Crystal's Cowboys by J. Rose Allister

Author:J. Rose Allister
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Book/Menage
ISBN: 9781610345231
Published: 2011-03-16T04:00:00+00:00

* * * *

The overcast gray sky had burned off to pale blue by the time Rafael followed Trey to the bunkhouse. He was lost in thoughts of the past few hours. He’d thought the needle on his excitement-o-meter couldn’t flick any higher lately, between desert rescues, hospital escapes, and sexual escapades. Today had topped it fivefold.

Even now, adrenaline raced through his veins at the thought of what had almost happened. Rafael was no unseasoned city boy. He 130

J. Rose Allister

knew damn well better than to vacate his saddle in the middle of agitated cattle. The outcome could be disastrous. Yet the minute Trey hit the ground, Rafael all but flew off his mount to land by his side.

Accidents were a part of ranching life, but a cowboy losing his mount in the middle of a cattle sorting wasn’t exactly a daily occurrence. Trey had been in charge, confident and smiling his cocky lopsided smile one moment—the smile that always caught Rafael square in the gut—and on the ground the next. His neck could have been snapped, his skull fractured, or a cracked rib thrust through a lung. A parade of traumatic images flashed of his Trey’s muscular body lying battered and broken, each building the anxiety tightening his chest until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“What the hell were you doin’ out there?” Rafael said, anger shooting out through every word. Trey kept walking, but his piercing blue eyes glanced up from under the brim of his hat. “You damn near died.”

“But I didn’t.” He sighed. “Again, I’m sorry. Especially for endangerin’ you and the animals. I don’t know what happened, other than to say I got overeager.”

“Overeager?” Rafael pulled off his hat and rubbed his head, as if increasing the circulation to his scalp would help him think. “Damn stupid’s more like it. What’s number one in my mantra? Don’t chase the damn fuckin’ cow.”

“I’m sorry.”

“After all that trainin’ in the small pen, drillin’ the rules into you”—Rafael paused to pull his hat back on roughly—“maybe you just aren’t cut out for ranchin’ after all.” He regretted the words as soon as they were out. Trey stopped short, staring at the dirt for a long moment. Rafael waited for the inevitable defensive explosion.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said after a minute. The sluggish tone prickled Rafael’s spine. “Maybe I don’t belong here.” Crystal’s Cowboys

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“Of course you belong here.” Rafael shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “You don’t belong anywhere else. Look, I’m sorry. You just have to keep your Stetson on straight. This isn’t an office where the worst that can happen is a paper jam in the copy machine. The ranch will hand your ass to you if you don’t watch it.”

“I know.” He paused. “I could ask you the same thing, you know.”

Rafael scowled at him. “Ask me what?”

“What the hell you were doin’ out there. Stan said you jumped off your horse in the middle of the fray. Sounds like your Stetson wasn’t sittin’ any straighter than mine.

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