Page 23 of On the Land, We Shoot Straight
“Easy,” Grady said.
“Sorry.”
Grady squeezed Cole’s biceps in a reassuring way and said, “It’s all right,” but it came out soft between them.
Cole’s eyes were fixed on Grady’s bare chest, on where his hands were planted and getting wet. Grady let out a breath as Cole dragged one in, his hands moving on Grady’s chest with the movement.
Grady let go and stepped back. Cole dropped his hands and put his head down, ducked by him and went into the bathroom. He heard the shower start and wondered what the fuck just happened. He adjusted himself against the towel and reckoned he might need to go into town again. Then he thought about Cole asking about it and reckoned he might need to get something from the grocery.
He went into his bedroom, tossed his towel on the floor, grabbed for his sweats, and heard his thoughts and wonderedwhat in the hell he was thinking. He turned the light off, got into bed and listened to the shower running. His dick was hardening up, and he frowned. He’d just gotten a blow job, for fuck’s sake. But he knew he wasn’t going to sleep if he didn’t take care of it, so he slid his hand inside his sweats, wrapped his palm around himself and ignored how dry it was until he couldn’t.
“Fuck it.” He sat up and opened his side-table drawer. He rummaged around for the lube in the dark, found it and lay back down.
He slicked up his hand, slid it back inside his sweats and started stroking. He was going to make it quick and done. He listened to the water pelting in the shower next door and felt his hand slowing down, dragging it out. It felt good. It shouldn’t feel that good. He wriggled his sweats down until his dick was free and he had room to move. He stroked from root to tip in a slow, tight rhythm. He couldn’t believe how good it felt. He heard himself groan out loud, tightened his hand and sped up. The sound of the shower was a constant in the background, and he felt grateful for it as he heard himself breathing hard. He thought about Cole in there, wet and naked and washing that damn hair, and he thrust his hips into his fist and didn’t question where his thoughts had gone—it felt too damn good to stop it—and he was jerking himself to orgasm. As he came down, he listened and heard nothing. Not the shower. Not the creak of floorboards. Just the sound of his breathing, loud and rough in the silence of the room, the house settling for the night.
15
C
ole was already onthe porch the next morning, dressed and ready with the saddlebags Grady had lent him at his feet.
“Mornin’,” he said brightly before he blushed and returned his gaze to the dark horizon.
Grady grunted, ignored what that blush implied. He tossed his bags next to Cole’s, rested his granddaddy’s Winchester M12 shotgun under the windowsill, and went back inside to get another coffee.
“We takin’ the dogs?” Cole asked when Grady came back out.
Grady took a big drink of his coffee and looked at the dogs looking back at him from the bottom of the porch.
“Yep,” Grady said once he’d finished his coffee. He scooped some water out of the dogs’ bowl into his mug, swished it around and threw it across the front yard. He left the mug on the windowsill, donned his hat, picked up his bags and the shotgun, and headed for the barn.
Cole followed him, his ever-present chatter for the dogs at Grady’s back. They got the horses saddled up and their bags tiedon in silence. By the time they were setting out, it wasn’t even sunrise, the horses picking up on a good ride and taking it at a nice canter, the dogs jogging alongside like they could feel it too.
Grady could’ve done the cattle with trucks and hands, but he always liked to take Red and the dogs, camp, take his time about it. The worst of the heat had finally passed, and last time he’d checked, the cattle were surviving, but it was time to get them moving for water and some better feeding. He’d dropped hay bales in the pasture with one of the deepest dams a few days before with Cole’s help.
Riding it always gave him a good chance to look at the rest of the farm and the ranch, to take a break from the house. His missus always said, “Some break,” but he’d guessed that’s why she’d moved back to the city and only came down for the spring. She called every now and then to say hi and ask about some money to work on the townhouse. Grady never minded it, their arrangement. He liked the peace and quiet, liked living on his own.
“You reckon we’ll make it to the lake by lunch?”
Speaking of peace and quiet.
Grady shot a look at the kid riding up beside him, seeing his excitement at the prospect. He normally set down a good hour before that, rested during the heat of the day and set out again to make the lake by nightfall.
“Reckon we can if ya can get that old nag movin’,” he said.
“Oh, it’s on!”
Cole leaned forward in his saddle and whispered urgently into Chloe’s pricked-up ears, boot nudging her gently. She sprung into a gallop, her nostrils flaring as her head rocked back and forth. The dogs gave chase, charging into the cloud of dust left by her hooves undoing the earth.
Grady couldn’t have that.
“C’mon now, Red. C’mon now,” he said softly and nudged him. Red found his other gear like a slow-moving train that’d lost its brakes and finds itself barreling downhill. Steady, fast, gaining.
Grady heard Cole’s laughter catching on the wind and rushing back to them as Red powered up beside them. He got nose to nose with Chloe, her black eye glaring before Cole shouted, “C’mon, girl! C’mon!” and her powerful legs pounded the ground, clicking into another gear. But Red had picked up on Grady wanting to turn him loose for a change, and he was holding pace, steady and fast, and shit, but it was good riding.
They eased off and set a steady canter for the last stretch, making the lake well before any heat had settled into the day, just the promise of a nice late thunderstorm on the horizon.
“Do you swim in the lake when there’s lightning?” Cole asked as he slipped the saddle off Chloe’s back and rested it on the ground under a tree.
