things go on for a little while longer?

Stomach churning, he waited for Blair to notice him.

In the blink of an eye, everything can change.

When he was a kid his mom had told him that over and over. Of course, she'd usually been packing at the time. She'd been right, though.

A chance run in with Carolyn Plummer had just tilted his world on its axis.

While he'd spent the past few weeks whooping it up like a kid on summer vacation, Naomi had needed him. Why hadn't he checked in with her? He'd promised he would, but he'd let himself become so wrapped up in Jim he'd never bothered.

One phone call and he would have known Merv had had a heart attack and his mom was coming unglued.

The worthy side of him, the dutiful, honorable side, was appalled that Naomi had been searching for him without success for three weeks.

The darker side of him, the selfish, hedonistic side, was appalled that Carolyn had run into him and brought an abrupt end to the one of the best chapters of his life.

His time with Jim had been doomed to brevity from the start, but he hadn't been ready to let it go. He had a right to one more month with Jim, god-fucking-damn it. He needed the extra time to uncover the secrets he was sure were buried just beneath Jim's smile.

He should have had more time to make Jim fall in love with him.

Christ, he was a self-centered fuck. His mother was grieving for her husband, and he was mourning the loss of a summer fling.

Maybe he could help Naomi get things straightened out and still meet Jim before he had to return to Rainier.

Yeah, way to be sensitive, Sandburg. Could you hurry up and get your shit together, Mom? I wasn't done having sex with Jim.

Maybe he could arrange it so that he and Jim could see each other during the school year.

Yeah, like Jim would go for them acting like boyfriends. It was a ridiculous thinking that Jim, big rugged cowboy Jim, would want to be the boyfriend of an urban university student.

Still, sometimes the heat in Jim's eyes wasn't just sexual. Or was he seeing what he wanted to see?

Whatever he'd imagined he'd seen wasn't of much consequence right now. He had to tell Jim what was going on and catch the next plane out.

Lost in his own thoughts, he nearly stumbled over Jim.

He let his eyes wander over the man. Jesus, Jim was so amazingly hot, and, for a little while, he'd been his.

"Hey, Jim." Like a stream rushing around a stone, the fairground crowd parted on either side of them. Finally accepting that he could stare forever and never have his fill, Blair dropped his eyes and began to talk. "Something has come up, man."

"Really? Has it?"

Surprised at Jim's frigid tone, Blair looked back up. "Yeah. Um, I have to go." The rest of his words shriveled in his throat, flash frozen by the icy fury in Jim's eyes.

"Finally got a better offer?"

"A better offer?" he repeated stupidly.

This was a stranger, he realized. This gorgeous man whom he'd laughed with, played with, lived with for the past two months, was now a complete stranger.

"Yeah, you know, a better offer," Jim continued. "Someone with more money to buy you things with or a bigger dick to fuck your tight little ass with. A better offer."

He was stunned. His mother's husband was dead and buried, his mother was alone and frantic, and Jim was asking if he'd had a better offer. Painful anger rapidly replaced his shock.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Jim?"

"I'm just saying you were plenty quick to jump in the sack with me, kid, and it didn't take much to get you to hop in my truck. Why would I think you'd hesitate to hitch a ride with the new next-best-thing who came along?"

Now, as people scurried about them, unaware of the hurtful drama he and Jim were playing out, he wondered how he could have been so utterly wrong about Jim. Did this prick really think so little of him?

"Jim," he had to at least try to straighten this mess out, "it's not what you obviously think."

"How could you possibly know what I think, kid?" Jim interrupted.

"I'm trying to say..."

Jim slashed his right hand through the air, effectively cutting Blair off. "Do you think I care, kid? You were a nice piece of ass, I'll admit that. Having you around was much more convenient than picking someone up every time I wanted to get laid." The leer he gave Blair cut him to the quick. "And God knows you'd do anything I wanted. I can't guarantee every slut I pick up can suck cock as well as you do. Not every boy would let me play the tie-'em-up games you seem to be so fond of."

"Jim, I," he closed his mouth. He had nothing left to say.

"Not that I haven't enjoyed myself, kid, but this was the end of the line for you anyway. Get your gear out of my truck. I've got a couple of things to do and I want you cleared out by the time I get back."

Sucker punched speechless, Blair watched him walk away.

Swishing half a bottle of Scope around his mouth wasn't washing away the stale tastes of vodka, vomit and woman from Jim's mouth.

"Come back to bed," a voice, feminine and sleepy, called out.

Whoever she was, she was going to be disappointed if she thought he was climbing back into the sack with her. He scrubbed his hand over his face. The left eye and cheek were sore. What the hell had he been thinking?

A long look in the mirror revealed a good-sized scab at the corner of his mouth and a pale blue ring around his reddened eye. There was no doubt he'd been heading for hell in a handcart these last few days.

Gingerly feeling around his ribs, he located an almost soft spot under the hard muscle. Hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but he was pretty sure he was bruised, not broken.

He'd sustained injuries like these plenty of times. A man didn't go through basic training or get shot down in the jungle or bull ride or even just work on a ranch without doing some kick-ass damage to himself now and then.

None of the aches and pains he was suffering right now came from anything as honorable as serving his country or good, honest work.

No, the blows he'd given and received were the result of a drunken bar brawl. He and some redneck had pounded the crap out of each other over the piece of tail in the bedroom.

Hell, he hadn't even wanted her. He hadn't wanted anyone since he'd stupidly let things spin out of control with Blair.

All he'd been looking for last night was a fight and he'd found it. Rotating his jaw slowly to check for loose teeth, he wondered who'd actually come out the winner in last night's slugfest.

"Jimmy?"

"Give me a second, will you?" he shouted. He winced at the sound of his own voice. God, hung over and beat up, great combination.

Well, he'd apparently wound up with the girl.

Not that he'd done much with her. From the flashes of last night left in his head, he'd apparently made sure she'd been taken care of, but there was no loose sensation in his belly, no tingle of afterglow left in his groin and brain.

If his body hadn't cooperated last night, it was due to the fight and the booze, not because of Blair.

He should have been cruising for a guy, that was the problem. Tonight he'd look for a man, someone young with big eyes and dark hair. Someone who'd make him laugh, who'd fill the bed with sweaty eroticism, who'd soothe the acidic trembling of his nerve endings and make his senses click back into alignment.

Someone like Blair.

"Jimmy?"

He wished she'd shut up. Splashing cool water on his face, he was thankful the bathroom was unfamiliar. At least he'd had the forethought not to bring the woman to his hotel room. He could leave instead of making a scene to get her the hell out of here. He could run away instead of facing her.

Escaping was what he did best. He'd practiced the art of escape until it was second nature to him. Until it was practically a muscle memory. Eye, arm, snap and his life arched flawlessly into shit.

God, he'd messed up big. The whole confrontation with Blair had become surreal in his head. Like he hadn't even really been a part of it.

Like a muscle memory. He'd anticipated the pain and he'd reacted as he always had. Eye, arm, snap, and he'd lost his chance to make things right with Blair just as he'd lost his chance with his Dad and Carolyn. Eye, arm, snap and it was all gone.

"Jimmy?"

If she said his name again he was afraid he'd lose it. Not that he'd exactly had it together for the past two weeks. God, had it only been two weeks since Blair had left?

His jeans were a damp heap on the bathroom floor. Good. He slipped them on then rested against the pink tile wall for a moment.

"Jimmy? Is everything okay?"

Hell, no. Nothing was okay anymore.

"Jimmy?"

"I've got to get out of here," he told the rumpled redhead on the bed as he grabbed his shirt and boots from the bedroom floor.

"Now?" she said, sitting up and letting the spread fall to reveal her small, firm breasts. "You're leaving now?"

Buttoning his shirt while he walked to the door he answered, "Yeah. I have to. Thanks, though."

"Thanks, though," she mimicked in a bitter, sarcastic tone that reminded him again of why the kid, hustler or not, was still preferable to the garden variety bar tramp. "God, what a waste of time you turned out to be, Jimmy."

"Sorry you thought so, honey." He didn't bother to turn around.

"You are a jerk," she shouted as he left the room.

"I really am," he said, closing the front door. "I really, really am."

"Are you sure, Mom?" Blair asked.

"Sweetie," Naomi said on a puff of exasperated laughter, "I'm sure. You could go ahead and ask me another fifty times, but the answer will stay the same."

"But Nepal? What's in Nepal?"

Naomi put another stack of lingerie into her open suitcase. "Enlightenment, Blair. I'm hoping to find enlightenment."

"I don't want to sound callous, I really don't, but are you positive you're not looking for Merv?"

"How would I be looking for Merv?" she sounded genuinely puzzled.

"You know, Nepal, land of reincarnation. The 'our souls are born again,' get in touch with the possibilities kind of thing."

Sitting down on the chaise lounge next to her bed, Naomi reached out her hand to him. "Sit for a minute, Baby." He did, letting her pull him close. "What's this really about? You know I've always been open to the possibility of reincarnation. I don't hold the traditional Christian view of death."

"Because you're Jewish," he interjected.

"Well, by heritage, but I'm not a very good Jew. My point is that I've never believed in a straight line from birth to death, to a soul being tucked away safely in heaven. You've never held such a narrow view yourself."

"I know."

"Then I hardly need to run to Nepal on some search for Merv's soul." She pointed to her heart. "He's always with me. I have his love and his memory with me forever."

"I know, Mom. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Blair. Just tell me, what is bothering you?"

"Nepal is so far from home. What if something happens to the ranch? Or what if something happens to you?"

Over the past three weeks, he'd helped Naomi sort out the maze of Merv's finances. Together, they'd sorted through and given away most of Merv's personal belongings. Now, he was helping her pack. It didn't seem possible that this determined woman next to him was the same person as the fragile, heartbroken girl he'd come home to.

It would take much longer for her to truly come to terms with her husband's death, but she appeared to have made the first steps.

"Baby," she said, carding his curls like she had when he was a small boy, "I've been to many out of the way places. It wasn't long ago that I was in Peru with you."

"Yes. With me."

She shook her head. "Do you think I need you to watch out for me? Sweetie, I've been traveling on the circuit since you were just a baby. What's the real reason you don't want me to go?"

"It's sort of the reason. I'll miss you, Mom. Even if you can take care of yourself, and I know you can, I'm going to worry, okay? You're my mother. Merv just died and I want to be there for you."

"You've always been there for me, Blair. And it's natural to worry. When you're eighty and have a dozen grandchildren in your backyard, you'll still be my baby boy and I'll still worry. We love each other, so we worry."

"Yeah," he said, thinking how much he'd worried about Jim over the last month. Even though the guy had given him the old, here's-the-door-don't-let-it-hit-you-in-the-ass-on-the-way-out, he couldn't stop thinking about him, couldn't stop worrying about him. He didn't even want to think about what that meant.

"Now, you can worry about me from afar." She gave him a sad smile. "I lost Merv, but at least I had him. He was a good man and I was lucky that we had what time we did."

"I'm glad, too, Mom." He understood completely. He was grateful for the little time he'd had with Jim.

"Worry or not, I'm going, Blair," she said, standing up to return to packing. "Merv wanted to give me the chance to travel."

"He was a great guy," Blair offered.

"Yes, he was. It's funny, I knew we were comfortable, but I had no idea we were actually rich."

"Merv understood the money didn't matter to you, Mom."

"He did." She started putting shoes into a large trunk. "He was a banker, he knew money. It just never occurred to me to find out about it."

"You still don't have to. He's got the money set up in trusts so you'll never have to think about money again."

She laughed sadly. "I guess I don't ever have to worry about making the pick up last another few thousand miles or if there's going to be money for Wind Catcher II's feed."

"No." He brought her another smaller shoe trunk and put it on the end of the bed. "Still, I wish you weren't going so soon."

"Blair, you have to go back to Cascade anyway. What were you going to do? Tuck me in your backpack and take me to school with you?"

Sheepishly, he shrugged. "Maybe. There's plenty of room in the warehouse."

"No more warehouse living," Naomi said.

"Mom."

"This isn't open for debate. Merv's financial advisor, Phil, already bought a place for you not too far from Rainier."

"I feel weird about this."

"You shouldn't," she said, closing the lid on the first shoe trunk. "Merv wanted to help you before and you wouldn't let him. Now you're going to. Besides, Sweetie, this loft sounds perfect for you. It's in one of those old neighborhoods that are starting to become trendy. You'll like it."

"Naomi, I don't want you to start buying me expensive gifts like apartments and cars."

"Okay, then let's call it an investment. Since you won't let me pay off your student loans, think of how much breathing room owning your place will give you. Let me do this for you. It will help to keep me from worrying."

He gave her a quick hug. "Thanks, Mom."

"As for the ranch, Phil is getting the new foreman to start next week. He'll watch over the spread till then."

"You're leaving before you meet the foreman?"

"Blair."

"Okay, okay. Can you blame me for wanting you to stay a little longer?"

"No, I guess I can't. I have to leave now, though. It's strange, but I feel like I'm being drawn to Nepal. Does that sound silly?"

"It's not silly. If you feel like you have to go, you have to go."

"Thank you for understanding." Her facade of strength suddenly crumbled. "Do you think I'm making a mistake going?"

He immediately regretted his attempts to coax her to stay as her sadness and insecurity bubbled to the surface.

"No, Mom, you're not making a mistake. You're starting the next part of your life."

"Maybe I should wait a few more weeks. Maybe meet the new foreman and make sure you're settled in school."

"Naomi," he interrupted her. "Number one, I'm at the end of a Master's program, not starting the sixth grade. I can settle in just fine. Number two, if there's a problem with the ranch, the foreman can call me, okay?"

"What do you know about running a ranch?" she teased, her pang of anxiety apparently fading.

"About as much as you do. That's why Phil is hiring a foreman, right? If there is anything I can't handle, I'll call Uncle Jacob. He knows about running a ranch."

"How did I get such a terrific son?" she said, her composure regained completely.

"Totally the luck of the draw." He motioned for her to finish packing. "You better get it in gear. The flight leaves in eight hours. Although I don't know how you're going to get all this stuff on the plane."

"I might have overdone it a little," she admitted. "I'm going to miss you, Baby."

"I'm going to miss you, too, Mom."

The only note he'd bothered to write Stevie was enclosed with the final money order.

"This is the last time. The well is dry."

He didn't sign it before dropping it in a mailbox on the edge of the fairground. There were times when he really hated his brother.

If Stevie hadn't pissed away all that money on God-knows-what, he would still be tucked away on the ranch. Maybe he hadn't been exactly happy, but at least he hadn't been dragging around a world of hurt.

If he'd never gone back to the circuit so he could bail Stevie's sorry ass out, he'd never have met Blair.

There were times when he really hated himself. Like every time he'd gotten shit-faced drunk in the last month, every time he'd picked up some faceless barfly, every time he thought about how he'd let what could have been the best thing in his life go.

There were times when he really hated life.

He'd come in second overall. He should be on top of the goddamned world, thirty years old and a born-again championship rider. The family ranch had been saved, courtesy of him. He was a fucking bona fide hero.

None of it touched him. None of it. No joy, no elation, not even relief washed over him.

His last ride had been a nightmare. Four seconds into it, his senses had spiked. He'd finished, but the spike had caused a hang-up on his dismount, jerking his bum shoulder. Muscle memory and a sharp bullfighter were all that had saved him from being crushed into the dust that day.

By the grace of whatever god watches over drunks and fools, he wasn't hurt too badly. He'd spent a couple of days holed up in a hotel room, nursing a bottle of vodka and using ice-packs as Blair had shown him.

Unlike the last time, there was no Blair to soothe away the sensory spike. There was no Blair to touch him, tease him, to make the suffering bearable.

How many mornings was he going to let himself wake up like this? His head was throbbing and his mouth tasted like he'd been snacking on turds.

Hung over again. Pathetic.

Momentarily panicked, he ran his hand over the other side of the bed. It was empty save for a melting ice-pack. He was alone. Thank God for small favors.

A knock on the door slammed a beam into his sore brain.

"Jimmy? Jimmy, you up?"

If he could, he'd pull the covers over his head and go back to sleep.

"Jimmy?" The knocking started again. "Jimmy, you in there?"

Skip. He couldn't leave one of his oldest friends standing out in the hallway. "Give me a minute, Skip," he shouted, then swore at the sound of his voice vibrating in his head.

"Just meet me in the lobby coffee shop. I need to talk to you."

"Okay, give me ten minutes."

"Ten minutes," Skip agreed.

He dragged himself off the bed and stumbled to the bathroom. Where was the natural grace he'd always been grateful for, he wondered, as he nearly took a nosedive into the shower stall.

It was closer to twenty minutes before Jim made it to the coffee shop. Even a shower and a change of clothes hadn't done much to disguise weeks of hard riding and drinking.

"You look like shit, boy," Skip observed with the offhanded casualness of a life long friend.

"I feel like shit."

"Where's that kid I heard was running with you?"

Jim hesitated. He'd made sure that Blair had been out of sight anytime Skip had run into him at the rodeo. The last thing he'd wanted was for Skip to see he'd had Carolyn's boytoy with him.

"I told him to take off."

"I heard he was a real pistol."

"Yeah, he was something else," he muttered as he motioned for the waitress to bring him coffee.

"So why'd you cut him lose?" The shrewd gleam in Skip's eye had Jim guessing he hadn't been as discreet all these years as he'd believed.

"I didn't need to play nursemaid for some green kid. Why do you give a damn about him anyway, Skip?"

"I don't. Just talking, Jimmy." Skip leaned back in the vinyl booth to let the waitress top off his coffee and set a cup in front of Jim. After the girl had taken their orders, he started again. "Yeah, you surely do look rough, son."

"I feel rough."

"So, you done?"

"Done?"

"Done with this rodeo nonsense. You rode like a demon this season, no doubt about it, but you're getting a might old for it."

The coffee felt good as it scalded a path down Jim's throat. "I did some of the best damn riding of my career this year." He didn't know why he was bothering to defend his bullriding since he had no intention of continuing now that the loan was satisfied.

"Sure you did, son. I'm damned proud of you, too. I've always been proud of you."

"Thanks, Skip." If only his own father has been as generous with praise as Skip had been. Not that Skip's words didn't warm him, they did. Maybe, though, if William had spared him a few words of encouragement, he would have grown up more comfortable in his own skin. Maybe his head wouldn't have been so screwed up. Maybe he would have been able to trust himself enough to make Blair stay.

"You think much about what you're going to do now, Jimmy?"

As little as possible, if he were honest. Thinking about what he wanted to do made his past mistakes glaringly obvious. "I've thought about it some. Why?"

"And what did you decide?"

"I thought maybe I'd hire on at a ranch."

"Is that what you really want?"

Since he'd come to the conclusion that he could never have what he really wanted, Jim shrugged.

The waitress set their breakfast down. Jim picked at his scrambled eggs for a moment. "Why did you want to know about my plans, Skip?"

"If you were going to go back to ranching, I heard about a small spread looking for a foreman."

"Yeah?"

"It's not much compared to your old man's place, but it's pretty sweet country. The foreman they hired backed out at the last minute. So, you interested?"

"Hell, yes." A purpose, any purpose, was better than sitting in a hotel trying to drink himself to death.

"Ain't you going to ask for some details, boy? What they're paying or nothing? I know I taught you better than that," Skip laughed.

"You did, Skip. You did. Give me all the details and then I'll take it."

The world seemed to be without its usual shine.

Lackluster, Blair thought, looking out of the window onto the commons.

For the first time since he'd enrolled at Rainier everything seemed lackluster. A new term was supposed to be exciting. There were classes to take, lessons to plan, new people to date.

The air of anticipation was there. He could see it as students hurried across campus, new books and new schedules clenched in their hands. He could hear it in the corridors of Hargrove Hall, the nervous chatter and laughter, the tinny snatches of music, the slapping of shoes on tiled floor.

He could see it, he could hear it, but he couldn't dredge up enough energy to feel it. The only thing he was truly feeling was sorry for himself. Well, maybe a little disgusted with himself, too. His mom had lost Merv and yet, from the couple of letters he'd received from her, was pulling her life together. He'd lost nothing and he was still moping around.

How fucking sad was that?

Jim had used him. Jim had never cared about him. He needed to get that through his head and accept it. Whatever insane illusion he'd been harboring in the summer was just that--an illusion.

It was close to impossible to believe that after they'd hung together so closely for two fucking months that Jim could have no inkling of the kind of man he was. They'd lived together, for Christ's sake. Days of being no further apart than the bench seat of Jim's pick-up as they drove from venue to venue. Nights spent no further apart than a small hotel room and a double bed. They ate together, showered together, slept together. How could it be that Jim had no understanding of him at all?

Sure, they hadn't spent much time, well, any actually, talking about their lives. Jim had gotten kind of weirded out if the conversation started to drift toward personal history. It wasn't like they'd been silent, though. They talked for hours on end about philosophy and morality. They argued politics and lifestyles and hairstyles. There wasn't much, aside from their individual lives before they hit the circuit together, that they hadn't dissected and examined while driving on those hot, hard-baked highways.

On the other hand, he had jumped into bed and the pick-up with no perceivable hesitation. He had let Jim pay for the hotel rooms and the gasoline. The few times he'd offered to pay, Jim had gone ballistic.

"Look, kid," he'd said, "it's not like I wouldn't be sleeping in a hotel if you weren't here. As for the gas," Jim'd continued, "it's my truck and we're going where I'm competing. Keep your damned money."

Blair had picked up food and drinks plenty of times, but Jim had definitely paid out the lion's share of their expenses.

Jesus, was he so far gone on the guy that he was willing to make excuses for him? Was he really trying to figure out why Jim thought him to be nothing more than a convenient piece of ass? That was totally bordering on sick.

Yeah, love sick.

Hooking his backpack over his right shoulder, he turned from the window. A few of the students from the aborted Peru expedition were meeting at the student union. The anthropology advisor wanted them to put together a seminar for freshman about things that can go horribly wrong while in the field.

The idea of listening to everyone rehash the trip didn't exactly thrill him, but this whole what-did-I-do-wrong-with-Jim thing was completely counterproductive. He'd worried over it, picked around it, made a few lists about it, and nothing had changed.

Naomi had told him more than once that sometimes things can't be fixed. So, okay, he needed to start putting the summer in perspective. It was a wild, wonderful, erotic time and now it was done. He had to get over it. Starting now.

A swirl of dry, yellow leaves danced in front of the windshield as he pulled into the parking lot.

The early November wind carried the promise of frost, and Jim drew his leather jacket tight while he hurried to the ticket booth. The first real day off he'd had since accepting the foreman job and he was squandering it at the county fair. Paying the admission, he shook his head at his own idiocies.

The midway was filled with squeals of laughter and the hum of huge compressors. The scent of frying oil and candy apples clung to the afternoon air. It was both comforting and disconcerting to know that some things were always the same.

The ranch was every bit as sweet as Skip had led him to believe. The hours were long and the work was strenuous, but not unmanageable. The small crew working under him was competent and trustworthy. It made a hard job enjoyable.

All in all, he was satisfied. Lonesome, but satisfied. If his life wasn't exactly exciting, wasn't exactly everything he'd hoped for, at least it was on an even keel and there was something to be said for that, right?

There had been no contact or even any real instructions from the owner. Jim met with the banker in charge once a month to settle the accounts and pick up payroll. Other than that, he had free run of the ranch and it felt damned good.

If William had shown some faith in him, he could be running the Ellison ranch rather than turning a profit for some faceless stranger.

He looked into the beer tent, but didn't stop. No reason to open up to temptation. He'd slowed the drinking down considerably. Now and then he let himself go a little crazy on a Saturday night, but mostly he kept himself on a short leash.

The endless routine of ranch work combined with meditation had helped keep his sensory spikes under decent control. The trick was not allowing too many highs or too many lows to touch him. Sometimes, especially when he was exercising one of the owner's show horses, he longed for the freedom to open his senses full-throttle, the way he had occasionally when Blair was still with him.

Once, when the desire to indulge in Blair's sweetness for a bit had been overwhelming, Jim had pulled the Ford off the main drag and drove a mile or two down a dirty road.

"I can't believe you, man," Blair had laughed as they'd literally tumbled from the truck onto the grass. "I mean, how do you know some outraged farmer isn't going to shoot us for doing the nasty on his back forty?"

Distracted momentarily from yanking at Blair's jeans, Jim had lifted his head and, on a hunch, opened his senses wide. The effect had been stellar.

He could see the breeze part the grass around them and rush between the individual blades. He could hear the call of birds and the tread of small paws on the ground. He could smell the summer in the soil and the wild undergrowth. The hot flesh of Blair's hips beneath his hands had grounded him, soothed him and he'd known he could let himself soar.

"Jim?" Blair's voice, breathy and delicious against his cheek, had coaxed him back.

"We're alone except for a couple of birds and rabbits, kid."

"Yeah?" Blair had begun to unbutton his shirt. "That's cool then, because I totally don't care if they watch."

It had been sundown before they'd climbed back into the truck.

That was months ago. How many times would memories like that catch him unaware? How much time would have to pass before he could view last summer with only fondness?

He bought fried onion petals from one of the concession stands as he wandered through the cluster of exhibition tents. The greasy, white plate nearly slipped from his fingers when he spotted Carolyn.

She was standing by the 4-H tent, a couple of young girls in riding gear ringed about her. Even after all these years, after all the suffering they'd shared and inflicted on one another, her voice still reminded him of high school pep rallies and homecoming dances.

He watched as she signed a few autographs for the aspiring barrel racers fawning over her. A moment of lightheaded terror struck him when he realized she'd noticed him.

If he had any sense of self-preservation at all, he'd hightail it out of here right now. What the hell was Carolyn doing here anyway?

Was Blair with her? If the kid was, what did he want to do about it?

"Excuse me, girls," she said. "I'll be back in for the judging in a little bit." The giggling group ran back into the tent, leaving her to face him alone.

Even as he moved forward his brain screamed for him to sprint back to the truck.

"Hello, Jimmy." Bonfires and fumbling first times echoed in her quiet tones and he found he couldn't be angry with her about the money any longer.

"Hello, Carolyn." He brushed her forehead with his lips. "How have you been?"

"Fine," she said. "Congratulations, by the way. You did some great riding this year."

"Thanks." He wasn't proud of himself, but he couldn't help adding, "I had to. I needed the money."

Panic and shame raced across her face. "Oh no, Jimmy. You rode because you needed the money?"

"You know, someone cleaned out every dime I had so when a personal emergency came up, I was tapped out."

"I'm so sorry, Jimmy."

"Are you?"

"Of course I am." Her eyes, big and brown, were still those of the girl he'd found escape with when his home life had been hell.

"I don't begrudge you the money, Carolyn." He wasn't angry exactly, but because of her he had glimpsed what he could never have and would always want. "Especially since you needed it for your folks and all."

She ground at the dirt with the tip of her blue cowboy boots. "I lied. My mom and dad didn't need the money. I did."

Okay, maybe he was still angry. "For what, Carolyn? You needed my life savings for what?"

"I'll pay you back, Jimmy. I swear I will."

"The money isn't the issue anymore. I just want to know why you needed it. Some get-rich-quick scheme? Some piece of land you had to have? Another horse? Some man?" He suddenly realized his voice had been rising steadily and they were attracting attention. He sucked in a slow breath to calm himself. "Why did you need the money?"

"My sister, Elaine," she whispered. "She got into trouble."

He remembered Elaine. A pretty redhead with a penchant for getting herself into scrapes. A month before high school graduation, she dropped out and headed for parts unknown. He hadn't seen the girl since his wedding.

"And what kind of trouble costs that much money? Why didn't she go to your dad?"

"She couldn't. It was a gambling debt." He read the absolute truth in her tear-washed eyes. "I couldn't come up with the money fast enough on my own. I didn't know who else to ask. I couldn't let anything happen to my baby sister. Elaine's wild, she always has been, but she's my sister, Jimmy."

Sighing, he let the anger seep out of him. He understood completely. How many times had Stevie screwed up and how many times had he come to the rescue? "So, she's square now?"

"I hope so. I haven't heard much from her since she got the money." She reached out to touch the sleeve of his jacket. "I really am sorry."

"I know," he said.

"Carolyn? Everything okay, honey?" A vaguely familiar man put his arm around Carolyn. Young, thin, and blond, Jim couldn't quite place him.

"Oh, everything's fine, Wayne," she smiled.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure." The adoration on her face surprised Jim. What the hell had happened to Blair? "Jimmy, I want you to meet Wayne Gonzales. My fiance."

"Fiance?" Jim repeated.

"I guess this is kind of awkward," Carolyn laughed. "Wayne, this is Jim Ellison, my ex-husband."

Wayne nodded warily. "I've heard a lot about you. I saw you ride in Colorado Springs. You put that bull through his paces. It was really something to see."

"Thanks," he said automatically. "You're getting great woman here, Gonzales. Best of luck to you."

Then he remembered where he'd seen Wayne before. As clear as it had happened only a moment ago, he remembered.

Skip pointing up into the bleachers that Sunday afternoon. Pointing up to the two boys, one blond and one brunet, sitting apart from the crowd.

"The pretty boy," Skip had spat out. He'd meant Wayne, not Blair.

Carolyn's boytoy, Carolyn's gigolo, Carolyn's free-loading whore was Wayne, not Blair.

Not Blair.

Carolyn and Wayne said something to him and he must have answered appropriately because they smiled and ducked back into the 4-H tent.

Not Blair.

Running back to the truck, onion petals dropped and trampled, his heartbeat chanted to him. "Not Blair, not Blair, not Blair."

If he'd only thought it through from the beginning. If he'd only clarified it with Skip that day, something like, "Oh, the dark-haired one?" If he'd only listened, it could have all turned out so differently.

"Not Blair, not Blair, not Blair," the rhythm pounding through his veins taunted him.

The liar, the user, the taker, the manipulator was not Blair.

He laid his head against the steering wheel, trying to blot out the image of Blair's devastated face when he'd told him to pack up his shit and go. Closing his eyes tight did nothing to erase the memory of Blair, confused and hurt, as he'd called him a convenient piece of ass.

Oh God.

Not Blair, not Blair, not Blair.

He popped the clutch in reverse and pulled out of the parking spot. He had to get out of here, had to get back to the ranch, had to find a way to stop the thundering in his head.

Not Blair.

If Blair hadn't hopped into the truck and taken off with Jim because he was looking for another sucker to pay his way, why had he gone along? If the caring and the friendship hadn't been merely things Blair had been bartering with, then they'd been genuine.

The sweetness, the sex, the laughter, everything that had made him fall in love with Blair had been real. He'd struck out from his fear, his pain and hurt someone who'd been blameless.

He'd destroyed what could have been the best relationship of his life for nothing.

Two days later, when the numbness was lifting and his head cleared, it dawned on him that Carolyn and Wayne might know how to reach Blair. By then, the couple had moved on.

He hadn't wanted to make this damned trip in the middle of winter, but Naomi had insisted.

She'd called ten days ago. "Sweetie, I'll have Phil take care of the flight."

"Mom, I can't just drop everything I'm doing because you had a dream."

"Blair Sandburg, I happen to know you have a long weekend coming up."

"Go to the ranch and back on a three day weekend?"

"I'm not asking you to walk. It's a couple hours there, a couple hours back. Take a friend if you'd like."

"Tell me again why I have to go? You're got Phil, you've got a foreman. What do you think I can possibly do that they can't do?"

"Honey," from halfway across the planet her voice had crackled through to him, " I'm not asking you to do anything in particular. I'm asking you to go to the ranch for the weekend."

"Because?" he'd prompted.

"Because I had a dream that you needed to go there. I don't have any details. Just do it for me, please?"

He didn't know why he'd bothered to argue. He'd known from the start that he would go. Naomi had begun to take her hunches and dreams and instincts seriously since she'd started studying in Nepal. Since his own hunches and dreams and instincts had been off lately, who was he to say she was wrong.

"I'll go. Have Phil book two tickets."

Why not make it a romantic weekend, he'd thought.

Why not indeed, he grumbled as he waited for his rental to be brought around. Snow was blowing on the frigid night air. If he hurried, he might make it to the ranch before the roads got too bad.

Donna, his date for this romantic weekend, had flaked out on him last night. "I'm sorry, Blair, but I just can't pull a weekend from my time budget." The fact she'd changed her mind while they were still in bed had been a pretty good indicator to him that their relationship was drifting back into the friendship zone.

Just as well, he told himself as he climbed into the Chevy and turned the heat up full blast. He'd planned to use this weekend as a last hurrah before breaking up with her anyway. It would be easier now, letting everything fade instead of doing the big confrontational thing.

He pulled carefully out into the Friday rush hour traffic. Snow fluttered in the light of his low beams. Fuck, he hated driving in this mess.

So, he and Donna were done. That worked. It was a new year, time to date someone from a new department.

He'd dated an architecture major in September, a girl from the college of business for most of October, a guy from the pharmacy college over Thanksgiving and Donna, an English lit major, for December and January.

Maybe he'd snag a nice, sensible math major for Valentine's Day.

His love life sounded a lot more amusing than it felt. Still, tag-team dating and marathon screwing had helped him put last summer's fiasco into perspective. Mostly.

Sometimes, when he least expected it, last summer still caught up with him. A few weeks ago, he and Donna had been lounging in her apartment, each grading papers for their respective classes, when she'd let out a whoop of laughter.

"Check this out, Blair," she'd said, flapping a blue book in his direction. "Not that all freshmen poetry isn't putrid, but this one, geesh."

"Share."

"Brace yourself," she'd warned. "Walking past/None can see/That my soul/Still pines for thee."

"Huh."

"I'm thinking a C+, since she did manage to spell everything correctly."

He hadn't admitted to Donna that, awful as the poem might have been, he understood the sentiment. The idea of pining for anyone was ridiculously old fashioned, so he'd pushed her back on the sofa cushions and kissed her until the pining inside him had faded.

Traffic thinned as he left the city limits. The ranch was a half-hour drive in good weather. With the condition of the road and the ever-deteriorating visibility, he knew he would be behind the wheel for at least an hour. Jesus, he really did hate driving in this shit.

He wished Donna was with him, chatting about bad poetry or idiotic sophomores. Any conversation would be good right about now. Too much quiet gave last summer the opportunity to rear its ugly head.

It wasn't like he thought about it all the time, just too much of the time. He'd decided sometime in early December, when the stores were beginning to fill with holiday shoppers, that it wasn't about being in love with Jim or even lusting for the other man. It was about pride. He wasn't used to being treated as if he was inconsequential, as if he were an afterthought.

As if he were no more than a convenient piece of ass.

It stung his pride. It pricked his ego. That's all it was.

The snow, thick and wet, nearly obscured the road leading into the ranch. Downshifting, he maneuvered through the slick darkness. Taking the curve a little too fast, the car skidded a few feet off the driveway, much too close to the porch, before stopping.

Christ Almighty. He sat for a moment, his heart in his throat, contemplating how close he'd come to slamming into the house. How the hell had he let Naomi talk him into this?

Realizing he should be grateful he'd made it in one piece, he popped the trunk and made a dash to grab his duffle bag and hurried up the steps to the front door. Cold and wet, he hoped Naomi was freezing her tush off in some yak skin tent right this minute. Fair was fair.

Fumbling with his keys, he once again cursed his mother's hunches and his inability to say no to her.

The inside of the house wasn't much warmer than the outside, but at least it was dry. From the dank, musty smell, he doubted anyone had been in the house since he had taken Naomi to the airport six months ago.

He flicked on the lights, kicked his wet boots off on the tile floor of the foyer, and went down the long hallway to turn the heat on. Knowing it would be a while before the furnace could warm the icy, stale air, he left his coat on and detoured into the kitchen, hoping to find something edible since he hadn't stopped at a store on the way out of town.

Digging through the freezer he found a pound of Swiss Mocha Coffee. He started a pot immediately. With satisfaction, he noted there were plenty of frozen items and canned goods to carry him through the weekend.

While waiting on the coffee, he rummaged through the cupboard. There, in the midst of paper-thin, gold rimmed china that had been passed down through Merv's family, were a couple of Naomi's mugs. Passing over the #1 Cowgirl cup, he grabbed a blue one that proclaimed Barrel Riders Do It In Formation.

How had two people as completely different as Naomi and Merv fit together so well?

He took his coffee into the parlor. Through the French doors he watched the snow fall faster and harder, covering the porch that ran the length of the house on this side. Between the coffee and furnace, warmth was flooding through him so he took his coat off and laid it across one of the small tables.

Fuck, he was tired. He'd stayed up way too late with Donna, went to class all morning and flew out this afternoon. He still had a couple of dozen bluebooks to grade, but not right now. Grabbing an afghan he recognized as Naomi's from the back of a chair, he lay down on the sofa facing the French doors and covered up.

If it wasn't going to be a romantic weekend, at least he could make it a relaxing one.

The last thing in the world Jim wanted to do was to go back out.

A freak storm system had hit the area unprepared and he and his crew had scrambled to get the horses in and the rest of the stock secured. He'd sent the men home several hours ago, hoping they would arrive there while the roads were still passable.

Glad one of the perks of this job was a small house behind the barn, he ducked into his doorway after making a midnight check on the horses. All he wanted was a hot shower and warm bed. If the weather didn't break, he'd have to throw out bales of feed for the herd and that meant getting up in a couple of hours. His wet boots had barely hit the floor when he looked out his front window toward the main house.

A light was on.

Phil hadn't mentioned that the owner was coming back, and it was far too late to call the man, even if he did have more than an office number. If it was the owner, he'd just say hello and ask if everything was all right, he thought, pulling his boots back on. If it was a trespasser, well, they'd be having a more intense conversation. After buttoning his coat, he unhooked his rifle from the rack.

"Son of bitch, it's cold," he said out loud, as the wind whipped at the bit of his face not covered by his scarf. The road between the foreman's place and the main house was covered in snow. Deciding it would take less time and effort to walk, he tilted his hat down and closed the distance as quickly as he could.

A small Chevy was parked cockeyed in front of the house. Damn fool must have taken the circle too fast and skidded. Whoever it was had been lucky not to smash into the building. The snow on the porch steps nearly sent him sprawling as he climbed them.

What little patience he had left dried up as he stood in the windy dark and pounded on the door for the third time. The door swung open just as he'd raised his right fist for a fourth strike.

The bright light spilling from the entryway caught him unprepared. Jim braced himself, expecting the sharp pain that accompanied a visual spike. None came. Instead, a thread of calm curled through him, allowing his sight to acclimate easily, normally.

The soothing, sleepy smell he'd awakened to last summer found him through the January air. A voice he'd been sure he would never hear outside his memories again reached him above the howl of the wind.

"Jim?"

Blair squeezed his eyes tight, then looked again.

Nope, not a hallucination. Even wrapped nearly head to toe, even made visible only by the weak splash of light coming from the house, Blair easily recognized him.

"Jim?" He half-hoped the cowboy would shake his head and deny what Blair knew to be true.

The other man's reply was muffled and lost underneath his scarf and coat. The snow blowing in, stinging Blair's bare feet finally moved him to action. "Christ, what am I thinking? Come on in, man."

Heart pounding, mind whirling in shock, he briefly leaned his forehead against the dark wood of the door after closing it behind them. He'd fantasized about seeing Jim again a thousand times, but every word he'd dreamed about slinging at the bastard had dried up and disappeared.

No time to be a coward, Sandburg, he admonished himself. He turned around. There, staring back at him, was undeniably Jim. His scarf was off, he was unbuttoning his coat and, fuck, he looked wonderful. A second before his brain could remind his heart why this man was poison, Blair whispered, "Wow."

"What the hell are you doing here, kid?"

Kid. So, six months had come and gone and nothing had changed. Jim couldn't even be bothered to call him by name. Yeah, Jim was still an arrogant, cantankerous dick and Blair still wanted him.

Deciding that Jim would never know how much he'd hurt him, Blair pushed off the door and retorted, "What are you doing here, Ellison?"

"I'm the ranch foreman," Jim said. "I belong here."

It was then Blair noticed the rifle propped against the wall next to Jim. Could this trip have been any more fucked up? He swallowed hard to keep laughter, panicked and sour, from erupting. He had to remember he had the upper hand this time around.

"Is that for me?" Blair nodded at the firearm.

"It's for trespassers," Jim said, taking a step toward him. "What are you doing here?"

"So, you're the foreman, huh?" he said, choosing to ignore Jim's question.

"Yes," Jim snapped. "I'm the foreman. We've established that. Why are you here?"

"Don't worry, Mr. Foreman. Our meeting here is purely coincidental. Some bizarre joke the cosmos decided to play on us." He smiled. "See, Jim, my family owns this place. You work for me."

How about them apples?

Blair hadn't actually said it, but Jim got the message loud and clear. Of all the ways he'd dreamed of running into Blair again, this had never crossed his mind. Hair curling wildly about his shoulders, blue eyes blazing, he looked like Jim's childhood vision of a seraphim, fierce and beautiful. Not a speck of joy shone on the face turned up at him. Jim wanted nothing more than to slide down to the floor and let the earth swallow him whole.

How could he have ever been so stupid? Blair was not a two-bit tramp or a rodeo hobo or a drifter. He'd been some rich kid out slumming. Even if he'd been honest with the kid from the beginning, he'd never had a chance.

Feeling like a fool, he remembered the numerous times he'd tried to get in touch with Carolyn over the last three months to see if she had any idea where Blair might be. Whenever he'd run into anyone from the circuit he'd asked if they'd seen Blair. He'd broken down a few times and prayed, hoping some greater power could help put right what he'd done so wrong. All to no avail.

Now, out of the blue, Blair was in front of him. For a moment, for just a moment, he'd fooled himself into believing everything could click back into place. Blair had whispered, "Wow," his eyes soft and inviting. Then his spine had snapped straight and a smile, so razor sharp and unpleasant it had pierced Jim, had crossed Blair's face.

He didn't have a chance, that was obvious, but he'd promised himself that if he ever had the opportunity to tell Blair the truth, he would. Of course, he'd never expected to discover he was working for Blair. He'd never expected to stumble upon him in snowstorm. He'd never expected Blair to look at him with such loathing and he'd never expected the tight blossom of pain that spread in his chest as he listened to Blair's soothing voice spit venom at him.

All the arguments he'd concocted, all the formulated persuasions he'd planned as he lay on his bed and hoped for this moment, were condensed to three words. "I was wrong."

Blair's bottom lip trembled for a split second, then firmed again. "Yeah, you were plenty wrong, buddy. I mean, seriously, look at this place. Then again, I guess you look at this place every day, huh? If you would have played your cards right, you know, if you would have kept fucking that convenient piece of ass, you might be living here instead of just working here." He gave a nasty bark of laughter. "Wait. You are living here, right? At the foreman's house. Not too shabby, but just think, you could have been screwing up here in the big house."

"Blair, please."

"Please? Please what?" The lewd look Blair gave him twisted his stomach. "Oh, you still want your chance to do it in the big house? I suppose that could be arranged." Blair ran his hand over Jim's crotch. "You'll have to get out first thing in the morning, though. We wouldn't want anyone to know I was sleeping with the hired help."

He pulled Blair's hand away. "Stop it."

"Okay." Blair stepped back, cutting smile in place. "It's no big deal, Jim. Just a little friendly fuck between old acquaintances, right? We both know it doesn't mean anything one way or another."

He gripped Blair tightly by the shoulders. "It does mean something," he said. Unable to resist he brushed his lips over Blair's. "It does mean something."

"It means nothing," Blair protested before opening his mouth and licking Jim's tongue.

It was so good to be pressed up against Jim's muscular body again.

Blair couldn't suppress a moan as he rubbed his jean-covered erection across Jim's. How was it possible that Jim tasted better, felt better than he had remembered? During the past months, he'd often suspected his memories of the man had been totally blown out of proportion. Now, arms wrapped around each other, mouths clinging hungrily, he marveled how time had dulled his recollections so much.

Jim was hotter, sweeter, bigger than he'd allowed himself to recall. He smelled of snow and leather and horse and Blair wanted to burrow deep inside him.

"Say you believe me," Jim murmured against his throat. "Say it, Blair."

For fuck's sake, couldn't Jim just let them be in the moment? He could forgive himself later if they both shut up and let good sense be overwhelmed by passion. If he thought too much about this, thought too much about how badly he wanted this and how much pain it would cause him later, he might back out.

"Do you believe me?" Jim asked, putting an arm's length between them. "Do you?"

Blair tried to plaster his body against Jim's again, hoping to keep the other man quiet and get them back on track. Jim, the prick, wouldn't allow it. Sighing, Blair crossed his arms on his chest. "Okay, Jim, let's get this out of the way. Do I believe what?"

"That I was wrong. That I'm sorry."

Blair shrugged. "Sure, I believe you. Now, can we take this upstairs?"

Jim looked confused. "Upstairs?"

"Yeah, upstairs. Unless there's something else you'd like me to say before you fuck me."

"I'm not getting this right. Give me a minute."

"Don't bother, man. It doesn't matter. Do you want to get laid or not? No big deal if you don't. It's not like I didn't just have sex last night. I can wait till I get back home if you're not interested."

If he didn't know better, if he hadn't been the recipient of Jim's own cold cruelty, he would have sworn his words hurt Jim.

"It does matter. Even if you don't forgive me, at least let me tell you what happened."

"Ah, I see. You're having some crisis of conscience and it's up to me to assuage your guilt." He motioned for Jim to follow him into the parlor. "I'd like to get comfortable before I become your priest-confessor."

Not looking back to see if Jim had followed him, he settled on one end of the sofa and covered up with the afghan. He'd listen, but he refused to let Jim tear him apart again. He pulled his legs up to his chest and hardened his heart.

Maybe he should have kept quiet and tried to let sex solve their problems. Of course, that hadn't worked with Carolyn. Besides, Jim was sure that Blair would have kicked him out of bed first thing in the morning and never looked back.

He couldn't let that happen. Kissing Blair, holding him again, made him realize that merely obtaining Blair's understanding would never be enough. He needed Blair's forgiveness. He wanted his love.

Wrapped up in a blue blanket, only his head and shoulders uncovered, Blair waited for him to speak. Seraphim, Jim thought, taking in the perfect mouth and fiery eyes, an earth bound seraphim.

"You've got my undivided attention, man. Go for it."

From the mulish expression on the seraphim's face, he knew he had only one opportunity to get it right. He paused for a moment, weighing his words and thoughts carefully. "The first time I saw you wasn't at the Cypress Lounge. I went there that night specifically to meet you."

"What?"

Jim turned his back on Blair to look out the French doors. The snow was falling harder now than it had been when he'd trudged over here. "I never wanted to rodeo. I'd given it up a few years back. I was too old. I had a bum shoulder, and I never wanted to climb up on one of those damned bulls again."

"So why did you?"

"I have a brother, Steven, who dreams big and loses bigger. He screwed up bad and everything my dad owns was on the line. I rode to bail Steve out. I did it for the money."

"Oh."

"I'd built up a nice chunk of change from riding the circuit years ago, but I'd given it away. When my family really needed me to come through for them, I didn't have a dime left."

"I see."

"No, you probably don't. I gave the money to my ex-wife."

"I didn't know you'd been married."

"It was a long time ago and it was a disaster. We married too young, for the wrong reasons. Anyway, I suppose I thought giving her the cash would go a long way in making things up to her."

"Did it?"

"Not even close." Now wasn't the time to let Blair know what a lying, cheating two-timer he'd been. Fidelity might have been impossible with Carolyn, but with Blair it would be essential.

"So, you decided to compete again because you'd given all your money to your ex. What exactly does that have to do with me?"

He moved to sit on the opposite side of the sofa. "When my brother told me he needed the money, he also told me that my ex was using the money I'd given her to pamper some new, young boyfriend.

"That sucks."

"I can't begin to tell you how angry I was," he said, brushing over Blair's sarcastic interjection. "I thought I was helping her out and she was using me. My family had to have the money and I couldn't help them because she had some boytoy to support. I had to walk away from a job I liked and a life I was comfortable with to do something that had nearly made me lose my mind."

Blair looked almost sympathetic. "That really does suck, Jim, and I'm sorry you had to go through it, but when do I come in?"

"I was riding in Colorado Springs and Skip, my old riding coach, looked up in the stands and told me that my ex's boyfriend was sitting there watching me."

"And?" Blair prompted.

"And there were two young guys sitting side-by-side in the bleachers. A skinny blond and a good looking brunet. Skip told me, 'He's the pretty boy.'"

Last summer, as they rode from town to town filling the truck cab with conversation, Blair would have given anything to have Jim open up to him like this.

Now, he wished Jim would stop talking. He had a sickening feeling he knew where this was going. Jim leaned his head on the back of the sofa, staring up at the ceiling.

"I thought it was you, Blair. I thought you were the one spending the money I'd struggled to put away. I thought you were the reason my life had fallen apart."

He wished Jim would just disappear. He wished he was back in Cascade in Donna's funky apartment thinking up ways to make the break up seem like her idea. He wanted Jim to shut the fuck up, but he heard himself asking, "So you decided what, Jim? To be judge, jury and executioner? What the hell did you expect to accomplish, man?"

Still staring at the ceiling, Jim answered, "I wanted to hurt Carolyn. I wanted to fuck her boyfriend and rub her face in it."

"You suck, Jim. You really fucking suck." So, he'd been more than a good piece of ass, more than a boy who willingly played tie-me-up games. He'd been a pawn in some pointless, childish tug-of-war between a divorced couple.

"I know I do," Jim said quietly.

"You want to get back at your ex, so you drag me all over hell and back to accomplish it? I don't get it."

Jim sat up straight to face him. "Everything changed once I'd actually talked to you."

"Yeah, right."

"Blair, I was going to have a one night stand with you and then tell her about it. That was it. After we talked, after that night in the motel, I forgot about revenge and my ex. I just wanted to have you with me."

"Great story, Jim. Funny, I don't exactly remember it that way. I remember some laughs, some sex and you dumping my ass. Did I miss some subtleties there?"

"I was jealous, okay? I saw you with Carolyn and I lost my head."

"Carolyn?" he laughed bitterly. "You saw me with Carolyn Plummer? Carolyn Plummer is your ex-wife?"

"Yes, and Wayne Gonzales is her boyfriend. The one I thought she was bankrolling. It turns out I was wrong about that, too."

"You were making a career out of being wrong, you dick. Carolyn is an old friend of my mom's. She wanted to let me know my mom had been looking for me. While I was running around the countryside with you, helping you attempt to fulfill some meaningless vendetta, my step-father died and my mom needed me." He jumped off the sofa, the afghan falling to the floor. "I was so damned stupid."

"I'm sorry, Blair."

"I kept thinking that I must have said something wrong, done something wrong. You are a total and complete asshole, man."

"Blair." Jim was standing beside him. "Whatever you think of me and of what I've done, you have to believe that I'm sorry."

"I don't have to believe anything that you say, Jim. Nothing." Jesus, but he wanted to. What would it have been like if Jim had been honest from the beginning?

"I was a fool. I admit that. I've done many things I'm ashamed of over my life, Blair. Someday, if you want, I'll give you a litany of my sins so you can truly appreciate how much of a jerk I am."

"Gee, Jim, you're really selling yourself to me here."

"But I'm not enough of a jerk to let you go a second time without a fight."

"You..." he snapped his mouth closed.

"I should have listened to you. I should have listened to my own instincts, my own heart, but I didn't. I love you, Blair. I can't make up for what a moron I've been in the past, but I'm willing to try."

"I don't know what you expect me to say, Jim."

That was it then.

To lose when everything seemed within his grasp was a concept he was so familiar with that Jim was surprised it was crushing the breath from him. "Okay." He turned to leave.

"Okay?" Blair said, stepping in front of him. "Okay? I don't know what you want me to say and that's it? That's fighting for someone?"

"You...I can't make..."

Blair cut him off. "Tell you what, Jim, let's change the scenario a little. What if instead of a rich kid living in a big house on a nice ranch that I was a struggling grad student living in a mostly empty loft in a seedy neighborhood in some rainy-ass coastal town?"

"It wouldn't matter."

"What if being with me meant living in that rainy-ass city? What if it meant you had to come out and live openly with me?"

"I'd do it."

Blair snorted. "Yeah, everything is easy to agree to in the hypothetical, isn't it? You look around at all this and you know I'm not some snot-nosed kid with a mountain of debts and an old car and schedule so packed I hardly have a minute to myself."

"I want to be with you," he declared. "Openly, discreetly, I don't care." He touched Blair's lips, enjoying the satin slide of them under his fingers. "What if I told you that I know you're the other half of me? What if I told you that your very presence soothes and excites me? What if I told you I need you more than I've ever needed anyone or anything in my life?"

Blair smiled under his fingertips. "I'd say you're a pretty smooth talker, Ellison." Blair nipped at Jim's thumb.

"I'm not much of a talker at all." He moved his hand away from Blair's quick teeth and tongue. Seduction wasn't the purpose here. "Look at me, Blair. I've made more stupid choices than I can count. I don't own much beyond my pick-up truck. I've thrown away or squandered away everything of value I've ever laid my hands on. I don't care about your money or your house. I care about you. I want you to give me another chance."

Blair wanted to believe Jim.

"What if I really had been Carolyn's boyfriend? What if she really had spent your life savings on me?"

"As long as you didn't go back to her, I'd say it was money well spent because it brought you into my life." Jim kissed him. "Give us another chance."

"I don't want to be hurt again." It was out before he could stop himself.

"I don't want to hurt you again. I can't guarantee I won't pull some bullshit stunts down the road, but I won't ever leave. I promise."

He could push away right now and Jim would let him go. He could walk away and never risk Jim tearing him apart again. He could do it and he'd be just fine.

Or he could throw caution to the wind. He could make a grab for the brass ring. He could take a gamble that love could last forever.

There really was no choice, when it came down to it.

He rose up on his toes, pulled Jim's head down and kissed him hard.

"I really am a struggling grad student," Blair whispered when they finally separated.

"Good," Jim sighed into his neck. "I've always had a thing for college boys."

Epilogue

He was running late. A morning of teaching classes, followed by afternoon office hours, and a quick stop at the library that turned into a couple of hours of research, had put him smack in the middle of rush hour traffic. Glancing at his watch as the elevator chugged slowly to the third floor, he cursed under his breath. He'd promised to be on time.

Before he could insert his key into the lock, the door of the loft swung open and he was pulled in. "Sorry. I know I said I'd be home by 7, but that book on sentinels that I'd requested from UCLA arrived today and I found some amazingly cool passages that I wanted to cross reference and," his monologue was cut short by Jim's tongue slipping into his mouth.

Jesus, he'd never get tired of the taste and feel of this man. He was damned lucky.

Things weren't perfect, of course, but they were working on it. It had taken a few months for a suitable foreman to be hired and Jim was able to move to Cascade. The separation had been difficult, but in retrospect, worthwhile. Daily phone calls and stolen weekends had given them an opportunity to talk out old hurts and misunderstandings.

Finding out that Jim thought Blair was some kind of a mystical soother for his senses had been daunting. He'd spent time studying with the Shaman on the Watumsa reservation and planned to be there for a least part of the summer. He and Jim, according to Tomas, were two halves of the same soul. Blair was inclined to believe it.

Jim released him. "I figured your hold up was something like that. I got caught up this afternoon myself."

"Yeah?" Blair said, following Jim into the kitchen and pulling a bottle of water out of the fridge. "What happened?"

"I got accepted."

"Oh wow. That is fantastic, man. I knew you'd be accepted."

"Then you knew more than I did," Jim said, sliding dinner out of the oven and onto the stovetop.

"Naturally," he said, grabbing two plates out of the cupboard. "You're the pretty one and I'm the smart one." He put the plates on the counter and wrapped his arms around Jim. "Seriously, man, I never doubted you'd make the cut. You'll be a terrific cop."

"You think so?"

"I know so. Even without your heightened senses you'd be a fucking awesome cop. With them, man, the criminals in Cascade won't know what hit them."

"Thanks to you," Jim said, kissing Blair's shoulder.

"Thanks to me?"

"Without you, I'd still be out of control. Without you, God, I don't know what I'd do."

"You'll never find out because I'm not going anywhere without you."

"If you do, I'll follow you." Jim sucked at his earlobe. "And I have super powers that have been honed by a nagging soother. I'll be able to find you easily."

He couldn't contain the smug grin he felt spreading over his face. "Jesus, Jim, why do you think I helped you hone them in the first place?"

End Rodeo by Rentgirl 2: rentgirlsvids@hotmail.com
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