Page 55 of Wistful in Wyoming
“Yeah, well, since you’re going to be living here, you get a say in who else does as well.”
The corners of Dale’s mouth ticked upward as he stared at Jeremiah. “Oh really? I’m living here now?”
“Aren’t you?” Jeremiah smirked, then brought his lover’s hand to his mouth and gently kissed the still bruised knuckles.
Dale opened and closed his mouth a few times, clearly too stunned to formulate an immediate response. “Ugh, well, yeah, I guess I am.”
Grady chuckled. “He’s got you there, Dale.”
“Yeah, well, we’re gonna have to work on your romancin’, Jay. You know, wine and dine me a little before asking me—no, telling me I’m movin’ in.”
“Congrats you two.” The sheriff pushed off the railing, straightening to his full height. “Troy will be coming to the Rock either way, but if he has a place to stay and a job lined up for when he gets here, it would be good for his state of mind.”
Jeremiah shrugged his shoulders. “If Dale is okay with it, I am too.” When Dale nodded, Jeremiah continued. “Sounds like the man got dealt a raw deal—we’d be happy to help him get back on his feet. And you’re correct, I do need some more hands. It would have to be on a trial basis, though. Say, ninety days?”
“Understood, and thanks, guys. I’ll let Beth know. He should be here by the end of the week, so I’ll bring him over to introduce you. His lawyers have him holed up in a hotel in Cheyenne until the press dies down a bit and they can get him out of there without anyone being the wiser.”
“Sounds good.” As Grady started for the porch steps, Jeremiah added, “Hey, don’t forget—dinner here tomorrow night with my folks. They can’t wait to see Rissa.”
“We’ll be here.”
* * *
After Grady left,Dale stared at Jeremiah while scratching his temple. “Um, tell me something. Did I just agree to move in with you? How the hell did that happen?”
“Simple. You love me, I love you, and we’d rather be together than apart, right? I have all this space, and it’s not like you’ve got a long commute or anything.” Jeremiah lifted Dale’s hand and, this time, kissed his palm. “Seriously though, if this week has shown me anything, it’s that I want you here all the time. I love having you in my home and bed. I’d love for you to stay, but if you’re not ready.” Jeremiah heaved an overly-dramatic sigh. “I’ll try to be patient until you are. Just don’t make me wait too long ... you know, there are other fish in the sea.”
“Oh really? Last time I checked, cowboy, we ain’t near no sea.” He grinned. “Jeez, when you decide to do something, you just go balls deep committed, don’t you?”
Chuckling, Jeremiah bumped his shoulder against Dale’s. “I guess so. Why wait though? It’s not as if either of us are getting any younger.”
“You don’t have to sell me on this, Jay—I’m right there with you. Being here with you this week ...” Dale swallowed thickly. “Yeah, I’m more than happy to move in.”
Leaning over, he kissed the love of his life, losing himself in the feel of Jeremiah’s mouth against his own, his taste, and the electric zing that always hit him whenever they touched. Dale could spend hours just making out with him and never tire of it. The abrasion of Jeremiah’s scruffy cheeks against his own and the small gasps and sighs that always escaped his lover would never get old.
The unexpected sound of a car door shutting had them reluctantly breaking the kiss and straightening. Dale didn’t recognize the man striding toward them and highly doubted it was Jeremiah’s father since he was alone and there was no family resemblence. There was a small blue car parked next to Jeremiah’s truck. It was one of those new all-electric cars, with a nearly silent motor, which explained why they hadn’t heard him pull up. Also, they’d been so wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world had fallen away, as it always did when Jay kissed him.
The man cleared his throat sharply, frowning in blatant disapproval. “I’m not surprised by such a shameful display from this ... Godless man ... but I’m disappointed in you, Jeremiah Urban. Your parents raised you better than this.”
Thrown for a loop, Dale gaped the self-righteous man standing at the foot of the porch steps, his arms clasped behind his back as he scowled at them. In his midsixties or so, he was slender and a few inches shy of six-feet. His pinched face appeared ruddy from years of sun exposure, and his dishwater gray hair was slicked to the side in a tragic comb-over that did nothing to conceal his baldness, instead drawing more attention to it.
“And who the fuck are you to say anything about it?” Dale snapped, anger surging within him at the judgmental prick dropping by unannounced with his holier-than-thou attitude.
“My name is Pastor Preston Whitehouse—I’m the head of the church Jeremiah’s parents used to attend before their fall from grace,” the man replied, as snidely as possible as if his name alone explained what he was doing there. He was wearing black trousers and an ivory, short-sleeved, button-down shirt, but it was the Tony Lama cream-colored, pirarucu boots, that had to have cost around $500, that caught Dale’s attention. Between them, and the expensive electric car, the man lived high on the hog for a small-town pastor. “Jeremiah used to attend as well, and I can see the results of him turning his back on the good Lord.”
Dale growled at the asshole. “Great. Just what I needed this week—a self-proclaimed prophet who thinks his shit don’t stink.” He didn’t regret cursing in front of the guy because with that attitude, thegood pastordidn’t deserve even a drop of Dale’s respect. “If you’re here to preach to me about—”
“Dale—” Jeremiah interrupted, but Dale raised his hand, cutting him off. The last thing he wanted to do was cause trouble for Jeremiah and his family—even with a sanctimonious jackass like this guy. They’d lived in the Rock for decades and knew everyone far better than he did. So, for now, Dale would try to hold his tongue.
The pastor took the sudden silence between the other two men as permission to get on his high horse. “I’m here because I wish to ascertain if the rumors I heard were true. I was very concerned for the sake of Jeremiah’s soul. I see now that I’m too late. You have corrupted the boy with your evil ways.”
Boy?Dale would gladly tell the man that what Jeremiah had in his pants was nothing close to “boy” size.
He glanced over at Jeremiah and was pleased to note his face was beet red, with rage reflecting in his eyes. Dale looked on with awe as his cowboy stood, squaring his shoulders and straightening his back. Jeremiah had just opened his mouth, no doubt to tell the pastor exactly what he thought of his visit and preaching, but the arrival of a silver sedan stopped him. All three watched in interest as a man and woman exited the car and strode toward the porch. Dale got a glimpse of what his lover would look like in twenty-five years as the man who was indubitably Jeremiah’s father ascended the steps, his wife on his arm. Tall and still fit, though a little soft around the middle—probably since he wasn’t putting in long hours on the ranch anymore—he was still a striking man. His red hair had faded to white and strawberry blond for the most part.
From the way Jeremiah’s father was glaring at the pastor, like the God-fearing man was something he’d found on the bottom of his boot, this was going to be good. Dale grinned excitedly and settled in for the show.
“Mr. Whitehouse, your presence here assures me we’ve arrived just in time.” John Urban stopped two feet away from the other man. His wife, Patricia, stepped over to Jeremiah, kissing his cheek, before giving Dale a friendly wave when he tried to stand, insisting he remain seated.
