Rough, Raw and Ready(3)
9
Rough, Raw, and Ready
“Where’s your vehicle?” Chassie asked.
“It broke down outside of Sundance. The mechanic said it’d be a week before they can get the parts to fix it.”
“Which repair shop?”
“Ah…D&F?”
“They’ll treat you right. My dad used to work there. I’ll warn ya. They are slow as molasses in February. If they say a week it’ll be at least two.”
Edgard groaned.
“Meantime, where are you stayin’?”
“I haven’t decided.”
Chassie was so selfless Trevor wasn’t surprised when she offered, “Any friend of Trev’s is a friend of mine. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want. We have plenty of room.”
Say no, Edgard. For both our sakes say no.
“That’s very generous, Chassie. I’d like that.”
Shit.
“No problem. You wanna come in and get settled? Have a cup of coffee to warm up?”
“That’d be great.”
Chassie brushed past Trevor and started up the porch steps.
He could handle his former lover under his roof for a couple of days. No sweat, right?
But when Trevor’s eyes caught Edgard’s, the punch of lust whomped him as sharply as a hoof to the belly, making him just as breathless.
Dammit, don’t look at me that way, Ed. Please.
Edgard banked the hunger in those topaz-colored eyes and Trevor silently breathed a sigh of relief.
The blank stare was a reaction they’d both mastered during the years they’d spent together on the road. If sponsors, promoters or fans caught wind of his and Edgard’s 10
Lorelei James
nocturnal proclivities they would’ve been blackballed. Or would’ve been beat to shit on a regular basis if the other rodeo cowboys suspected he and Edgard weren’t merely traveling partners. There’d been no choice but to become discreet.
Nothing discreet about the way Edgard had eyeballed him.
“Trev, hon, you comin’?”
“Go on. I’ll be right in after I take care of this motor.” He retreated to the barn, needing to find his balance after being knocked sideways.
Edgard was here. Trevor’s gut clenched remembering the last time he’d seen the man. Remembering the misery on Edgard’s face, knowing his face reflected the same desolation when they’d said goodbye three and a half years ago.
Crippled by pain, fear, and loss, Trevor hadn’t had the balls to wrap Edgard in his arms one last time. He’d snapped off some dumbass comment and done nothing but sit on his ass in the horse trailer like a lump of moldy shit and watched him go.
No. Let him go.
He’d gotten drunk that night. And every night after for damn near six months. He’d fucked every woman who’d crossed his path. Sex and booze did nothing to chase away the sense he’d made a huge mistake. Or on the really bad nights, his all-too smug relief that he’d never really felt “that way” about Edgard and he was glad the too-tempting bastard was gone for good.
Yes, not only had Trevor mastered the outward lie, he was a master at lying to himself.
Watching his friends pair up, marry, and start families only emphasized Trevor’s unhappiness. Every part of his life seemed meaningless. Chasing that elusive gold buckle.
For what? To instill a sense of family pride, even when Trevor knew nothing he accomplished would be good enough for his father, former world champion Tater Glanzer?
The final straw occurred after the threesome with his buddy Cash Big Crow and Cash’s then-girlfriend, Gemma Jansen. It wasn’t an odd thing for Cash to call him and ask for help in giving Gemma an experience she’d never forget: fucking two men at the 11
Rough, Raw, and Ready
same time. Trevor’d always held a secret attraction to the bawdy Gemma, so he’d shown up, more than willing to oblige.
But during the course of that sexual encounter, what’d started out a fun, sexy and raunchy romp became awkward—and very apparent three was a crowd.
It’d never bothered Trevor to be considered the sweet-talking bad boy of the rodeo circuit. But the cavalier attitude toward sex came home to roost that summer night, when he realized that’s all he was to his so-called friends. Good time Trevor; he’ll fuck your women, drink your booze and back you in a bar fight. But don’t call him for anything important because he’s just another horny, drunken cowboy who’ll be gone chasing eight and the gate at dawn.
The next day, Trevor swore off women, sex, booze and rodeo.
That summer also marked the breaking point with his family. For years he’d suffered infighting with his siblings about who’d take over the sizeable Glanzer ranch. Trevor hated how his dad played his kids against each other, especially when everyone in five counties snickered that Tater Glanzer had no intention of passing on the ranch until he was dead. Not only was his old man too mean to die, at age sixty-one it’d be a helluva long time before they’d need to build a pine box for the ornery SOB.