Breaking Bear by Darragha Foster

Author:Darragha Foster
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Forever More Publishing
Published: 2014-12-26T00:00:00+00:00

* * * *

Johnny Redbear had a burr up his butt and butterflies in his belly. Frustrated and more than just a bit uneasy around Sig, he’d missed a nail and caught his thumb under his hammer. When he was done doing the dance of pain, he’d gone and tripped into a pile of old barbed wire he’d pulled.

He extracted himself and then headed to his trailer to assess the damage and change his torn shirt. He felt little tickles of blood drip down his back.

Sig was working Bear. He’d been working Bear all morning. John wasn’t sure who looked better covered in sweat. The Arabian or the man. Goddamn. I’m not gay. I’m not attracted to that oversized blond. Get a grip.

With a display of overt aggression, Johnny pulled open the door to the fifth wheel, knocked himself off the step and onto the hard-packed soil surrounding the arena.

“Whoa, Bear.” Sig slowed the horse. It trotted down, then stopped, still tethered on the lunge line. “You all right there, my friend? Doors getting the best of you these days?”

“I’m fine.” John sat up, cradling his head. “I’ve taken worse falls.”

Sig left Bear to mill about the arena. He hopped the fence and then helped John to his feet. “You wrangle with some barbed wire too, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“Your back is bleeding, John. Let’s get you inside. I’ll wipe down those cuts. You updated for tetanus?”

“I don’t need a freaking tetanus shot. All I need is a freaking shot of rye.” John ached.

“Pour two. Go on in and get that shirt off. I’m going to walk off Bear and put him out to graze. Be there in a few.” Sig hopped back over the fence before he grabbed Bear’s halter. He attached the lead rope and began walking.

Once inside, John gingerly stripped off his flannel shirt and strained before the mirror to see the series of gashes down his back. Looks as if I’ve been flogged. Damn. He pulled out his first aid kit, then washed his hands. Dirt and blood went down the drain. He bandaged his smashed thumb and then found his bottle of rye. Old Overholt. Aged, sweet and smooth. Screw the shot glasses. He pulled out two coffee cups.

“Knock, knock.” Sig stepped into the trailer. “My god, John, have you taken to self-flagellation these days? A little Opus Dei of you, don’t you think?”

“I took on a pile of old barbed wire and lost. First aid kit is on the counter. Would you mind?” John handed Sig a mug. “Take a drink first. It’ll steady your hand.”

Sig took a sip of the rye. “Oh, man. That’s good. Bear worked my ass off today, but we’re making progress. He’s being better behaved around the mares, and hasn’t tried to mount anything lately.”

“How about you?” He winced as Sig used an alcohol prep towelette to clean the gashes on his back.

“What? Have I tried to mount anything lately?”

“Yeah.” John twisted at the waist to face Sig. “Have you?”

Sig turned John back around.

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