CURTIS STRETCHED, his arm and shoulder a little sore from signing his name to programs and posters and those little cards the sponsors put out. He always felt like a dork handing those out, because he looked nothing like the picture they always printed on it. Him standing there with his chest puffed out, arms crossed belligerently.
He grinned at this sweet little old lady in a glittery pink button-down. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”
“Mr. Traynor. Can you sign my hat, please?”
“I absolutely can. How are you liking the meet and greet?” He took her hat, his Sharpie at the ready.
“Everyone’s been real nice. I’m wearing down, though. You lookin’ forward to the ride?”
“I am. I live for that, you know.” He finished his last name with a flourish and winked at her.
“Eh. We all know you’re a bronc man. I love to watch you ride.”
“Thank you.” He shook his head. “You caught me, though. I do love the bucking horses. Bulls are too eager to get the job done. Horses, now, they’re fiery.”
She leaned forward, and she smelled like bubble gum. “Bulls aren’t quite as smart, you know. Horses can be pure evil.”
“They can. You got to finesse them. Bulls is just balance and strength.” He loved this part. Loved it.
“Yessir. You just balance yourself. I like you for this one.”
“Do you? I’m kinda on fire.” He flexed dramatically.
“Look at you.” She hooted like a huge old owl, patting his stomach. Oh ho! Handsy granny!
He swooped down and gave her a hug. “Thank you, ma’am. You have fun this weekend!”
She squealed like a girl and walked away, just beaming.
“Good job, cowboy.” Stetson leaned against the windowsill, taking pictures like mad.
“Thanks. She was touchy-feely.” He winked, his ass stinging from her last little pinch.
“You are a stud.”
He was going to pinch Stetson himself.
“I’m a little sore, actually. Autographs use different muscles.”
“Really? Like your fingers?”
Joe Martin, his handler, popped up like a bad penny. “You have a photo shoot, Curtis. You ready? I have your gear.”
“Uh. Sure. Who’s this for?” He left the papers and pens on the table, just grabbing his Sprite.
“Sunday’s paper. I think that they’re going to do a couple of spots for the local news too.”
“Cool.” He liked the local folks in Dallas. They always had fun. “Then we get a break for lunch, right?”
“I am off until tomorrow morning, so far as I know. You’re golfing or playing horseshoes?”
“Horseshoes, man. I don’t golf.” He rolled his eyes at Stetson, who was laughing at him right out loud. “Unless it’s goony golf. Come on, old man. Keep up.”
There’d be a place for spouses and such in there. Stetson could sit and have a Coke and visit, keep him company.
“Right.” Joe hustled them out, never questioning Stetson being with them. Thank God.
Of course, if Joe had, he would have had a new person helping out. Dammit.
“Stop scowling,” Stetson murmured.
“Huh? Oh, sorry. I was defending your honor in my head.”
“My honor is safe. Promise. You’ll give yourself wrinkles.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He gave Stetson a wry grin. “I’m still getting used to this some.”
“You and me both. No wonder you work out so damn much.”
“Yeah.” He wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly, but Curtis figured he’d just nod and smile.
Stetson snorted and followed, and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Stetson was laughing at him.
They ended up doing two sets of pictures. One of him in his riding gear, chaps and all, and one for some Dallas lifestyle magazine where they wanted him to unbutton his shirt and show some skin. Hunks of the rodeo or some crap….
Stetson was going to give him no end of shit.
“Okay, flex your abs. Nice.” The photographer was a sweet middle-aged lady with purple hair, wearing a Megadeth T-shirt. Lord, Lord.
He flexed, and a shitload of catcalls filled the room. Fuck-a-doodle-doo.
His cheeks went hot, and Haley lifted her camera. “Now, you have to stop blushing or I’ll end up doing a shitton of Photoshop.”
“Sorry. I just… this isn’t my thing.”
“You’re hot as hell. You’re fine.” She beamed at him. “Ask anyone.”
He raised a brow at Stetson.
Stetson smiled at him, slow and easy, looked him over, top to bottom, then dipped his chin.
Hoo yeah. Well, all right, then. He could show off some.
He camped it up for the camera, focused on Stetson, on the way his lover admired him. Curtis had never felt more confident or more wanted.
“I want prints, huh?”
She handed him a card. “Call me. We’ll work it out.”
“Thanks.” They wrapped up not long after that, and Curtis was grateful. He was either going to starve to death or jump Stetson right there.
“Man, look at you! Cock of the walk!” Miles patted his butt on the way by. “You coming to lunch, man?”
“Huh? Sure, if Stetson is good with that.” He knew there’d be a dozen cowboys there. Stetson might want a break.
“Whatever you need. What’s going on this evening?”
“Joe says we’re done until morning. We can kinda do what we want.”
“Good.” Stetson grinned at him. “So, lunch?”
“Yep. Did y’all pick a place, Miles?”
“Iron Cactus? It’ll be happy hour at three, so we can lunch now and drink after.”
“Sounds good. We’ll meet you there.” He didn’t want to cab it, so he’d get the truck out of parking. Curtis tugged out his phone to see how far it was.
“I’ll get us a table.” Miles waved and headed out.
He looked it up, and hell, it wasn’t even half a mile off. They could hoof it. “Want to walk? It’s close.”
“Sure. We have time.” Stetson didn’t seem worried.
“Cool.” He put it in that walking score app thing. That would tell them where to go. “So, what did you think?”
“I think you’re the coolest son of a bitch I’ve ever known.”
That surprised a laugh out of him. “Yeah? Thanks, baby. I know it was probably boring.”
“I liked it. Especially the last bit.”
“Think that was okay?” He flushed again, trying not to be obvious, but that had been hot, having Stetson there watching.
“I thought that was fine. I felt like you were posing for me.”
“I was.” Curtis laughed a little, heading out of the hotel and across the street. “I’ve never done a shoot like that.”
“I would have bought that calendar and looked at it when I, you know.”
“I’m getting you prints.” Curtis had a crazy urge to hold Stetson’s hand, but this was Dallas. Probably not wise.
Stetson’s grin was tickled as all get-out.
“You run your butt off,” Stetson said, “when you travel.”
“I bet you thought I just lazed around.”
“No. I think I thought you did sit-ups and stared at the livestock.”
“I did when I was younger. That and drank beer and slept in a van with four other guys.”
“That doesn’t sound fun, cowboy.”
“It was stinky. And loud. Yardley snored.”
“So did Momma.” The joke was easy, fond, and it made him want to dance a little, because he wanted that for Stetson—fond memories, happy thoughts of Betty. They came more often now, not equal with the sadness yet, but time was the only thing to heal that.
“I remember the first time I spent the night. Remember? Your cousin was in the guest room, so I slept on the couch, and I swear I thought the big bad wolf was trying to blow the house down.”
“Lord yes. I snuck you into my room eventually, and you slept.”
“Yeah, a whole house away.” He glanced sideways at Stetson. “Could be I was finally holding you.”
“Could be that we were where we belonged.”
“Exactly. So, what do you think about tonight?” He wanted to hear what all Stetson wanted to do. He really needed Stetson involved.
“I think I’ll hold you all night, cowboy.”
“Oh, damn. I like that idea.” He liked it a lot. “Maybe get room service? They have an amazing carrot cake.”
“Yeah? That would be something. You and me, sharing food in bed, naked….”
He was loving this new, wanton Stetson.
Irresistible.
“Curtis! You walking to the Iron Cactus?” Terry Rodaine fell into step with them. “Couple of the guys took a cab. Lazy bastards.”
“We are. You met Stetson Major?”
“I did. Good to see you.” Terry was a good guy, a Cajun-Texican. The man was used to not fitting in anywhere but having a foot in every world.
“Pleased.” Stetson nodded to Terry, smiled wide. “I thought your ride in Santa Fe was one of the best I’d seen all year.”
“Hey, thanks! I love that arena. It’s just so homey.”
“I do too. I’ve never missed the Rodeo de Santa Fe.”
Stetson’s words made him blink. He’d ridden that rodeo. A lot. Maybe every year since they’d broken up. He sure thought Stetson would avoid it, and he’d looked for Stetson every year, but no one ever sat in his box seats.
God, had Stetson been there? Just watching him? Had Stetson ever tried to talk to him? That rodeo was rife with hookups for most of the guys—good old Santa Gay—had Stetson seen that?
Curtis ducked his head, but Stetson touched his hand briefly. He glanced over again, and Stetson smiled. Okay. He could live with that look.
“It’s a good purse, that one. Not as good as this thing, eh?” Terry jostled his arm.
“No shit on that. This one….” He wanted it. He wanted to take it home to him and Stetson. To their place.
“You’ve got some odds on you, bougre. I’m betting on you too, me.”
“Good. I am too.” For the first time in a long time, he needed this.
“You, man?” Terry asked Stetson.
“My money has always been on Curtis. Always.”
Lord, that could give a man a big head. He beamed, feeling on top of the world. “Thanks, Roper.”
Stetson shrugged, but that smile was warm and right.
They made it to the restaurant about the time a cab pulled in, spilling out five cowboys, including Miles and Braden.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Are you serious?” Miles rolled his eyes.
“Yep. You actually paid to get here, man.” Curtis laughed hard, slapping his leg. “Lazy.”
“Fuck you. I’m saving energy to ride Big Mickey.”
“Bullshit. That bull is mine.” He hoped. It was all in the draw, and several of them would have the chance to ride him.
“You think? You might try Tres Equis.”
“Shee-it.” That was Terry. “Ain’t no one rode him.”
“He’s a cowboy killer,” Braden murmured. “Like that Bodacious back in the day.”
“Back in the day before you were born.” Miles snorted.
Stetson’s lips twitched, but Terry howled with laughter. “You do have you a young one, but we all was, once.”
“Hey! I was born before he retired!”
“Like a year before.” Another young cowboy joined them, poking Braden.
“More like two.”
“Well, heaven forfend,” Miles said, and Curtis lost it.
“What does that even mean?”
Terry wailed, pounding on Miles’s back. They were getting that out of their systems before they went inside.
At the end, twenty cowboys were at two huge tables, talking and eating, tucking back beer and margaritas.
Stetson was laughing with Miles and Braden, who had him fenced in between them and Curtis. Good men.
“Is it true, Traynor? You got you a ranch now?” Frank Hanson, the best bullfighter in the business, was all well-lit and grinning.
“I’ve got a place, yeah. Part owner. Gonna run bucking horses.”
“Yeah? Up near Taos? You gonna let us come up on the off-season? Go skiing?”
He sat there a second, but it was Stetson that leaned back and smiled at Frank, the look as warm as springtime. “Of course. We got a guest room, and we’re talking about a little casita for folks.”
“Oh, that would be nice. Hell, I’d rather pay y’all for electric and food than to a hotel.”
“Well, there you go.” Stetson held one hand out. “I’m Stetson Major. I’m with him.”
“Pleased.” Frank gave them a kind of once-over before nodding. “You got to watch this one, Stetson. He’s itchy in the feet.”
“Not like you’d think, buddy,” Curtis said. “I’m feeling settled.”
“I’m not worried. He knows where home is.”
Frank chuckled, nodding some more, like one of them bobbleheads.
“What kind of stock are you looking at?” Chauncey Davis asked, and they were all talking horses before long.
“I like raising them high elevation. Bigger bones, bigger lungs, and they buck like they’re closer to heaven.” Stetson had everyone’s attention, all of the guys hanging on his words as if they were bible.
“You don’t find they get sick too often from the supplemental feed?” Frank asked.
“You’re careful, they’ll be fine. I worry more about the heat.”
“Yeah? Huh. I’m so used to having grass, I’d be worried.”
Braden laughed a little. “Them horses up Cheyenne way sure are rawboned. I think you’re onto something, Stetson.”
“I told Curtis we can run some mustangs, see what comes of it.”
“Nice.” Miles got a wistful look on his face. “I always wanted to do that adopt a mustang thing.”
“I run a herd on the back acreage by the ghost town.” Stetson settled in, and the stories started flying about the horses and the cattle and the elk and the land, and Curtis had to smile.
All the fame and fortune in the world, and what every cowboy wanted was land to work and livestock to care for. Even if they hadn’t grown up that way, it was in their genes.
God love ’em.
He and Stetson shared the steak fajitas for two with extra guacamole. Goddamn. This was his life.
Curtis grinned at Stetson. He loved this man more than anything in the whole world.
“Eat your meat, cowboy,” Stetson muttered.
“I am. And my veggies.” The tortillas Stetson could have this time around.
“I’ll feed you homemade ones. After.” Stetson got it.
“Thanks, Roper.” He winked. There was nothing like homemade if he was gonna carb load.
Right now he had to stay in the pocket, mind in the middle.
Tomorrow he had that charity thing, then the event started at seven, so he had to be at the arena by five or so, gear in hand.
Then he was going to take that fucking money home.