Jeremiah had seen to his horse and taken off his chaps following his calf roping event at the rodeo in Butterfield. I’m not as young as I used to be, he thought, rubbing at his shoulder as he headed behind the chutes to watch the next contestant in the charity event. His gaze snagged on a gray hat, and he did a double take. In a sea of cowboys wearing similar hats, he didn’t know what had grabbed his attention about this particular one.
What the hell—who are you tryin’ to fool? You know damn well why he’s on your radar.
Dale Harris was the owner of that hat—Jeremiah had spotted him earlier, much to his combined annoyance and interest. As Jeremiah watched, the soon-to-be foreman at Willow’s ranch took off the Stetson and slapped it against his leather-clad thigh, setting free a cloud of dust. Jeremiah’s mind immediately began to imagine what the man’s tree-trunk legs would look like in the chaps he was wearing, without the benefit of the Wranglers beneath. The black leather framed his tight, round ass in the back and his crotch in the front. The arrogant bastard was sculpted to perfection, every hard inch of him.
It pissed Jeremiah off that, out of all the men in the world he could be physically attracted to, it was a man he’d despised since knowing him all of three minutes after they’d met last week. While the man was freaking gorgeous, his smug attitude toward Jeremiah that day had rubbed him the wrong way. Jeremiah had accompanied Willow and her now-boyfriend, Nathan Casey, to an alpaca ranch in Redworth where Dale was the foreman. The ranch’s owner had passed away, and the family wanted to sell the herd and equipment. It’d also meant Dale would soon be unemployed.
Willow had done a bang-up job negotiating with the deceased man’s nephew for a good deal that included, not only the odd-looking, fluffy animals and the equipment, but three horses, two goats, and two herding dogs. When all was said and done, Dale had also agreed to come work for her. He’d be living on her property in an RV in just a few weeks—close enough to be a maddening temptation for Jeremiah. Shit, the guy was probably as straight as they come too.
Shaking loose his wayward thoughts, knowing it wasn’t the time nor the place, he turned his attention back to the arena, where a rider he didn’t know had just beaten his roping time.
“Dammit.” Second place was going to have to do. It was for a good cause in any case. A local soldier had suffered a traumatic brain injury in Afghanistan, and the money being raised would be used for several things to make his life easier, including renovating his family’s home to accommodate his wheelchair. Hopefully, there would also be enough to buy a van he could be easily transported in. As with past charity rodeos Jeremiah had participated in, the winners of each event would most likely donate their cash prizes to the family, keeping just their buckles and ribbons. He’d already decided to do that if he came in first or second.
“You’d think a lifetime of being a closet case would teach you to keep your eyes to yourself, boy.”
Jeremiah’s head whipped around, his heart hammering as his fear rose so fast he thought he’d faint on the spot. Instead, he did his best to mask his near panic with anger. “The fuck?”
“You keep checking me out.” When Jeremiah opened his mouth to protest, his words were cut off when Dale glared at him. “Don’t try to lie to me. I won’t blacken your eye, since I like the attention, but there are plenty of guys here who would. Or worse.” The man leaned his elbows on the fence. He’d managed to sneak up on Jeremiah while his mind had been elsewhere. The devastatingly handsome man’s voice was low enough that only Jeremiah could hear him—thank God. Unfortunately, that deep, raspy tone was sexy as all hell too and doing all sorts of things to Jeremiah’s body that he fought to thwart. “Most don’t see it. But I do. Be careful, sweetheart.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, but you keep it up and I’ll show you that even Wyoming ranchers can kick Marine ass.” Willow had learned her new foreman was a retired Marine when she’d spoken to him a few days after agreeing to buy the alpaca operation and hiring him. She’d mentioned it to Jeremiah, and since then, he’d been imagining what Dale looked like in dress blues—without a doubt, he had to be freaking gorgeous in them. Had he been an officer? Did he have a saber to go with his dress blues? Jeremiah couldn’t help but want to see Dale play with his . . . sword. God, that was so miserably corny.
Chuckling, Dale eyed him for a moment before leaning his head closer, close enough to kiss. His chiseled face was cloaked in the deep shadow from his gray Stetson. “You’re hot as hell, neighbor.” He stressed that last word, like he was reminding Jeremiah exactly what they were going to be in about two weeks. “There’s no denying that. I love the ginger thing you got going on, but I don’t fuck in the closet. When you decide you’re not afraid anymore, you come find me. It’ll be more than eight seconds and hell of a lot more fun.” Grinning, he licked his lips, his amber gaze burning holes through Jeremiah’s clothes as he raked his eyes over Jeremiah’s body from head to toe. “Might still hurt a bit though.”
With a wink and a tip of his hat, Dale walked away. Despite the man’s warnings, and the surprise and irritation coursing through him, Jeremiah’s eyes were glued to Dale’s ass, framed in those damn black leather chaps, with the silver fringe slapping rhythmically against his thick thighs.
Harris is gay? Jeremiah was so shocked you could have knocked him over with a feather. And how the hell did Dale known I was in the closet?
Regardless of whether the man was gay or not, Jeremiah wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole. Not after Dale’s declaration. He wouldn’t be forced to come out for a hot piece of ass. Not now, not ever. His ranch, his livelihood, and his family’s legacy rested on his shoulders. He was fine with his twice monthly trips to the city—he got what he needed there without complications. So the guys in the club seemed to be getting younger as he got older. It shouldn’t bother him that he always awoke the next day with a sour taste of regret in his mouth. It was a sacrifice he’d been making his entire adult life and would continue to do so. No matter how much he craved the dark-haired Marine who both pissed him off and fascinated him at the same time.
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