Gay Cowboy Contemporary
Two months ago Brock Ward kicked Preston Keese off his ranch, but nothing can get the hot cowboy out of his head. Damn Preston for lying and cheating…and throwing away his love.
Preston fucked up. In his need to prove Brock cared, he lost the man he needed most. There’s nothing left for him in Copper Creek…except Brock. If only he could prove he wants to be a cowboy tamed.
One phone call is all Preston has…one chance to try to rein in the man he wants.
Regret slammed like a meaty fist into Preston's gut, the force stealing his breath. Brock came. He looked tired…he looked pissed. "Sheriff?" If Brock hadn't wanted to bail him out, he shouldn't have come. Preston had assumed that's why Brock had hung up on him. "He's pissed."
"What did you expect? A hug and a handshake." He gave Preston a shove toward the door. "Consider this probation. Get your shit together, Preston." Zeb hitched up his trousers and puffed up his chest on a deep breath. "Brock's bringing you back on his ranch, temporary like. So it's up to you to figure out the rest."
Preston nodded and followed Brock out the door. Once outside, he said, "I need to get a few things out of my truck."
Brock flung open the driver's side door. "I need to get back to the ranch." He slid behind the wheel as Preston opened the passenger door. Brock stared at him across the cab of the truck. His mouth formed a hard line and his jaw ticked with tension.
For the last two months, Preston had simmered in his own self hate. He had a gift for fucking up everything good in his life, and he'd certainly fucked up with Brock. He hated depending on anyone, even Brock. Although in fairness to Brock, he'd hid his feelings well. But Brock had to have hated their relationship. Brock provided everything. He had money, friends, a hard body and a sharp mind. What did he need Preston for? Besides a piece of ass.
Preston had only ever been able to count on himself and now he had the sheriff pulling in favors. As much as he missed Brock, this wasn't going to work. "I'm not sure what to say to you. I'm so fucking grateful that you're here, but you're obviously pissed about it. If I could say, don't worry about me, I'll be fine and then go on my way, I would. But I'm on my knees here."
"I don't want you on your knees." Brock growled and turned away. "Get in the truck."
Preston sat in the truck and shut the door. "My pickup is around back."
Brock nodded, turned the ignition and shoved the gear into reverse. The cab was dark and silent as he drove around to the back of the building and pulled alongside Preston's truck.
"It'll just take a minute. Be right back." Preston climbed from the vehicle. Two months ago, he'd felt exactly as he did right now. The crushing weight of regret made his chest ache and his gut clench. He'd throw up if he had anything in his stomach. Pamela had offered to feed him at the jail, but after Brock had hung up on him, he couldn't bring himself to eat.
Grabbing his hat off the front seat of his truck, he slapped it on then went to the rear of the bed. He grabbed his duffel and sleeping bag and tossed them into the bed of Brock's truck. Less than a minute later, he opened to door and climbed back in. "I'm ready."
Brock threw the truck in gear and cruised out of the courthouse parking lot. Preston took a last look over his shoulder, then sighed and relaxed into the seat. However, he felt far from calm. As Brock shifted gears, Preston couldn't tear his gaze away from the play of muscle in Brock's thighs. His palm rested on the gear shift, his fingers curled around the knob. Two months hadn't diminished his rugged sexiness.
They drove a few miles without speaking. Preston stared out the side window, wishing Brock would say something. "You didn't have to come." His words broke the silence.
"I didn't want to."
He turned to Brock. "Then why did you?"
Brock's hand tightened on the steering wheel. "Because I had to." He cast a quick glance at Preston then turned back to the road. "I suppose we're going to have to discuss a few things."
Preston choked on the lump in his throat. He'd been naked with Brock, had spent long nights kissing him, running his hands over the hard contours of Brock's body. He'd been fucked by Brock—fucked until he walked with a limp. He'd also sucked Brock's dick, swallowed his cum and rimmed his hole before he shoved his cock into Brock and fucked him until they were both sweaty and spent. They were friends and lovers.
Until Preston fucked it up.