Page 4 of Dust and Desire
Sagebrush, Texas. My new home. For now.
To be honest, it didn’t look much different from any other small town as my old blue truck tumbled down the paved roads in desperate need of resurfacing.
The truck’s suspension groaned with each pothole, and I winced as my toolbox rattled around in the bed. Should’ve secured that better, but I’d been too eager to get on the road this morning. Too eager to leave behind the mess I’d made of things back in Oklahoma.
Rolling hills stretched out on either side of the main drag, covered in that particular shade of green that only came with early summer rains. The grass moved like water in the breeze, and I found myself slowing down despite my hurry to get to the Baker Ranch before sundown. There was something about this place that made a man want to breathe deeper, sit a little straighter in his seat. And it was far away from my troubles.
Downtown Sagebrush consisted of maybe six blocks of weathered storefronts and a single traffic light that blinked yellow in all directions. A few pickup trucks were angle-parked in front of what looked like a diner, and I caught sight of an old-fashioned barberpole spinning lazily in the afternoon heat. It was the kind of place where everybody knew everybody, and strangers stuck out like sore thumbs.
Perfect. Just what I needed after the disaster I’d left behind.
I pulled over to check the address Logan Baker had given me over the phone, squinting at my phone screen in the glare. Three bars of service, which was better than I’d expected for the middle of nowhere. The ranch was supposed to be about ten miles outside of town, and according to my GPS, I was almost there.
The road out of Sagebrush was even rougher than the main drag, flanked by fence posts and cattle gates that had seen better decades. But as I crested a small hill, the landscape opened up into something that made me forget all about the truck’s protesting shocks.
The Baker Ranch spread out before me like something from a postcard. Rolling pastureland dotted with cattle, a cluster of buildings that included what had to be the main house, a sprawling two-story structure with a wraparound porch, and various barns and outbuildings. In the distance, I could see riders working cattle in a large corral, their figures small against the vastness of the Texas sky. And then there was the rodeo arena, tucked in the back behind the tall oaks.
It was beautiful. It was also completely foreign to everything I’d ever known.
I followed the gravel drive toward the main house, my truck announcing my arrival with a cloud of dust that probably violated several environmental regulations. By the time I pulled up near the porch, two men had emerged from the house and were walking toward me.
The pair of them looked about the same age. But the tall one with dark hair had to be Logan. He moved with the easy confidence of a man comfortable in his own skin. The other one, however, I recognized instantly.
It was Colt Dawson, the famous rodeo star, who had been outed as gay in spectacular fashion the previous fall. He was strong, thick,red-headed, and had a smile that would knock your boots clean the fuck off if you weren’t careful. I knew he was taken, but that didn’t stop me from smiling like a fool as he approached.
I climbed out of my truck, boots crunching on the gravel as I stretched my back after the long drive. The afternoon heat hit me like a wall, making me instantly regret my choice of a long-sleeved shirt.
“You must be Alex Reyes,” Logan called out, extending his hand as he approached. His grip was firm, calloused from years of ranch work. “Good to see you made it before dark.”
“Barely,” I admitted, glancing at the sun hanging low in the western sky. “Had a late start this morning.”
“Well, you’re here now,” Logan said with an easy smile. “This is Colt. He helps out with the rodeo training program my sister runs.”
Colt stepped forward, and up close he was even more striking than in those magazine spreads I’d seen. His green eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and a light dusting of freckles crossed the bridge of his nose.
“Welcome to Sagebrush,” he said, shaking my hand. His palm was warm and rough against mine, and I found myself holding on a beat too long before letting go. “Logan says you’re gonna be helping out with repairs around the place?”
I nodded, suddenly conscious of the road dust on my clothes and the three-day stubble on my jaw. “That’s the plan. Carpentry, electrical, plumbing, horses, cattle… whatever needs fixin’ or herdin’.”
“And from what Caroline tells me, that’s just about everything,” Logan said with a laugh. “Come on, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”
I grabbed my duffel from the passenger seat and followed them through the grounds. The path took us past the edge of the arena, where a woman with a long dark braid was dismounting from a chestnut quarter horse.
“That’s Caroline,” Logan explained, following my gaze. “My sister. You’ll meet her at dinner tonight.”
The cabin I was staying in turned out not to be a cabin at all.Instead, it was a small apartment, and brand new from the looks of it. It was simple but clean, a main room with a kitchenette, a separate bedroom, and a bathroom that looked wonderfully modern. The windows faced west, capturing the golden light of the setting sun.
“It’s not much,” Logan said, “but it’s private. Most of our hands commute in from town, so you’ll have the place to yourself.”
“It’s perfect,” I said, meaning it. After weeks of crashing on friends’ couches or sleeping in my truck, this felt like a luxury resort. “More than I expected.”
Colt leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. The position stretched his t-shirt tight across his shoulders, and I forced myself to look away.
“Bathroom’s got good water pressure,” he said with a grin. “First thing I check in any new place. I used to live here myself.”
“Man’s got his priorities,” Logan chuckled, clapping Colt on the shoulder. “Dinner’s at seven at the main house. Caroline’s cooking, so consider yourself warned.”
“That bad?” I asked, perking an eyebrow.
