Page 34 of Hot Ice, Tennessee

An utter disgrace to its former owner.

No one is to blame for the failure other than Mason Minton himself.

My stomach turned.

“Um,” I said, furrowing my brow, “is this reporter some sort of snake? Who would insult Mason after he lost his father unexpectedly?”

“That reporter has written other fucked-up things before, too,” Kane said. “Mason’s probably torn up about it. Not that he’d admit it.”

“No one reads newspapers anymore anyway, do they?” I asked, but as I glanced around the diner, already I could see four different people who had copies of the paper on their table.

“Bestens people read the paper,” Thomas said softly.

“I texted Mason asking how he’s doing today, but he skirted the issue,” Kane said. “I saidhow are you holding up with that article,and he texted me back a picture of a hot tub asking me if he should buy it.”

“Did he say anything else?”

Kane shrugged. “Said he was dozing. Probably home alone, maybe taking a nap now.”

A quiet rage swirled through me. The article was unfair, and after hearing Mason talk so fondly about Minton Ranch last night, I knew it was a strike below the belt. Mason loved that place, clearly. And he was still in grief about his father, probably every day, even if he was still fun-loving on the surface. I pictured him alone at home, having to read about it on his own.

Hell no.

Hell fucking no.

An idea came to my mind, and I acted on it before I had time to second-guess myself.

“Hey, Thomas,” I asked. “Could you pack me up two chicken bacon sandwiches and two cinnamon rolls to go?”

5

MASON

Usually I didn’t know what I was searching for in my dreams.

This time, I felt it in my blood.

I knewexactlywhat I was chasing. Plush lips, green eyes, and boundless attitude.

The day was burning hot in the dream, hotter than it was in real life. I’d been running, doing laps around one of the dirt paths where I normally rode the horses, my legs straining from exertion.

I slowed and turned behind the stables, past the tall old trees that led down toward the small stream below it.

Jesse was down there. He was naked, stripped bare so that he could wade into the shallow, glittering stream, his tattooed skin a burst of color against the green and pale brown landscape.

I was desperate for him.

Jesse looked up at me as I traipsed down the bush-lined path toward the river, and there was a knowing look in his eyes:there you are.

I closed the distance between us. He sat down onto a blanket by the river and I straddled him.

We were so close. I looked at his freckles, running my fingertips over them. I was already hard, my cock aching to be closer to him—to beinhim, pushing past his lips.

His green eyes reflected the dappled sunlight under the trees, full of questions. His hand came up to my face, and he pressed his fingers gently against my mouth.

“You know we shouldn’t,” he murmured in his deep voice. I moved my face in close, kissing against his fingers.

“I know.”

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