Carry Me 2 Piggyback

Sometimes plans don’t lead to where we’d intended to

go…they lead to something better.

Trace Plinter is a player. He doesn’t deny it. When his current

lover decides to move on, he has no problem giving Patrick his
blessing. After all, he’d been ready to do the same for over a
month. When Trace rescues a cute farmer from a barn fire, he
recognizes attraction in the man’s sweet green eyes, but he doesn’t
have time to talk to Laramie and thinks he’s missed his chance to
explore a new lover—until Trace sees Laramie again at a diner
and makes his move.

Laramie Goshen is just coming to terms with his uncle’s death

when the father who beat him and disowned him for being gay
reenters his life—proclaiming that he owns half the pig farm his
uncle left Laramie free and clear. When Laramie refuses to give in
to his father’s demands, problems start happening at the farm.
Laramie finds his fantasies filled with the sexy firefighter who
rescues him from the fire that burned his barn to the ground. But
when that same firefighter makes his interest known, Laramie is at
odds. The complication of a boyfriend is the last thing he needs.

They strike a bargain—sex with no strings attached. Trace

loves the arrangement, but is unprepared for the protective
feelings that surface when he learns that Laramie’s father
convinced the construction company to refuse Laramie’s business,
making it nearly impossible for him to rebuild his barn. If Trace
decides to try to make their situation more permanent, will
Laramie even be receptive?

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or
locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Piggyback

ISBN: 978-1-77111-401-1

Cover art by Martine Jardin

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Piggyback

Carry Me: Book Two

Charlie Richards

To all the fantastic coordinators and volunteers of GRL 2012!
Thank you for your time, hard work, and fun, fantastic spirit!

Chapter One

race leaned against the corner and sipped his beer. He
stood in the shadows cast by the trellis creating the

border between the garden and the back patio of the home.
His friends, Carl Lewis and Vincent Androse, were having a
BBQ to celebrate Vincent’s clean bill of health. He’d been
shot by his ex-lover, Lonnie, in a jealous rage. Trace
chuckled softly, thinking of how the pizza guy had bashed
his friend’s cheating ex on the head with the pizza box then
knocked him out with one punch. Kudos to the pizza dude.

Tapping his empty beer bottle against his leg, Trace watched

his date flirt with another man. He’d been dating Patrick for
nearly four months. He thought maybe he should feel frustrated
or offended, maybe even pissed off, that the man would do it right
there in front of him. Instead, all Trace felt was relief.

Four months, Trace mused. It was really the longest time he’d

ever dated one man, and he had to admit he’d been getting
restless for a couple weeks now. He didn’t understand why his
friends wanted to stick with one guy for years, but good luck to
them. Trace loved exploring new lovers, finding out what made
them moan, twitch, and scream.

“Hey.”
Trace turned to find Vincent at his elbow. He managed half a

smile for his friend. “Hey, Vincent. Nice turn out,” he commented.

“Yeah.”
From the way his friend drew out the word, Trace knew

Vincent had something on his mind. It didn’t take a genius to
figure out what was troubling his friend. Trace followed his
friend’s gaze and watched Patrick rest a hand on the chest of the

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man he’d been chatting up for the last half hour. Trace thought he
might have been introduced as Devon, the brother of one of Carl’s
friend’s on the force.

He glanced back at Vincent and smirked. “Seems Patrick’s

taking a liking to Devon.”

Vincent frowned. “Are you okay with that?”
“It’s been coming for a while now.” He gave his friend a cocky

smile. “You know what a player I am. You didn’t really think
Patrick and I were going to settle down together, did you?”

From the look on Vincent’s face, Trace knew that was exactly

what his fellow firefighter had thought. He wrapped an arm
around his buddy’s shoulders and squeezed. “Don’t worry,
Vince,” he said, knocking his head gently against the other man’s.
“This saves me from having to break up with him, at least.”

He lifted his empty bottle and said, “I’m going to get another,

and there’s a burger calling my name.”

Trace left the shadows and headed toward the cooler and grill.

His stomach growled, proving he wasn’t a liar. Putting a burger
together, he kept one eye fixed on Patrick. Okay, so the grin and
laughter did bother him a bit, but it had more to do with the fact
that his date didn’t even bother saying anything to him before
deciding to openly pursue another man.

Damn, that was probably my fault. Patrick had to have felt him

withdrawing. It took him a day or two to return the man’s calls,
instead of just a few hours like when they’d first started going out.
They hadn’t seen each other in a week, and it had been two weeks
since he’d bothered having sex with Patrick. Come to think of it,
two weeks was quite the dry spell for him.

Deciding he needed to do something about that, Trace put his

plate down, grabbed three beers and headed toward the pair.
When he reached them and cleared his throat, Patrick flushed and
stepped away from the guy. Ignoring the move, Trace held out the
beers to the two. “Devon, right?” he asked, just to confirm.

“Uh, yeah,” Devon replied. He glanced between Trace and

Patrick, obviously trying to figure out their relationship.

Trace didn’t want the man to wonder long, especially if Devon

could give Patrick what he could not. He grinned at Patrick and

Piggyback

winked. “You two make a cute couple.” What he said was true.
With Patrick’s lean five foot nine build, grey eyes, and red hair, he
could be tucked perfectly against Devon’s six foot two, muscular
body. The blond was good looking, and if his soon-to-be ex-lover
didn’t have his sights on him, Trace might have made a play for
the guy, if he could be sure that Devon didn’t mind giving up
control in the bedroom, anyway.

He reached up and cupped Patrick’s jaw, but instead of kissing

his lips, he kissed his forehead before whispering in the slighter
man’s ear, “I’ll miss your tight ass. Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Letting go, he glanced toward the table and grimaced. “Damn.

Forgot my burger. I’ll catch up with you guys later.” His lifted his
beer in salute and strode away. As he moved, a feeling of freedom
he hadn’t felt in a month invaded him. He grinned as he slathered
mayo, ketchup, and mustard on his bun. He added a cheese-
smothered burger, lettuce, tomato, and pickles.

Trace took a big bite just as he sensed a presence at his

shoulder. Chewing the tasty sandwich, he looked over to see Carl.
He smiled, held up the burger, and nodded his thanks. Once he
swallowed, he stated, “Damn good burger, my friend.”

Carl smiled. “Thanks.” He cocked his head as he eyed Trace,

and Trace just knew it was coming. The detective surprised him
by saying, “Damn decent of you.”

He snorted. “It was winding down between us. Patrick’s a

good guy, but I’m not what he needs.”

“What do you mean?” the detective asked.
Smirking, Trace replied, “Let’s just say, four months is the

longest I’ve ever committed to one person, and I’ve been ready to
move on for almost a month. I wanted to encourage him.” Then
he shrugged. “Besides, what would be the point of causing a
scene? I’d rather bow out gracefully.”

Carl grimaced. “Ouch. Yeah, I can see that.” They stood in

silence together for a moment, eating and drinking. Every once in
a while, Carl and Vincent exchanged sappy smiles from across the
patio. Vincent stood on the other side of the back yard chatting
with Devon’s older brother Lance Brody. Lance wasn’t gay,
instead bringing his brother, Devon, who was. Another officer

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Carl had invited, Brian, was very open about his sexuality. Brian
openly ogled and commented about whoever he wished, pointing
out attributes to his date, Zack, a cute blond that hung on his
every word. Trace stared at Zack’s ass and licked his lips. Yum!

“Don’t poach on Brian’s date, either, Trace,” Carl said,

grinning. “That would cause a scene, too. Brian might stare and
point, but I’ve never heard of him sharing.”

Trace laughed. “I won’t,” he said, slapping his best friend’s

lover on his back. “Where’s Jake tonight?”

Carl grimaced. “At his mother’s.”
“Rhonda isn’t trying to keep them from you, is she?” he asked.

He almost turned toward Patrick to hail him over. His…friend
was a child custody lawyer.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Carl replied quickly. “It’s Rhonda’s

weekend to have the kids. That’s why I planned the adult BBQ for
tonight, so she didn’t have cause to complain,” he added.

Trace could still see that something was troubling the detective.

“Is she still having trouble accepting Jake’s sexuality?” Jake had
come out in spectacular style a couple months ago. Couple that
with finding out Carl was moving his injured male lover into his
house, and Rhonda wasn’t adjusting well.

Frowning, Carl seemed to think about his answer. “I think it’s

just the disapproving looks and her continual efforts to point out
pretty girls.”

“Damn,” Trace muttered. “That does suck.”
Carl sighed. “Could be worse, I suppose. At least she hasn’t

started a custody battle.”

Trace hummed in agreement.
Twenty minutes later, he watched Patrick and Devon leave

together. It was bittersweet, but he’d much rather keep the man as
a friend than drive a wedge between them. He liked his now ex
too much for that, and he really did want Patrick to be happy.

He polished off a second burger, then lounged in a chair on the

back deck. The winters of southern Oregon were pretty mild, but
Trace was still glad he’d brought a jacket. He rested his beer on
his thigh and tilted his head toward Vincent and watched his best
friend settle next to him.

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“You know what you need?” Trace said.
Vincent smirked. “What? A dance floor?”
Trace chuckled. “Now there’s an idea.” Vincent snorted and

Trace shook his head. “A pool.” He let that sink in and took a
swallow of beer. Unless he planned to sleep on his friend’s couch,
this would have to be the last one for the night. Trace knew
Vincent wouldn’t have any problem with him staying, but he
didn’t want to impose. Also, possibly having to listen to his
friends have sex when his date left with another man wasn’t really
his idea of a good time. He banished that thought as he listened to
his friend’s laughter.

Trace knew he’d find a new bed warmer soon enough.
“A pool. It’s nearly December! What the hell would we do with

a pool?” Vince countered.

Leaning close, Trace waggled his eyebrows at his friend. “Awe,

don’t tell me you’ve never had pool sex.” At Vincent’s eye roll, he
grinned. “It’s plenty fun.”

“I’m sure,” Vince muttered, although his eyes now had a

vacant look, as if distracted.

Trace grinned, knowing exactly what was now on his friend’s

mind.

“Baby, you shouldn’t wear that expression when others are

here,” Carl teased, settling between his lover’s legs on the deck
chair. With his back to Vincent, Carl turned his neck and accepted
a tongue-probing kiss.

Never having done anything even remotely sexual with either

man, and knowing he never would, Trace could still acknowledge
that they looked hot together. His plumping cock agreed with
him. He tossed his bottle cap at the men and crowed, “Get a
room.”

The two men broke the kiss. Laughing, Carl tossed the cap

back at him. “You spending the night?”

Trace shook his head. “Nope.” At the way Carl’s eyes

narrowed, he winked. “Don’t worry, detective, this is my last one.
I’ll be sober and out of your hair within the hour.”

Carl accepted that. Greg, Carl’s partner on the force, dropped

into a chair nearby. “So what are you going to do now that you’re

Charlie Richards

single?” he asked.

He should have known the man would pick up on the fact that

his date had left with another man. Trace shrugged. “I enjoy
playing the field.” Even as he said it, he had to admit that his arms
felt empty, at least to himself. Patrick had left a void Trace hadn’t
been aware he filled. Unfortunately, Trace was a top, exclusively,
and Patrick liked to switch on occasion. He hadn’t been able to fill
that need in his lover.

Greg seemed to give him a long, assessing look. It almost made

Trace uncomfortable, as if the detective was looking into his soul.
To his relief, Greg turned to look at the happy couple and
scratched his beard. “You going to start setting him up?”

It looked like Trace wasn’t the only one who seemed to think

Vincent and Carl had both been bit by the match-making bug.

Vincent looked over at Trace, his smile warm. “Nope.”
Relieved by the answer, Trace grinned. “Thanks, man,” and he

meant it.

Piggyback

Chapter Two

aramie Goshen scooped one last shovel-full of manure
into the wheel barrow before leaning the tool against the

stall wall. This was the last stall he needed to do today.
Laramie only did stalls on Sunday, when he gave his two
cow hands the day off work. He gripped the barrow’s
handles and pushed it out of the barn and dumped it at the
manure pile.

Stepping back, Laramie pulled the handkerchief from his

pocket and mopped it across his sweating brow. He surveyed his
ranch, taking in the dozing cow ponies, the grazing cattle, the
meadows of prime grassland, and the dozen low-slung pig barns.
Twelve years ago, screwing up his courage and coming to live
with his uncle had been the best decision of his life.

Thoughts of his uncle saddened him. The man had passed just

eight month before, and Laramie missed him terribly. His uncle,
Damian Goshen, had been his rock, his pillar, through so many
trials and moments of soul searching. He already missed the
man’s keen insight and sharp intellect.

The crunch of tires on gravel drew Laramie’s attention away

from his musings. At first, he thought that was a blessing—after
all, any distraction from his thoughts was a good one. But when
he rounded the corner and realized who was in the car rolling up
the driveway, Laramie cursed a blue streak under his breath. His
family had never wanted anything to do with Uncle Damian
when he’d been alive, which was the whole reason Laramie had
felt a glimmer of hope in coming to his uncle after his father had

Charlie Richards

disowned him. Now that he’d passed, his father seemed to think
some of this ranch belonged to him. To Laramie’s eternal
gratefulness, his uncle had left it to him free and clear and had
plenty of documents to back it up.

Laramie crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a shoulder

against the doorway. He watched as his father, Simon, mother,
Regina, and brother, Lane, piled out of the car. Well, well, another
family get-together. These never ended well.

Carefully blanking his expression, Laramie made them come to

him. He watched his father, noting the power and grace still
present in the man’s movements. His father and brother towered
over Laramie’s five foot nine inch frame, but Laramie had lean
hard muscles and cunning instincts. He might be alone on the
ranch, but he felt certain he could defend himself if need be.
Laramie had vowed the day he’d limped from his father’s home at
age sixteen that he’d never let the man beat him again, and he
sure as hell wasn’t going to renig on that promise today.

Not bothering with a greeting, as soon as they were within

earshot, Laramie asked coldly, “Why are you here?” He let his
expression slide over his mother, the woman who hadn’t stood up
for her son, and his older brother, who’d gotten in a good kick or
two of his own when Laramie had been down. He had no respect
or love for any of them.

After his father and brother had left, Laramie had crawled into

the bathroom, used the toilet then sink to stand, cleaned up a bit
of the blood, then limped to his room. His asshole family had
disappeared to dinner, which was the Saturday night ritual,
leaving him behind. Thank god! He’d somehow managed to walk a
few blocks away and then find a cab. It had taken nearly every
cent he had on him, but Laramie had clung to the one family
hope—that his estranged uncle would take him in.

Uncle Damian had taken one look at him and ushered him into

the house. He’d cleaned him up, given him a room, and once he’d
been well again, made certain he finished school and learned
responsibility on the farm. It was truly the best years of his life.
And now he was twenty-seven and Uncle Damian was gone. And
these…bottom dwellers… were trying to take everything Laramie

Piggyback

now held dear.

“Now, son, is that any way to greet your father?”
The gall of the man blew Laramie away. “You stopped being

my father when you attacked me,” he snapped back. “You all
aren’t welcome here.” He swung his hand, pointing at them all,
making certain they all knew his words encompassed everyone in
the group. “Leave or I’m calling the cops.”

From the way Simon’s eyes narrowed, he knew it wasn’t an

idle threat. “This ranch is partly mine and you know it,” he
snarled. “You can’t kick me off of it.”

“You have no rights to this land at all,” Laramie insisted.

“Uncle Damian bought out your shares almost a decade ago. This
is my farm now.” He finally levered himself off the door frame
and took a step toward them. “Get off my property,” he growled.

The steel in his voice, or maybe it was the way his eyes were

narrowed, sent Simon backing up a step. Aw, hell, who was
Laramie kidding? It was the way he clutched his cell phone, more
than ready to call the police.

Regina took hold of Simon’s arm and urged him with quiet

words and tugs to return to the car. Lane glared at him, snapping,
“Just you wait, Laramie. The farm should have passed to dad.
You’ll be sorry you ever inherited it.”

Laramie didn’t bother responding to the jibe. He knew the only

thing his family could do was hassle him. They had no legal claim
whatsoever. Once they’d all piled back into the car and the vehicle
was turned around and headed away from him, Laramie finally
let out the breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

“Damn them,” he muttered under his breath. Shaking his head,

Laramie waited until they’d turned onto the road and were
headed away from him before returning to his work.

He put away the shovel, rake, and wheel barrow. Once the

barn was swept, he brought the horses in for their evening feed.
Laramie had four quarter horses and two Tennessee walkers. The
four were used for ranch work, moving cows and branding, but
the walkers were his babies. He used them for long rides across
the forested acres of the farm.

The older horse, Skye, was an eight year old champagne bay

Charlie Richards

mare. Most would consider her gray with black points, but still
stunning any way you said it. She had been a gift for his twenty
first birthday from his uncle. Skye had only been a yearling at the
time, and Laramie had worked hard to train her. A few years ago,
Laramie had bred Skye to a guy in the next county who owned a
walker stud. She’d produced a pretty black colt, Tyson. He’d used
Tyson as a stud for the last couple years.

When his uncle’s health started failing a couple years ago,

Laramie had started riding Tyson—that way, his uncle could
enjoy rides on Skye. With how mellow she was, and her smooth
gait, Uncle Damian had been able to continue to enjoy his favorite
pastime even as the cancer ate away at him.

Laramie sucked in a deep breath, fighting back the tears that

always threatened when he thought about the way the disease
ravaged the man he’d considered his father. Burying his face in
Skye’s mane, he inhaled her unique horsey scent and smiled
sadly. Horse hide, male sweat, hay, and leather, those were the
few scents that always seemed to soothe him.

After settling the horses for the evening, Laramie walked

through the pig barns, monitoring the half dozen employees that
handled feeding the thousands of hogs. Then he checked the
water for his small herd of Angus. He and his uncle had talked
about buying another bull, but he’d put it off after Damian’s
death. Laramie knew his uncle would have slapped him upside
the head and told him to get his head in the business. Uncle
Damian would insist there was no time to allow grief to delay
things. Of course, then Damian would have pulled him in for a
hug, then turned him around and shoved him into the office chair
and instructed him to find a bull.

Shaking his head, Laramie headed into the quiet house. He

cleaned himself up, ate some supper, and settled on the porch
with a beer to listen to the crickets sing.

Laramie jerked forward, almost dumping himself off the porch

swing. He dropped his booted feet to the porch planks and
rubbed his face with both hands. Once his mind was sort-of
working, he tried to figure out what had yanked him out of his

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doze.

An odd glow came from the other side of the barn. His eyes

widened. The haystack was on fire! The lean-to containing the hay
was attached to the barn. Swinging into action, Laramie yanked
his phone from his pocket and dialed nine-one-one as he ran.
Even as he rattled off his emergency and his location, Laramie
shoved the barn doors open and sprinted to the first stall.

He coughed.
Smoke had already started to fill the loft. As he threw open

stall doors, Laramie sent up a silent prayer of thanks that he didn’t
have any hay up there right now. It was mainly used if the winter
weather was going to be bad for a few days and they planned to
feed from above.

Horses whinnied in fear, the noise almost drowned out by the

whine of sirens. He’d just opened the last stall, the smoke making
him hack and choke. Laramie couldn’t get out of the way of the
horse quickly enough and the frightened quarter horse’s shoulder
slammed into him, spinning him around and knocking him over.

Laramie’s head rang, but he managed to get to his knees. He

squinted through the haze and smoke, trying to get his bearings.
Out of the swirling eddies obscuring his vision came the massive
figure of a fully garbed firefighter. The man wrapped a strong arm
around him and helped him to his feet.

“Is there anyone else in here?”
The muffled words were hard to make out, but Laramie had

enough presence of mind to shake his head. He sure didn’t want
anyone in here looking for what wasn’t there.

Another figure appeared out of the gloom and wrapped an

arm around his other side. “We clear?” the second man asked.

“Yup, let’s get our asses out of here,” the first man stated.
The two men practically carried him from the building.

Laramie hacked and coughed, trying to suck in fresh air as soon as
they were clear of the flames. The man on his right, the first one
who’d appeared out of the gloom, escorted him to an ambulance.
Laramie’s eyes watered and his lungs burned. Once the
paramedic had Laramie seated in the back of the vehicle, the
firefighter pulled off his helmet.

Charlie Richards

“You’re in good hands, buddy. Just do as Randy says. Okay?”

the guy encouraged.

Just then, an oxygen mask was positioned over Laramie’s face

and mouth, making it impossible to do more than nod. Laramie
finally managed to look up into his rescuer’s face and he nearly
stopped breathing again. The man had the warmest brown eyes
and his sexy square jaw had the nicest, encouraging smile Laramie
had ever been the recipient of. To his dismay, the guy turned to
Randy and asked, “He gonna be okay?”

Laramie wanted to shout that he was right there, but all he

could do was struggle one rasping breath after another, even with
the oxygen.

Randy nodded. “I think so. No burns, just really bad smoke

inhalation. Just what the fuck were you doing in there?” the
paramedic asked Laramie, shaking his head at him as he shone a
light into first one eye, then the second.

Like I can really answer with this mask over my mouth. Laramie

lifted his hand to remove it.

A gloved hand wrapped around his wrist, and Laramie

snapped his gaze to the firefighter’s. To his surprise, those nice
eyes were giving him a warm, approving look. He was so caught
up in the firefighter’s gaze, he almost missed the man’s words.

“He was saving his horses,” Laramie’s rescuer explained. The

guy’s brown eyes remained focused on his. “That was damn brave
of you, friend, and damn stupid.”

Laramie stared in shock as the guy gave him one more smile.

“My buddy, Carl, here is wanting to speak to you as soon as
you’re able. Take care of yourself, now.”

When the firefighter pulled his hand away and stepped back,

Laramie completed the motion he’d started and yanked off the
mask. “Thank you,” he rasped.

The guy looked back and nodded. “You’re welcome.” Then he

was gone, joining the throng of men hosing down his barn, which
was clearly a lost cause.

Randy harrumphed in irritation and eased the mask back onto

Laramie’s face. “You need that for at least another ten minutes,
and I’m going to run an IV. You’re extremely dehydrated after

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your little brush with the fire.”

Laramie nodded, not fighting the paramedic as Randy eased

him back on the gurney. He focused on the wall until the prick of
the needle subsided. It wasn’t that he was afraid of needles,
Laramie just preferred to avoid them whenever possible. And he
sure as hell hated seeing them sticking out of his skin.

A broad-shouldered blond came into view, levering himself

into the ambulance. His hazel eyes swept over Laramie’s prone
form once, as if cataloguing everything about him. Then the man
focused on Laramie’s face and smiled. “I’m Detective Carl Lewis.
I’m glad to see you’re going to be okay. Mr. Goshen, isn’t it?”

He wrinkled his nose at being called that, but nodded. The

detective smiled. “Can I call you Laramie?”

He quickly nodded.
“Thank you. I only have a couple questions, then I’ll let you

rest.” He smirked and glanced toward the scowling paramedic.
“Otherwise, Randy here will have my ass.”

The detective’s friendly manner and open expression instantly

put Laramie at ease. He figured that was probably the man’s
intent, and damn if it wasn’t working. Detective Lewis asked
questions and Randy pulled away Laramie’s mask just enough for
him to answer before replacing it back on his face. Evidently, the
firefighter’s preliminary assumption was that the fire had been
set. Ice swept through Laramie’s veins when he realized the
officer seemed extremely interested in the fact that his estranged
relatives had visited just that afternoon.

Charlie Richards

Chapter Three

o, what’s on your agenda for the night, Trace?”

Trace turned to look at Vincent and shrugged. “Figured

I’d get a burger and a beer and then pick up a hottie,” he

stated, completely unrepentant. It was time to end his dry spell.

Vincent snorted, but to Trace’s surprise, his friend said, “Well, I

like the sound of the burger and a beer.” He winked. “But I have a
hottie meeting me later.” He knew Vincent read his questioning
look, because he added, “Carl’s working late. I figure time with
you is better than time alone, right?”

He caught the gleam in his friend’s eye, but still rolled his eyes.

“Well, gee, Vinnie, glad I’m good enough to fill in for hot stuff,
even if it is only for a meal.”

Laughing, Vincent whirled his wet towel and then cracked him

with it. Trace danced away and returned fire with his own towel.
They went at it for several minutes, laughing and hooting. By the
time they dropped to the bench to pull on their shirts and jeans,
Trace’s legs, arms, and ass tingled with stinging pain.

“Damn, you’re getting good at that,” he groused, scowling at

his friend.

Vincent grinned back. “Carl’s given me a few pointers,” he

admitted.

“Well, tell him to stop. I gotta be able to whup you at

something,” he returned.

The other man just laughed.

They made their way into Sylvester’s Café, their favorite

burger joint. It was on the outskirts of town, but had damn good

“S

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food so was worth the extra ten minute drive. Besides, it wasn’t
too far from Trace’s own condo.

Trace led the way, pausing to glance around the café.

Sometimes, they spotted guys they knew, either firefighters or
Carl’s cop buddies, and they’d join them at a table. He cocked his
head and stared at the sandy-blond head that was bent over a
menu. A niggle of recognition worked through him.

Vincent bumped his shoulder. “Where we sitting?”
He glanced Vincent’s way, then returned his focus to the guy

sitting by himself in the corner. The man looked up, and Trace
couldn’t stop his grin. “Over there,” he murmured.

Vincent must have followed his gaze, for Trace saw him frown

from the corner of his eye. “Do we know him?”

“Not officially,” Trace admitted, heading that way. By way of

explanation, he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, “He’s the
guy who owns the farm that had the barn fire three days ago.”

“Why the hell are we bothering him, then?” Vincent whispered

fiercely. “You really think he wants another reminder of the
incident?”

“He wants me,” Trace replied, knowing it sounded cocky, even

to his own ears. And if he didn’t want the cute blond, too, he
wouldn’t bother approaching him now. But even just the sight of
the slender, toned farmer had his cock perking up with interest.

By that time, they were at the guy’s table. The farmer looked

up at them, his green eyes wide. They seemed to widen further
upon seeing them. “Can I help you?” he asked warily.

It was then that Trace realized he didn’t even know the cutie’s

name, but to his surprise, and relief, Vincent saved the day. His
friend stuck out his hand and said, “Hi, I’m Vincent Androse. This
idiot is Trace Plinter, and he thought it’d be a good idea to
introduce ourselves. You’re Laramie Goshen, aren’t you?”

The man, Laramie, nodded. “Yes.”
Trace decided he was ready for the sweet man’s attention to be

on him. “We wanted to apologize that we weren’t able to save
your barn, and ask how you’re doing.”

Finally, recognition lit those pretty green eyes. “Oh, my god!

You’re the firefighters. You saved me.” Laramie frowned. “Or, at

Charlie Richards

least, you were one of them,” he said, pointing at Trace. He sent
an apologetic look Vincent’s way. “Sorry, he’s the only one who
took off his helmet.”

Vincent chuckled. “It’s no trouble. I was the guy on the other

side, but I’m glad to see you’re okay.”

“Do you mind if we join you?” Trace asked, giving his new

love interest a warm smile.

Laramie immediately nodded. “Of course. Please, have a seat,”

he said, motioning for them to join him.

Vincent obeyed, sliding onto the bench seat across from the

man. Trace ignored the instruction. He slipped onto the small
space next to Laramie, who immediately moved over, his brows
arching up in surprise. Resting his arm over the back of the bench
seat, Trace leaned close and pretended to check out the menu
Laramie held, even though he knew exactly what he was getting.
“What are you having?” Trace asked.

When Laramie licked his lips, his gaze darting from Vincent to

Trace and back again, Trace had to fight his desire to taste the
plump flesh. Laramie cleared his throat. “I normally get the meat
loaf, since I can’t seem to get my uncle’s recipe right.”

The man’s face flushed and his expression took on a sad,

vacant look, as if remembering something bittersweet. It took
everything in Trace to keep from wrapping his arm around him
and offering reassurance. Trace frowned. He’d never felt quite like
that before.

He spotted Vincent’s lifted brow.
Trace cleared his throat, regaining Laramie’s attention. “I

didn’t mean to bring up bad memories,” he murmured, knowing
he was fishing.

To his relief, Laramie flashed him a smile, it was slight, but at

least it was there. “No, don’t say that. I don’t get to reminisce
about my uncle much. He passed about eight months ago and,
well, we were kinda estranged from the rest of the family,” he
admitted.

“Estranged,” Vincent murmured. “Why?” Trace wanted to

know the same thing. “I’m sorry,” Vincent muttered. “I apologize
for prying.”

Piggyback

Laramie glanced between the two men, then a corner of his

mouth lifted in a smirk. “Well, considering how strong Trace,
here, is coming on to me, I figure it won’t get my ass kicked to say
it’s because I’m gay,” he replied dryly.

Trace chuckled for all of two seconds, then he frowned. “I’m

sorry. I wish I could say that wasn’t typical, but,” he glanced at
Vincent and then continued, “but I know it is. My own family
doesn’t speak with me, except for an aunt who thinks if she finds
the right woman she’ll change me. If my deceased grandmamma
was living, I’m sure she’d have something to say about their
attitudes, but…” Trace shrugged, never really enjoying explaining
his kooky family dynamics. “Vincent, on the other hand has had
real trouble,” he shook his head. “Our family is what we make it,”
he finished lamely.

Smiling for real, Laramie nodded. “Ain’t that the truth?” He

swept a speculative gaze over Trace, then asked, “So, what on the
menu interests you?”

Grinning, Trace recognized a come on when he heard it. He

leaned close and murmured, “That depends. Are you on the
menu?”

Laramie cocked his head. “I could be, as long as we understand

we’re just having a bit of fun. I have way too much on my plate to
worry about hurting a boyfriend’s feelings if I’m too busy to
remember to call.”

“Oh, you are just about perfect, aren’t you?” Trace crooned. He

grinned. “No emotional entanglements.” Leaning close, Trace
whispered into Laramie’s ear. “Just good, old-fashioned fucking.
Just scratching a mutual itch?” He pulled the man’s earlobe into
his mouth and sucked, imagining it was Laramie’s cock. Gently
letting go, he murmured throatily, “How does that sound to
you?”

By the tent in his soon-to-be lover’s jeans, Trace knew it was

exactly what Laramie wanted. The farmer’s words confirmed it.
He turned toward Trace, his lips just one tempting inch away, and
responded breathlessly, “Perfect.”

Instead of giving in and taking the kiss both of them

desperately wanted, Trace straightened and grinned. “Good. Now

Charlie Richards

how about supper? I just finished a double shift and I’m starving.”

Although that was true, it was something completely different

that Trace was starving for, namely, his sexy dinner companion’s
ass. But he was willing to wait, because anticipation was half the
fun—and he did anticipate reaming this man’s fine ass.

He saw his friend’s jaw twitch, and Trace knew Vincent was

trying to hold in a snort. Yeah, his buddy had seen him seduce a
guy on more than one occasion. Of course, it was normally in a
bar, not a café, but the premise was still the same. Find someone
that interested your prick, establish mutual interest, and seduce
him. It wasn’t a hard concept, but the actual doing required at
least some finesse.

Laramie was making it extremely easy on him. Trace liked that,

especially since the farmer didn’t truly strike him as an easy lay.
His timing just happened to be right.

Just then, the waitress arrived and they placed their orders.

Laramie got the meatloaf, just as he’d said. He and Vincent
ordered cheeseburgers with fries. Trace added bacon to his.

“So, what do you raise on your farm?” Trace asked once the

waitress had left.

“Pigs, mostly,” Laramie responded. Trace must not have

hidden his surprise as well as he’d thought, for the man next to
him chuckled. “It’s not that bad. They’re a good feed animal.
They’re awfully exuberant about food, so you do need to be
careful while feeding them, but other than that, they’re really
quite profitable.” He winked and grinned. “Everyone loves
bacon.”

Trace snickered. “Ya got me there. Never seen a pig that didn’t

taste good,” he replied, grinning. “You raise anything else on that
farm of yours? Or do you call it a ranch?”

Laramie shook his head. “Oh, no. It’s a farm. Pigs are the

staple. I’m building an Angus herd, but it’s not self-supporting
yet. Studding for Tennessee Walkers brings in a good profit,
though.”

“Well, well.” Trace smiled, liking the man’s friendly nature and

sense of humor. “Sounds like you have your hands full. How do
you juggle it all?”

Piggyback

That comment had Laramie’s mirth fading and he shifted his

gaze to the window. “It’s only recently that I’ve had to do it
alone.”

To his surprise, Trace felt a spike of jealousy, until he

remembered Laramie’s earlier comment. “You worked with your
uncle?”

Laramie’s head jerked in a semblance of a nod. He grabbed his

water and took a quick gulp. “Yeah. He passed the farm on to
me,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Vincent replied immediately.
Wanting to give comfort as well, Trace wrapped his arm

around the smaller man’s shoulders and pulled him against his
side. It was easy to do in the booth, and feeling Laramie’s body
pressed against his own felt nice in ways Trace couldn’t begin to
explain. Pushing the disturbing thoughts aside, he pressed a kiss
to Laramie’s temple.

“Easy, babe,” he crooned. “I’ll admit my words can be a bit

thoughtless at times, but I never meant to hurt you,” he
whispered.

The way Laramie pressed against him, fitting so perfectly to his

side, pleased Trace in ways beyond the physical response of his
body, which was quite nice considering the boner he had in his
jeans. Trace didn’t mind PDA and was pleased Laramie seemed
just fine with it, as well.

The waitress arrived, stalling conversation, but Trace couldn’t

bring himself to pull his arm away. Their orders arrived, and
Trace needed two hands for his burger, so he did have to release
the smaller man. Vincent must have noticed his reluctance to
move, because he lifted one brow in question as he popped a fry
into his mouth.

Trace raised a shoulder in a half-shrug. Something about this

guy was bringing out protective instincts Trace didn’t realize he
even had. It was…odd. Instead of thinking about it, Trace focused
on his food and chatted with his two dinner companions. He
learned about the two Tennessee Walkers Laramie owned. It was
easy to see the animals were the farmer’s pride and joy. Trace
hoped he’d get the opportunity to see these animals, just not right

Charlie Richards

away. He wanted to see a bed first, preferably, with Laramie in it,
naked.

He knew his thoughts must have shown in his expression, for

when Laramie looked at him, he froze. Laramie swallowed hard,
his Adam’s apple bobbing, then a heated smile curved the other
man’s lips. Laramie slipped his tongue out and licked his lips,
slowly, taunting Trace.

Trace grinned and leaned toward him so he could whisper,

“You better be done with your supper, cutie, otherwise we’re
going to show the local citizens things they probably don’t want
to see.”

Laramie tilted his head back so he could look Trace in the eye.

“Yeah, I think I could be convinced to be done.”

“And how would you like to be convinced?” Trace teased,

enjoying the banter quite a bit. It had been some time since he’d
had this much fun just seducing a man.

Laramie cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, looking for all

the world as if he was seriously pondering Trace’s question.
Trace’s grin widened and he waited, all-be-it impatiently. Finally,
Laramie replied, “Well, I guess a kiss might do it.” He shrugged
carelessly. “Gotta see if we’re compatible, after all. A guy’s kiss
can be very telling.”

“Oh, yeah?” Trace responded.
Laramie lifted a brow, challenge in his expression.
Trace knew the importance of a first kiss, and an

overwhelming pressure to prove to this man that he could give
him pleasure flooded him. He couldn’t remember the last time
he’d wanted a man so much. Accepting Laramie’s challenge,
Trace cupped the man’s jaw with one hand and leaned close. He
paused with their lips a couple inches apart, and Trace used a
thumb to rub lightly over the top corner of Laramie’s lip.

He heard Laramie’s breath catch, and that was what he was

waiting for. Trace closed the distance between them and brushed
his lips against the other man’s once, twice, getting the feel of
Laramie’s mouth, using the panting breaths puffing against his
lips to gauge his companion’s reaction. He resisted the urge to
take Laramie’s mouth fully, to plunder and explore. This was

Piggyback

neither the time nor place, and Trace knew this little enticement
was just a prelude for things to come.

Gently, Trace nipped Laramie’s bottom lip and pulled away.

The glazed lust he saw in Laramie’s dilated eyes pleased him. Oh,
yes, he’d have this man very soon.

“Well, Laramie,” he murmured, keeping the man’s jaw cupped

in his palm, wanting to remain in physical contact. “What’s your
verdict?”

Laramie blinked several times, seeming to come out of his

lustful fog. His eyes darted glances around before focusing on
Trace. “I think we need to get out of here.”

“Excellent,” he whispered. “My condo is only ten minutes from

here. Would you like to follow me there?”

“Definitely,” Laramie responded immediately.
Trace released the man’s jaw and slid his hand down his arm to

grip his hand. He reached for his wallet in his back pocket when
Vincent cleared his throat, catching his attention. Trace’s brows
shot up. He’d practically forgotten his friend. Not good. This guy
completely drove him to distraction.

Vincent grinned. His brown eyes twinkled merrily as if reading

Trace’s thoughts. He waved a hand between them. “Don’t worry
about it. I got the check while you guys were busy,” he said,
smirking.

“Sorry, man. You didn’t have to do that,” Trace said

apologetically.

Shrugging, Vincent turned toward the door. “I know. You can

bring the steaks to the next BBQ,” he said over his shoulder as he
walked away.

Taking the words to heart, Trace called after him, “And they’ll

be the best damn steaks to ever grace your grill.”

Vincent’s laughter could be heard until the door shut behind

him.

Trace turned to Laramie and said, “Follow me.”
Laramie nodded, but grumbled, “Now I owe your friend

twice.”

Chuckling, Trace led the man from the restaurant. “Don’t

worry,” he assured. “Vincent is easy to please. A case of beer and

Charlie Richards

he’ll be happy.”

He felt a tug on his hand and paused in walking toward his

truck to look back at Laramie. “I’m over there,” Laramie said,
nodding his head toward an old beat-up Chevy. “I’ll follow you.”

Trace nodded, his dick throbbing in his jeans at the thought of

what was to come. “I’ll keep an eye in the rearview for you,” he
promised. No way in hell did he want Laramie to get lost between
here and his condo.

Laramie nodded. Trace released his hand. For a second, he

watched the slender, muscular man walk away. He couldn’t help
admiring the guy’s ass as he moved. The firm globes flexed in the
form-fitting jeans and Trace just knew they’d be the perfect
handful as he plowed Laramie’s ass.

Taking a deep breath, he turned away from the sexy sight.

Getting into his own truck was awkward and he grunted in pain
at the way his pants’ too-tight crotch pressed against his aching
erection. Home. Then fucking. Yeah.

He brought his truck roaring to life and just managed to keep

from peeling from the parking lot. Every stop light caused him to
tap his fingers restlessly on the steering wheel, but each time he
glanced in the mirror he saw Laramie’s truck. By the time he
reached home, Trace could think of little else but laying his cute
farmer down and exploring every inch of his work-hardened
body. He just knew it’d be an experience he’d never forget.

Trace parked his truck in the condo parking lot and turned off

his vehicle. Grabbing his bag, he slid from the cab and turned to
find Laramie’s truck not far away. The man was looking around
the parking area uncertainly.

Laramie looked toward him as Trace waved and pointed at the

open parking at the end of the lot. He waited impatiently as
Laramie found a parking spot, just keeping from tapping his foot.
When Laramie was close enough, Trace’s driving need to touch
the guy had him grabbing his hand to lead him to his home.

“Come on,” he muttered.
Snickering, Laramie teased, “Eager much?”
He pulled his keys from his pocket and glanced over his

shoulder at the man, unable to hide his grin. “I don’t normally go

Piggyback

this long without sex, and you make my dick so hard, baby,” he
surprised himself by admitting.

Laramie’s eyes narrowed and filled with heat, showing that

Trace wasn’t the only one desiring this coupling. “Then we better
do something about that. Get the door open, Trace,” he ordered.

Eager to please, Trace once more focused on the lock. He didn’t

get two steps into his home when the door slammed behind him
and he was spun around with surprising force. Impressed with
the strength in the smaller man’s lithe body, Trace went with the
flow and found himself pressed against the hallway wall with a
firm masculine form plastered against his own.

Trace’s mouth was taken with surprising aggression and he

opened wide, enjoying the desire and need Laramie expressed
with his plundering tongue and searching hands. A hard erection
pressed against his thigh as his new lover rocked against him,
searching for pleasure Trace was only too happy to give.

Charlie Richards

Chapter Four

aramie wasn’t normally this bold. He couldn’t remember
the last time he’d even bothered to go to a club to pick

up a one night stand. But this guy, this handsome firefighter,
pushed all his buttons. He was broad-shouldered and nicely
muscled. It was easy to see the man worked hard to stay in
shape for his job. And the guy had come on to him and
made his interest plain. Laramie wanted to bury his hands in
Trace’s thick brown hair and hang on as they twisted their
tongues together, so he did.

Rocking against Trace, Laramie moaned, enjoying the pressure

on his dick and liking the way Trace wrapped his arms around
him and held him close, encouraging the movement. Laramie
liked it even better when Trace took control of the kiss by
gripping the nape of Laramie’s neck and tilting his head back.

He opened wide, giving in to Trace’s dominance. Trace spun

him around and Laramie found their positions reversed. Trace’s
second hand dropped to his ass and gripped it. He hissed out a
breath, enjoying the feel of another man’s hand on his body.

Trace easily lifted him and Laramie instinctively wrapped his

legs around his sexy firefighter’s waist. The new position aligned
their erections, increasing the sweet pressure on his dick. Laramie
banged his head against the wall and groaned.

“Oh, holy fuck, that’s good,” Laramie muttered roughly.
Growling low, Trace thrust against him. “This one will be

quick,” he whispered. “Then I’m going to take you to my bed and
fuck you through the mattress.”

Piggyback

“Hell, yeah,” Laramie responded breathily. He could certainly

get behind that idea, or under it, or over it. As long as he got
Trace’s dick in his ass, he’d take the man any way he could get
him.

Laramie cracked open his eyelids and watched through his

lashes as Trace worked both their jeans open. He gasped upon
seeing Trace’s massive dick spring free of its confinement. The
man was hung! His asshole twitched just looking at the long, thick
cock.

“Oh,” he whispered. His amazement turned to pleasure when

Trace licked his palm and then wrapped his fingers around both
their shafts. “Trace!” he shouted, his hips bucking.

“That’s right, babe,” Trace said, the words practically coming

out a growl. “Show me how much you want me.”

His balls pulled tight to his body at Trace’s sexy tone. His

fingers twitched spastically in the fabric of the man’s shirt. His
body practically vibrated in his strong lover’s arms from the
pleasure Trace caused. The base of Laramie’s spine tingled, telling
him his orgasm was imminent. Laramie mewled and shuddered,
his hips jerking, chasing that feeling.

“That’s it,” Trace crooned. Lips sucked kisses along the

tendons on his neck, sending even more sensations through
Laramie. “Give me your cum, Lare. Let me see your pleasure.”

The sexy command threw Laramie over the edge. His release

tightened his balls and rushed through his body. He let out a long,
low groan as he jerked and twitched with ecstasy. In the
peripheral of his senses, Laramie heard a grunt and a hiss. As he
became more aware, he realized Trace rested his head on his
shoulder and Laramie listened to his ragged breathing.

They remained frozen, panting together, just breathing.

Laramie voiced the first coherent thought he had. “Shit, you’re
strong.” He would have blushed, but hearing Trace’s sexy chuckle
sent all his blood heading straight back to his dick.

“Thanks.” Trace’s reply was muffled, then the man lifted his

head. Laramie’s breath caught in his throat when he saw the lust
still filling Trace’s brown eyes. “Ready for round two?”

Laramie couldn’t stop his delighted moan. “Hell, yeah.”

Charlie Richards

“Good.”
Trace shifted his arms, and instead of putting Laramie down,

he rocked away from the wall and carried him through the condo.
He caught a glimpse of a living room, dining room, and through
an open door, a bathroom.

His lover chuckled. The sexy sound refocused his attention on

the man carrying him as well as making his dick flex. Trace was
grinning at him. “I’ll give you the five cent tour later, cutie.” He
rocked his hips and winked. “Right now I have other things on
my mind.”

Grinning back, Laramie bowed his head and nibbled the

tendons of Trace’s neck before whispering, “Perfect.”

To Laramie’s surprise, Trace gently lowered him to the bed,

following him down, instead of just dropping him on it. Trace
spread out above him, pressing him into the mattress, and took
Laramie’s mouth in a slow, exploratory kiss. Trace swiped his
tongue everywhere, as if he had all the time in the world.

The unexpected shift from swift mindless coupling to

unhurried exploration caused Laramie’s blood to heat in his veins.
His skin felt hot everywhere Trace touched as he slowly pulled his
shirt from his head, kissing and touching every inch of newly
exposed bit of his chest.

“Hmm, I knew you’d be beautiful,” Trace whispered.
The man’s warm breath made the light smattering of hair

below Laramie’s navel stand on end, his abs tightening from the
pleasant sensations of calloused fingers rubbing over firm flesh.
“Ugh,” Laramie grunted, his hips shifting as Trace’s thumbs
flitted lightly over his hip-bones. “Please,” he managed to
whisper.

Trace chuckled, nuzzling Laramie’s still exposed cock, now

once more erect and weeping. “Patience, my sexy lover, patience,”
he crooned before sucking oh-so-lightly on just the head of his
dick.

Laramie’s back bowed as the warm wetness on his glans sent

wonderful sparks down his dick and up his spine. “Don’t wanna,”
he growled through gritted teeth.

Releasing his cock head, Trace looked up at him and grinned

Piggyback

even as Laramie groaned from the loss of sensation. “You’re not in
charge, babe,” Trace stated, his look way too smug as he took in
Laramie’s flushed skin and heaving chest. “I am.”

He groaned and reached for Trace, intending to grab the man’s

head and pull that sexy mouth back to his dick. Instead, he found
Trace rising to his knees, well out of reach. His disappointment
evaporated when Trace grabbed Laramie’s jeans and pulled them
down and off, taking his sneakers with them.

Unfortunately, then the infuriating tease got off the bed and

stood, grinning, staring down at him. Figuring Trace needed a
taste of his own medicine, Laramie smiled seductively, wrapped
one hand around his shaft and started to slowly stroke. With his
other hand, he cupped his balls, rolling them in their sack.

It had the desired effect. Trace’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils

flared. The thick dick on display at his groin jerked. Good. I’m not
the only one affected.

“See something you like?” Laramie murmured. His eyelids slid

to half-mast as he pleasured himself. The sensations oozing
through his system were intense, and he knew it had everything
to do with the hot stud standing over him with a look of
unadulterated lust. It would be so easy to come like this. Laramie
had to bite back a moan when he saw Trace grip the base of his
hard cock and squeeze.

“You know I do,” Trace said, a feral gleam lighting his brown

eyes. “You gonna get yourself ready while I watch?”

Laramie couldn’t stop the whimper from escaping. Fuck, that

sounded hot. “S-sure.”

Trace turned and strode to the nightstand. His impatience

showed in the way he yanked open the drawer, nearly sending it
crashing to the floor. He grabbed a half-full tube of lube and
tossed it on the bed beside Laramie then grabbed a condom for
himself.

He wanted to be provocative, really he did, but Laramie was so

desperate to feel the thick pole Trace had for a dick splitting him
wide open. Laramie quickly grabbed the lube and drizzled a
healthy amount onto his fingers. Rising to his knees, he turned
around and impaled himself on two digits.

Charlie Richards

Laramie moaned and arched his back from the burn. God, it’d

been too long since he’d found relief with another man. He
wanted so badly. His eyes closed, Laramie smiled when he felt the
bed dip behind him. Laramie started moving his fingers, in and
out, twisting, flexing, stretching his chute, preparing.

“Very nice,” Trace praised roughly. “Put in a third.”
Laramie obeyed. The burn this time was nearly non-existent, he

was so lost in pleasure. Then a hand not his own wrapped around
his dick and stroked. He shouted. His hips bucked spastically, his
body uncertain whether to push forward into the heat and friction
surrounding his cock, or to continue impaling itself on his fingers.

He felt his balls pull close and figured it didn’t matter. Laramie

was going to come for the second time in thirty minutes. His
breathing came in ragged pants and his body shuddered in
anticipation.

Suddenly, the hand moved to the base of his shaft and

squeezed. Trace gripped the wrist of his hand with the fingers in
his ass and gently pulled, forcing Laramie to stop rubbing his
prostate. Laramie groaned. “No,” he whimpered. “Need to come.”

“Not yet,” Trace said, mirth clear in his voice. “Don’t you

remember? I’m in charge this round.”

Panting, trying to engage some thought processes beyond his

need to come, Laramie looked over his shoulder at Trace. “Does
that mean—” He swallowed and tried again. “Does that mean I
get control the next round?”

Trace leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Laramie’s lips.

“Perhaps,” he whispered.

Surely the kiss had short-circuited his brain. It was the only

reason Laramie could think of to agree to this arrangement. Yes,
he loved to bottom, but he’d never let a lover decide when he’d
get his pleasure. He’d never felt the desire to just let go and let the
other man take care of everything. But this time, yeah, this time
it’d be nice.

He felt Trace’s dick nudge his fingers once, twice. Realization

hit Laramie and he wrapped his hand around the man’s cock and
stroked, greasing up Trace’s sheathed erection. After a couple
swipes, Trace growled and pulled his hand away.

Piggyback

“Now,” Trace whispered into Laramie’s ear, “I’m going to

pound you into the bed.”

Laramie grinned as Trace pushed him onto all fours and

moved behind him. Looking over his shoulder at the sexy man
who Laramie hoped would give him the fucking of his life, he
taunted, “Promises, promises.”

With a growl, Trace thrust forward.
Laramie just knew he was moaning like a two dollar whore,

but he couldn’t help it. Trace felt huge as he sank into his ass, and
it was glorious. Finally, finally, Trace bottomed out. His testicles
pressed against Laramie’s ass cheeks, and the man’s firm body
covered him from shoulders to thighs.

Laramie let out a slow sigh and felt all tension leave his body.

“This is just what I need,” he whispered, the bliss of feeling
Trace’s arms around him, of being connected to another,
loosening his tongue.

Trace nuzzled his neck, then trailed sucking kisses up the

tendons. “Hell, yeah,” he whispered into his ear right before he
pulled the lobe into his mouth.

“Oh,” Laramie gasped out. The sucking drags on the sensitive

appendage sent sparks of sensation straight to his cock. A bead of
pre-cum oozed from his slit. “Please,” he whispered.

“Please, what?” Trace asked, then went right back to working

his ear, adding in nips and tugs.

Laramie groaned, his passage fluttering around the member

invading him. “Please move. Please fuck me.”

“With pleasure,” Trace replied.
It was like that was all the man had been waiting for. He

slowly pulled out his cock before ramming back in. Trace set up a
punishing pace. He gripped Laramie’s hip tightly with one hand
and wrapped the other around his shaft and stroked.

Trace changed the angle of his thrusts and nailed his prostate.

Laramie yelled and bucked, pleasure making his body vibrate in
Trace’s arms. His shaft twitched and swelled in Trace’s grasp, the
sensitive nerve endings on fire. His back arched and his fingers
twisted in the comforter under him.

“You gonna come for me now, Lare? You gonna squeeze my

Charlie Richards

cock so good?”

Trace’s growled words filled with feral need sent a fresh

shudder through Laramie. His balls were pulled flush to his body
and he thought maybe he could taste Trace’s long, thick cock in
the back of his throat.

The feel of Trace’s teeth sinking into his shoulder was the final

straw. His dick exploded, cum shooting from him in pulses of
pleasure-pain. “Trace!” he shouted. His hole clenched down on
Trace’s shaft, as if his body unconsciously wanted to keep that
ecstasy-giving tool buried deep inside him.

Behind him, Trace thrust twice more, then roared. If possible,

Laramie thought Trace’s dick expanded even more in his ass. He
could feel the heat of his lover’s cum through the condom. They
froze in place, Trace resting his forehead against the back of
Laramie’s neck. The soft puffs of his breath against the short hairs
found there sent pleasant shivers across his skin.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” Trace muttered after a couple minutes.
Peeling an eyelid open, Laramie grinned at the dark blue

bedspread he knelt on. Gathering a bit of strength, he rotated his
head and looked over his shoulder at Trace. “You’re not so bad
yourself, T,” he teased.

Trace laughed, levered up to his knees and smacked Laramie’s

ass, sending a stinging burn across his skin.

“Hey,” Laramie snapped, glaring, but from the way Trace

winked at him, they both knew there wasn’t really any heat in it.
The swat hadn’t hurt so much as aroused.

Winking again, Trace pulled his softening prick from Laramie,

making him grunt. Heaving a sigh, Laramie dropped to his side,
careful to stay out of the wet spot. The bed dipped, and he turned
his head just in time to see Trace’s tight, sexy ass disappear into
the master bathroom. A moment later, and completely unabashed
about his nudity, Trace returned with a warm cloth and cleaned
him up. Laramie let him, even hitching up his knee to facilitate
him.

Trace grinned. “Not shy, are you?”
Laramie shrugged. “What’s the point? You’ve already seen

everything,” he pointed out.

Piggyback

“Yes, I have,” he murmured. He tossed the cloth into a dirty

clothes basket in the corner and climbed into bed. Trace wrapped
his arms around Laramie and pulled him closer.

Laramie went with it, allowing the bigger man to tuck him

close to his side. He listened to the beat of Trace’s heart, finding
himself soothed by the steady thump, thump. This was really,
really nice, he decided. Laramie would be willing to do this again.
Licking his lips, he took a chance.

“We said at the diner that neither of us wanted a boyfriend,” he

murmured.

Trace grunted, showing he listened.
“Would you be interested in being—” He frowned. “Well, not

friends, exactly, but—” Damn, how should he word this?

In the end, he didn’t have to. “I’d love to be your fuck buddy,

Laramie,” Trace murmured sleepily. Trace cupped Laramie’s jaw
and tipped his head up, pressing firm lips against his. His sated
brown eyes gleamed with warmth. “We don’t worry about dating,
but if we want a great screw, we’ll call each other. How about
that?”

He started to grin, then another thought hit him, and he

blushed. “Uh, I don’t think fuck buddies really have the right to
ask this, but…I don’t get out much, as you can probably
guess…so I won’t be taking anyone else to my bed.” He frowned.
“You can if you want to, it’s not like I’m asking you to be
exclusive,” Laramie hurried to add. “But—”

Trace’s firm lips and his tongue delving in deep, interrupted

Laramie’s uncertain ramblings. “I give you first chance, okay?
And the same with me for you.”

Relief flooded Laramie, something he probably had no right to

feel, considering their arrangement. Laramie nodded. “Got it.”

“Good,” Trace murmured, settling back. “Now get some rest

while you can. I want that ass again before you need to leave.”

Charlie Richards

Chapter Five

efting his bag over his shoulder, Trace strode from the
firehouse, his phone already pressed to his ear. A

surprising flash of disappointment hit him when he heard
Laramie’s voicemail pick up. After the beep, Trace said,
“Laramie, it’s Trace. I had a schedule change, so I’m off
tonight. I was hoping I could see you. Give me a ring.”

Trace didn’t bother to leave his number. Laramie had it. And

over the last few weeks, he’d used it just about as often as Trace
had used Laramie’s. Trace grinned. Sex with Laramie was
amazing and easy and stress-free. Abso-fucking-lutely fantastic,
Trace decided, climbing into his truck. Well worth the thirty
minute drive to Laramie’s farm.

He didn’t have to worry about fending off advances from

unwanted men. He could leave his drink unattended and not
worry about date rape drugs. And, best of all—well, besides the
spectacular orgasms—Trace never had to worry about what to say
to the man the next morning.

I couldn’t have come up with a better system if I tried.
Tossing his bag on the floor of the passenger side of his truck,

Trace settled behind the wheel and brought his truck roaring to
life. He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face, and really didn’t
bother to try, as he pressed on the accelerator and headed home.

He showered quickly, hoping he wouldn’t miss Laramie’s call.

The thought of the man had his dick hardening. Each pass of the
wash cloth over the sensitive flesh tested his control. Trace really
wanted to jack off, but the hope of getting with Laramie and

Piggyback

plunging into the slender farmer’s sweet ass made him control the
urge.

Trace had just finished toweling off when his phone rang. A

glance at the display had his smile returning. “Hey, Lare,” he
greeted.

“Hi, T,” Laramie responded. “Sorry I missed you earlier. I

didn’t hear my phone.”

Trace’s smile faded at the fatigue clearly filling Laramie’s tone.

“No problem. I just wanted to find out if you wanted to get
together tonight, but you sound awfully tired, babe.”

Laramie let out a loud breath and it sounded as though he was

dropping into a chair or maybe the couch. “I’m exhausted,” he
admitted. “I’ve been up since two this morning. I woke to the
bawling of several calves. They’d been caught in barbed wire.”

Trace heard Laramie grunt and swig back some beverage. If he

knew Laramie, it was probably herbal tea. The man loved his teas
and had more flavors on hand than Trace had ever seen outside a
coffee shop.

“The cows okay?” Trace asked quietly, settling on his bed. His

erection jutted up from his groin, never having gone soft after
hearing his farmer’s voice. Trace palmed it lightly and let out a
soft hiss at the pleasant tingles the touch sent through his balls.

“Yeah,” Laramie replied. “It took a couple hours to separate

the four calves from their mothers, cut away all the wires, and
clean them up. Then we spent all day riding fence to see if we
could figure out where all the barbed wire came from.” Laramie
sighed again. “Nothing,” he grumbled. “It’s like it came from thin
air.”

Trace frowned, his hand stilling. “You don’t think someone

could have tossed it into your pasture, do you?” he asked slowly,
not liking the sound of that, but considering Laramie had told him
it’d been confirmed that the fire had been arson, it wasn’t out of
the realm of possibility. Someone was messing with the man.

“I don’t know,” Laramie murmured, his tone distant. “God, I

hate to think that. Ya know?”

Trace heard the frustration and sadness in Laramie’s voice and

was suddenly flooded with emotion. It took him a second to

Charlie Richards

identify his feelings. Compassion, sympathy, and an urge to run
to his lover, wrap his arms around him, and just hold him. Trace
couldn’t ever remember feeling that way before, like he wanted to
make the world a better place and solve all the problems of
another person. It unsettled him.

Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m sorry that happened, babe,

but I’m glad you were able to get the little ones doctored up
before any serious harm was done.”

“Thanks,” Laramie responded softly. “I guess I oughta tell you

I wouldn’t be very good company tonight.”

“Not a problem,” Trace replied. Squeezing his erection again,

he felt his eyelids slide to half-mast. “I bet I can still help you
sleep,” he murmured, letting his voice drop seductively. “Where
are you right now?”

“Uh, I’m sitting on the couch,” Laramie told him, clearly

uncertain.

“What are you wearing?” Trace pushed. The tone he used had

been called liquid sex by past lovers, and he planned to use it
liberally on Laramie right now.

He could hear Laramie shift positions, then clear his throat.

“I’m in my sweats. You called while I was in the shower,” he
admitted.

“Mmmm,” Trace groaned throatily. “The thought of you all

naked, wet, and soapy. I just got out of the shower myself and
almost jacked off to thoughts of you,” he told his lover.

“Oh,” Laramie replied breathily.
“You have a very sexy body, Laramie,” Trace continued. “It’d

be so easy to imagine me pushing you up against the shower wall,
covering you from behind.” He paused, grinning at the
unmistakable sound of Laramie’s whimper through the phone.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Trace murmured. “You like
feeling my fingers slide into your ass and open you up.”

“God, yes.”
Laramie’s moaned words made Trace grin. “You’re hard just

thinking about it, aren’t you, Lare?”

After a heartbeat, Laramie admitted, “Yes.”
“Take your cock out, babe,” Trace instructed. He heard the

Piggyback

rustle of clothing and heavy panting as the phone was shifted
from one hand to the other. Trace grinned, loving the effect he had
on this man. “Now wrap your fingers around it lightly. Not too
hard,” he warned. “It’s not time to come yet. I want to play a
couple minutes first.”

Laramie mewled. His breathing sped up.
Trace gripped the base of his dick, stemming his own orgasm.

He’d been on edge since the shower, and he knew he was
dangerously close to coming. Just the sounds Laramie makes could get
me off! So fucking sexy! But first, Trace wanted to get his lover
worked up, closer to the edge, too.

“Are you weeping for me, Laramie?” Trace asked, his voice

deep with desire. He grinned. “You are, aren’t you? I bet if you
closed your eyes, you could feel me sinking my dick into your
tight hole.”

Laramie let out a long, shaky exhale. “Oh,” he whispered.

“Fuck, that’s good.”

And it was. Trace’s cock was painfully hard, doing some

weeping of its own as it tapped against his abs with each beat of
his heart. God, he’d never been this hard from just hearing
another man’s cries. His balls tightened, and Trace knew he
wouldn’t be able to stave off his orgasm for much longer.

Closing his eyes, Trace thought about his words, what he

wanted from his lover. His head rested against the headboard and
he stroked himself quickly. “I’m stretching you wide open, babe,”
he said, growling the words as pleasure worked through his body.
He was so fucking close! “You can feel me pounding your ass,
pegging your sweet spot with every stroke.”

“Trace!” Laramie moaned. “Please.”
“Stroke yourself, Laramie,” Trace ordered gruffly. “My hand is

stripping your cock as I fuck your ass. Feel it. Come for me.”

Laramie’s shout told him his lover obeyed. Trace’s balls pulled

tight against him in response to the sweet sounds of Laramie
losing himself in pleasure, and his body shook as his own cock
erupted. Jet after jet of white cream shot from him, painting his
chest and abs. One shot even hit his chin, he came so hard.

He heard Laramie’s ragged breathing and muttered, “Fuck,

Charlie Richards

yeah.”

Pleasure beyond what his orgasm gave him flooded him, and it

took Trace a second to realize it was satisfaction. Satisfaction that
he’d been able to help Laramie relax, even while not there.
Sighing, Trace murmured, “Get some sleep, babe. It sounds like
you could use a good night’s rest.”

“Yeah,” Laramie muttered, his voice sluggish, probably caused

by a cross between his fatigue and his orgasm. “Thanks, Trace. I
needed that.”

Smiling, Trace replied, “Always happy to help.”
Laramie grunted, and the creak of cushions reached Trace. He

assumed Laramie got up from the couch. The sound of footsteps
confirmed his assumption. Trace was about to say good-bye when
Laramie asked, “How long you off for?”

“I head back to work tomorrow for the night shift,” Trace

answered as he grabbed a tissue from his nightstand and began
cleaning himself up. “Derek is worried his wife will go into labor
any day and wants to be home with her. Us guys are shuffling
things around to cover his shifts for a couple days.”

“Nice of ya’ll,” Laramie commented.
Trace grunted his acknowledgement.
“You wanna swing by tomorrow for a couple hours, say six?”

Laramie asked.

Even knowing he’d need to be at the station by nine, Trace still

nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that,” he said. They said their good-byes
and hung up.

Leaning his head against the headboard, Trace turned and

looked at the clock. It was only half past seven. The night was
young and Trace had no desire to be cooped up all evening. He
remembered hearing Roger, a fellow firefighter, comment about
going to The Red Door, and Trace decided to join him. He could
use a little dancing to wear him out.

An hour later, Trace strolled through the door of the club, paid

the cover charge, and headed toward the bar. The bar tender—
Jimmy, if Trace remembered correctly—gave Trace a wide smile
and appreciative once over. Trace grinned back and ordered a

Piggyback

beer.

He watched the man move gracefully behind the bar,

comfortable and competent in his moves. Jimmy stood maybe five
foot eleven and had a toned, runner’s build. His light brown hair
was streaked with blond highlights and as the bartender handed
him the beer, Trace noticed how the lightly applied eye-liner
accentuated the guy’s blue eyes. Trace also spotted gold hoops
glinting through the man’s silver mesh top.

Eyeing the nipple rings, instead of wondering what kind of

noises Jimmy would make if they were played with, Trace found
himself wondering how Laramie would respond if he had nipple
rings.

Jimmy grinned and asked, “Is there anything else I can do for

you?”

The bartender’s question and salacious grin jerked Trace out of

his musings. He smiled and shook his head. “No, thank you.”
With a nod, he turned his back to Jimmy, ignoring the guy’s
disappointed pout, and scanned the room. He spotted his friend
and headed his way.

Roger looked up in surprise and rose from the table. “Hey,

Trace. I didn’t think you were going to make it,” he said, giving
Trace a hug. “Didn’t you say something about visiting your
farmer buddy?”

After bumping fists with Craig, another fellow firefighter,

Trace dropped onto a free chair at the small table. “Laramie’s been
up since two in the morning caring for injured cattle and checking
fences.” He rested his bottle on his thigh and shook his head.
“Poor guy was dead on his feet. I helped him relax and sent him
to bed.”

Craig cocked his head. “So you did go out there?”
“Oh, no,” Trace said, taking a swig of beer. “We talked on the

phone. I’m going to swing out there for a bit tomorrow,” he
added, unable to stop his grin.

Roger leaned toward him, resting his elbows on the table.

“How the hell did you help him relax if you didn’t go out there?”

Trace’s brows shot up and he just knew his expression

probably could only be described as a shit-eating grin. “Phone sex,

Charlie Richards

my friend,” he said, winking at the two surprised men.

Craig smirked and shook his head. “Is that why you didn’t

give poor Jimmy the time of day, even after he practically eye-
fucked you?”

Frowning, Trace glanced over his shoulder at the bartender.

“He was?” Turning back around, he shrugged. Sure, Trace had
known the guy was definitely interested, but—”I wasn’t
interested.”

“I’m sorry. Did you just say you weren’t interested?” Roger

asked, scoffing. At Trace’s shrug, his friend elbowed Craig. “Mark
this day on the calendar. Trace passed on getting laid because he
had phone sex earlier.”

“Fuck off,” Trace snapped when both men laughed. “I’m

gonna go dance.”

“Awe, come on, man! It was a joke!” Roger cajoled, grinning.
Surprise flooded Trace. Damn, Roger’s comment really

irritated him, even though things like that had never bothered him
in the past. Trace drew his brows into a frown and looked down
at his friend and nodded. “Yeah, I know.” He swallowed the rest
of his drink and patted the fellow firefighter on the shoulder. “I’m
still gonna go dance.”

He set his beer on the table and headed to the dance floor.

Letting the heavy thumping bass seep into his body, Trace relaxed
and let the music dictate his moves. Trace danced with man after
man, some he just knew he’d have been interested in just two
months ago after breaking up with Patrick.

As he left the club, alone, he realized through the course of the

evening his dick had never achieved more than half-mast.
Climbing into his truck, Trace tried to remember when the last
time that had happened while out dancing. Try never!

“Well, fuck me,” he muttered, putting his truck in drive.

Laramie had really gotten under his skin!

* * * *

Laramie walked out onto the porch and took in Trace’s relaxed
figure. The sexy firefighter lounged on the porch swing, his jean-

Piggyback

clad legs stretched out in front of him. For a split second, Laramie
remembered how those muscular legs felt pressed against his
backside as Trace pounded into him.

He didn’t think his cock could get up again after three orgasms

in the last couple hours, but it twitched in his jeans at his
memories. Giving himself a mental slap, Laramie stepped forward
and handed Trace a cup of coffee.

“Thanks, babe,” Trace said, smiling.
Trace motioned Laramie closer. Laramie settled on the swing

next to Trace, who wrapped his arm around his shoulders and
pulled him against his side. Laramie relaxed against Trace’s larger
body and sighed. He smiled at Trace then took a sip of his tea.

“I hope it gives you enough energy for your shift,” Laramie

teased.

Leering at him, Trace winked. “Even if it doesn’t, I wouldn’t

have missed this for anything.”

Laramie snickered. When Trace leaned toward him, his intent

clear in his eyes, Laramie tilted his head back and accepted a soft,
languorous meeting of lips. Trace lifted his head and smiled at
him, a gleam in his eyes that Laramie hadn’t seen before and
wasn’t certain how to interpret it.

Before he had to figure it out, Trace straightened and took a sip

of coffee. Staring out over the yard, he nodded toward the
scorched ground where the barn used to stand. “Is it okay to ask if
the cops have figured out who started the fire yet?”

From his low tone, Laramie knew Trace was trying to be gentle

in asking, uncertain of his reaction. He grimaced. “Detective
Lewis has come out and talked with me a few times. They don’t
have enough evidence to make an arrest, but his hunch is that it
was started by my father or brother,” he admitted.

“Really?” Trace’s brows furrowed. “The ones that kicked you

out at sixteen?” he asked fiercely.

Laramie nodded.
They’d talked a little about their pasts the last few weeks when

they actually stopped fucking and took a few moments out of the
bedroom. Sometimes it was times like this, lounging on the porch,
or occasionally talking over food between rounds of sex. Laramie

Charlie Richards

knew that Trace had also been disowned and forced to leave
home when he was seventeen. Like Laramie had gone to his uncle,
Trace had been taken in by his grandmother. Trace didn’t say a
whole lot about the woman, but any time he did speak of her, it
was always with love and respect and a soft smile would play
across his lips.

Maybe that was why they got along so well. They’d both been

through some tough times, been rejected by some of their family,
and embraced by others. Where Trace had made a new family
with his firefighting buddies, Laramie had done the same with
some of his employees. He had two men who worked the cattle
and then another dozen who worked the pigs. All of them were
good men.

“Do you have plans in place to rebuild yet?” Trace asked,

maybe sensing Laramie needed a subject change.

Frowning, Laramie muttered, “I would if I could get a damn

builder out here.”

Trace’s brows shot up. “What do you mean?” he asked,

squeezing Laramie’s shoulder.

Laramie tensed, then snuggled closer to Trace. “There are only

a couple construction companies big enough to handle a job the
size I need my barn to be,” Laramie said. “The first is local,
Sorenson Construction. They’re open to working with me, but
can’t get out here to give me an estimate for two months. Then
they don’t think they’ll be able to actually start the job for another
month or so after that. It means I wouldn’t have my barn until
spring,” Laramie grumbled.

“Well, what about the other one?” Trace asked.
“They won’t work with me,” Laramie stated bluntly.
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m gay,” he said, hearing the bitterness in his tone,

but unable to do anything about it. It really was frustrating.

“Fucking hell, Lare,” Trace snapped. “What the hell does that

have to do with a company taking a job that’d make them
money?”

Laramie shrugged. “The owner of the company is a friend of

my father’s,” he explained.

Piggyback

To his surprise, Trace actually growled. “Your father who

disowned you?”

“The very same.”
“Well, fuck a duck,” his lover muttered. “That sucks.”
Humming his agreement, Laramie sipped his tea. “I’m trying

to find a way to get two or three of the smaller companies to work
together on my barn, or maybe an independent contractor from
out of town could handle it. Money isn’t the issue,” he added
dryly, “so I’m sure I can figure out something.”

“So what is your ideal barn?” Trace asked.
Surprised at the question, Laramie stared at the man for several

seconds. Trace met his gaze levelly and actually looked truly
interested. So, Laramie told him about the indoor hot water wash
stall he wanted, as well as the birthing stalls, tack room size, and
how much hay storage he needed.

After that, they moved onto other topics. Trace regaled him

with all the reasons his favorite football team was better than its
rival. Laramie admitted he only watched equestrian sports. Trace
sputtered a few seconds, then threw his head back and laughed.

Laramie found himself entranced by the handsome man’s

carefree grin, not to mention the long curve of his strong neck.
Then Trace grinned at him and said, “You let me think you were
interested. What the fuck, man?”

He shrugged. “I like listening to you. Your voice is sexy as

hell.”

Trace growled, which Laramie also found sexy, making his

groin tighten. Then Trace grabbed him and pulled him into a toe-
curling kiss, his tongue thrusting deep as if the man were trying to
taste his tonsils. Laramie went with it, enjoying the intensity of the
man’s kiss. Laramie shifted, swinging his leg over Trace’s lap so
he could straddle the man.

His reward was Trace latching one big hand on his hip and

burying the other in his hair. Fuck, it was hot the way Trace took
control, just letting Laramie feel…everything. Trace yanked his
mouth away, dropped his head back against the seat, and
groaned. His hands tightened, not letting Laramie follow him.

Laramie mewled in frustration, wanting friction on his quickly

Charlie Richards

filling dick.

“Fuck, Lare. We gotta stop,” Trace said, shuddering.
“Why?” Laramie asked, hoping he didn’t sound like he was

whining.

“Shit, I hate to seem like a cock tease, but I gotta go to work,”

Trace said.

Laramie twisted his wrist and saw the time. Just after eight.

“Oh, damn.” Laramie rested his head on Trace’s shoulder and
sucked in several slow, deep breaths. “Sorry, lost track of time,”
he mumbled.

Trace’s large hands stroked down his back, soothing him and

helping him relax. “Hmmm,” Trace hummed. “You wouldn’t
think either of us could get it up again,” he said.

Lifting his head, Laramie saw Trace’s smirk and smiled back.

“Guess you better get out of here before I make you late,” he
teased.

“Guess I better,” Trace replied. He sipped another kiss from

Laramie’s lips, then whispered, “You make me forget everything
else going on around me.”

Laramie grinned, but slid off Trace’s lap anyway. Trace rose

and handed him his coffee cup, then slipped inside for his keys.
Pausing back on the porch, Trace cupped Laramie’s jaw and
possessed his mouth for one more breath-stealing kiss.

When they came up for air, it took a few seconds for Laramie to

find his voice so he could say, “Stay safe.”

Trace nodded. “Always.”
Watching Trace cross the yard, climb into his truck, and drive

away, Laramie wondered how this would be different than
sending his lover off to work every day. Realizing the turn of his
thoughts, Laramie shook his head and went inside. He had
paperwork to do and hoped he could manage to concentrate on it.

Piggyback

Chapter Six

race swallowed a swig of beer and, hearing the sliding
door open, watched Carl leave the house carrying a

plate of burger patties. He swung his legs to the deck and
prepared to stand. The noise drew Carl’s attention and the
detective waved at him, effectively refusing his silent offer to
help.

“Just relax. I heard you just got off a double shift an hour or so

ago,” Carl said.

Nodding, Trace eased back onto the chair. He really was beat,

but his mind was too busy churning with ideas to let him sleep
yet.

“I’d a thought you’d be out at a club or something,” Carl

stated. “Watcha doin’ here?”

His brows shot up at the question, and Carl laughed.
“Not that we mind havin’ ya here, of course.” Carl grinned.

“Just, don’t you normally burn off some steam with some hottie
after a double shift?”

It was true. Normally he did, or, he used to. But it’d been

nearly a month since he’d started fucking Laramie several times a
week and he still couldn’t get enough of that sexy farmer’s toned
body and tight ass. Unfortunately, Laramie hadn’t been available
this evening. Trace had called him after work and learned that one
of his horse’s had colic, whatever the hell that was, and Laramie
needed to spend the evening walking and monitoring it.

“Laramie’s busy tonight,” he answered before taking a swig of

beer.

Charlie Richards

“That’s the farmer, right?” Carl asked. “The one that had the

barn fire a few weeks back?”

Trace nodded. “Yep.” He grinned, thinking about his lover.

“Sexy fucker,” he muttered, unable to stop his smile.

Carl’s laughter echoed over the sound of burgers sizzling on

the grill. The man came over to the metal fire bin and held out a
hand. Between southern Oregon’s reasonably warm winter
weather and the addition of the fire on the deck, the men could
still comfortably enjoy the outdoors.

“So, you stuck on this one for a bit, huh?” Carl asked.
Trace shrugged. “Why ruin a good thing? Laramie’s a great

guy, awesome in bed, and not asking me for more than a casual
fuck a few times a week. It’s great.”

Snorting, Carl lifted his beer in salute. “Whatever works for

you, my friend.”

He grinned and saluted back. “See! Exactly! Why can’t the

others say the same thing?”

Carl chuckled. “Vincent just wants you to be as happy as I

make him,” he said, winking.

Trace snorted. “Yeah, yeah.”
“So, has Laramie started rebuilding his barn, yet?” Carl asked.
Appreciating the subject change, Trace held out a hand to the

small fire, warming his fingers, as he answered, “Not yet. He’s
being stonewalled.”

Frowning, Carl gave him his full attention.
In a detective, those piercing hazel eyes could be intimidating.

Trace vowed to never fall on the wrong side of the law.

“What do you mean by that?” Carl asked.
Trace growled, remembering the conversation he and

Laramie’d had last week while lounging on his lover’s porch.
“When I was over there a few days ago, I noticed not much work
had been done on the barn since the last time I’d been there.” He
shrugged, meeting Carl’s gaze. “Just general clean-up, ya know?
Stuff he’d do.”

Carl nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“Well, we all know someone started the damn fire, but his

insurance company is dragging its feet on paying,” Trace told

Piggyback

them, hoping his lover wouldn’t be pissed that he shared this
information with his friends. “In the meantime, he asked a local
company to give him an estimate, but they’re too busy to even
take a look for about two months. There’s another company an
hour north, but his bigoted, asshole father has them in his back
pocket and they’re refusing to work with him.”

“Why?” Carl asked, clearly shocked that any company would

refuse business in this economy.

“Is it because he’s gay?” Vincent asked softly, crossing the deck

to join them. He set the bowl of potato salad on the table before
exchanging a quick kiss with Carl.

Trace nodded. “Yeah. You heard him at the diner,” he replied,

knowing how bitter he sounded. “Damn assholes have blacklisted
him. They’ve refused to deal with him.”

“God, what assholes,” Carl muttered vehemently.
Vincent squeezed his lover’s hand, then turned to Trace. “Is

there anything we can do?”

He started to shake his head, then stopped. The idea that had

been niggling at the back of his mind finally formed. “You know,
maybe.” He picked up his phone and dialed a number from
memory. At his friend’s questioning looks, Trace held up a finger,
asking them to wait. It rang several times, and he muttered to
himself, “Pick up, pick up.”

Someone did.
“Trace Plinter, you son-of-a-bitch. Where the hell have you

been?”

Trace grinned. “Hello, Sammy. How are you doing?”
His ex-lover and still good friend snorted. “Me? Fuck, I’m fine,

man. How are you?”

“I’m doing really well, actually,” he said, realizing it was true.
Sammy’s chuckle came over the line. “Ah, so is that why

you’ve been so scarce from the Murky Bayou?”

Trace barked out a laugh. “Sorry, man. Just been fishing a little

closer to home,” he told him.

“Well, then, Trace,” Sammy said, the big smile on the man’s

face easy to hear through the line. “To just what do I owe the
pleasure of this call?”

Charlie Richards

“Are you and Jackson still together?” Trace held his breath.
“Yes, Trace, I’m still with Jackson,” Sammy replied, his voice

suddenly wary.

Shaking his head, Trace realized his old friend got the wrong

idea. “Hey, none of that now. I’m happy for you and Jackson. I
was hoping you were still together, actually,” he admitted.

“You were?”
“Yep. My lover is having trouble getting his barn rebuilt. I’m

hoping to call in a favor and get the necessary supplies from you
guys.”

“Well, Jackson’s business is really busy right now,” Sammy

hedged. “He’s even had to turn business away.”

“I know,” Trace replied dryly. “My lover is one of the guy’s

he’s turned away.”

“Well, if Jackson already knows his guys don’t have time, I

don’t see what I can—”

“I don’t want Jackson’s guys,” Trace assured. “Just supplies. I

need to build a barn.”

“A barn?” Sammy asked incredulously. Another noise came

through the line. “I’m in here, babe.” The words were muffled,
telling Trace that Sammy had his hand over the phone and was
talking to someone else. “Hey, babe,” Sammy crooned, then Trace
heard the sound of kissing.

Trace smirked, waiting for Sammy to remember that he was

still there. When moaning came over the line, Trace laughed and
said, “Sammy, come on, man. My lover ain’t here to take care of
this boner you guys are giving me.”

A faint giggle reached Trace’s ear, then after a few seconds,

“Sorry, Trace. Jackson just got home. Maybe you just wanna talk
to him, huh?”

“Yeah, Sammy. That’d be awesome.” Before his friend could

pass off the phone, Trace added, “Hey, Sammy? I really am happy
for you. I mean it.”

“I know,” Sammy replied. “I could hear it in your voice.

Besides,” he added, snickering, “if you’re calling in a favor for a
lover, it means you’re getting serious on him. I’ve never heard of
you doing that before, and I’ve known you how many years,

Piggyback

Trace?”

Trace chuckled. “Sixteen years, Sammy. We met in middle

school.”

“Yep. You should bring this guy you like so much to the club.

We could all hang together.”

Trace wasn’t certain that would work, and told his friend as

much. “I’m not sure he’s into that scene, but I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds good. Here’s Jackson.”
The sound of another kiss came over the line, then Jackson’s

deep voice sound. “Hello, Trace. Long time no see.”

Grinning, Trace leaned back against the porch rail. “Yeah, been

busy. Sammy says you’re taking good care of him. I’m glad to
hear it. He deserves it.” He paused for a split second before
adding, “You do, too, Jackson. You’re really good together.”

That got a pause from the other end of the line and Trace knew

why. When his friend Sammy had first started going with Jackson,
Trace had tried to break them up. He hadn’t thought that Jackson,
an uptight work-a-holic, would be willing to take enough time off
from his construction business to give fun-loving Sammy the
attention he deserved. Trace had been wrong.

“Well, I appreciate you actually admitting that,” Jackson said,

finally.

Heaving a breath that ended with a grunt, Trace shoved away

from the rail and crossed to the end of the deck. The cooler air,
away from the fire, sent a shiver down his spine. He stared off at
the bare rosebushes climbing the trellis and grimaced. “I know it
was a long time in coming, and I feel like a complete heel for
taking so long, especially since I need to cash in a favor.”

“Ah, so that’s why you really called,” Jackson said, but his tone

was teasing. “Sammy has been whispering in my ear about how
you’ve met someone and are willing to use a favor for him.”

Trace felt heat creeping up his neck, but couldn’t for the hell of

him figure out why. Before he could decide how to respond,
Jackson continued. “Exactly what do you need?”

Rubbing the nape of his neck, Trace explained, “My lover,

Laramie, contacted your company probably a couple weeks ago.
He might have talked to your secretary, I’m not sure. Anyway, he

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was told it would be a couple months before anyone would be
available to even estimate a cost to build a new barn, and that you
were too busy to even think about construction until spring.”

“Yeah,” Jackson said warily. “We are really busy. Would you

be talking about Laramie Goshen? The guy who lost his barn to a
fire?” A laugh barked out and then Jackson said, “Let me guess.
That’s how you met him. You worked the barn fire?”

Scoffing, Trace nodded even though he knew his—well—

friend, couldn’t see it. “Yep,” he said, completely unrepentant.
“I’m gonna get a bunch of guys together to hold a good, old-
fashioned barn raising. Can you order the supplies if I pick them
up?”

“So you don’t want a crew and just want to buy the supplies

from me?” Jackson asked, sounding surprised.

“Yeah. If I fax over the info about design, will you be able to do

that?”

Jackson snickered. “You doing manual labor for a lover… This

I gotta see,” he crowed. “You send me the design he wants, and
I’ll get the stuff. I’ll even bring it out on a Saturday morning. I
won’t be able to stay and help, but I can’t miss the opportunity to
meet the man who’s burrowed so deep under your skin to get you
to do something like this.”

Damn. Am I acting that far out of the ordinary? He paused,

frowning. Well, shit. I am. I really like this guy. Far more than I liked
Patrick, and I was willing to stick it out with him for nearly four

months. What the fuck does that mean?

Before he could begin to panic from that realization, Jackson’s

voice cut into his thoughts. “You have my fax number?”

Letting the mundane question distract him, Trace said he

didn’t, then wrote it down on his palm when Jackson rattled it off.
“Thanks, man,” he said.

He got another laugh. “No problem. I’ll talk to you soon.”
After disconnecting the call, Trace immediately entered the fax

number into his phone’s directory so he wouldn’t forget it or
accidentally wash it off. Turning back to his waiting friends, he
took in their clearly amused expressions.

“Well, when do you two have a Saturday off?” he asked.

Piggyback

“I gotta say, Trace,” Vincent said, the corner of his mouth

lifting in an amused smile, “You’re surprising me on this one.”

Trace shrugged, uncertain how to respond to that. “Are those

burgers ready?”

Carl nodded. “They are. Get over here and sit while I check our

schedules.”

He followed Carl’s direction and, seeing the spread of burger

fixings on the small table by the fire, didn’t know how he’d
missed the smell of fresh, cooked meat. He inhaled and groaned
in delight as he started preparing his plate.

Returning to his chair, Trace took a big bite and hummed his

appreciation. Once he’d swallowed, he said, “Damn, Carl. You
never cease to amaze me with…” His voice trailed off as Jake
walked out the back door. “Oh.”

As Jake settled on the chair, Trace tried to figure out how the

hell he’d missed the fact that Carl’s son was here. Seconds later,
Lorna came bouncing out the back door. “Hi, Trace,” she greeted.

“Hey, Lorna,” he said, greeting Carl’s daughter. He turned and

said to the teenager, “Hey, Jake. Great job on the burgers.” He just
knew the youngster had actually done the cooking. Realizing that,
he racked his brain, trying to remember if he’d said anything
inappropriate on his phone call, since obviously Jake would have
been on the deck at some point during his conversation with
Sammy and Jackson. Trace was pretty sure the conversation was
clean.

Jake laughed. “Aren’t you grateful I’m here,” he teased.
Trace chuckled as Carl called out an indignant, “Hey! I do

burgers just fine.”

Vincent sat next to his lover and patted Carl’s knee. “Carl is

right. He gets burgers just fine. It’s steaks he tends to burn.”

“Damn,” Carl grumbled. “The grief I get. See if I cook for you

all again,” he groused.

“Can I eat in the office?” Lorna asked, interrupting the good-

natured ribbing.

Carl patted his twelve-year-old daughter’s arm and nodded.

“Sure, sweetie. Don’t spill anything.”

“I won’t,” she replied then disappeared back in the house.

Charlie Richards

Trace lifted his brows in silent question. Normally Lorna was

incredibly social.

Vincent laughed as Carl rolled his eyes. It was Jake who

answered Trace’s unasked question. “She just got a new Webkinz.”

Frowning, Trace asked, “A what?”
Smiling at Trace’s confusion, Vincent said, “A Webkinz is a

stuffed animal that comes with a special code. Kids can go to the
Webkinz website and create a little virtual world for their pet,” he
explained, lifting his fingers and making air quotes. “They’re
incredibly popular and they have all kinds of different stuffed
animals.” He shrugged. “Quite ingenious, really.”

Trace had to admit, that did sound like a pretty great idea.

Piggyback

Chapter Seven

aramie quickly created his sandwich, knowing he
needed to eat in a hurry and get back to work. One of his

ranch hands had moved out of state three days ago—the
guy’s wife wanted to be closer to her family now that she
was pregnant—and Laramie still hadn’t found time to find a
replacement. Unfortunately, that meant he had to pick up
the slack cleaning stalls and herding cattle, in conjunction
with the meetings he had daily with his pig foreman, Vance,
as well as all the accounting and networking he normally
did. It really kept him hopping. Having his other hand, Dirk,
report that he’d found poison hemlock in the cow pasture
that morning was just the icing on Laramie’s stress-cake.

The plant was toxic to cows and horses alike, and Laramie

knew it hadn’t been growing there just two weeks ago. He
couldn’t afford to replace a bunch of cattle due to carelessness. He
checked regularly for the plant and a couple others, because of the
danger it posed to his animals.

Not seeing any signs of illness, Laramie hoped he’d spotted the

poisonous weeds in time. He’d roped Todd, one of the men who
usually worked with the pigs, into helping him and Dirk move the
herd to a new pasture that morning, but they were missing seven
strays. They needed to locate them this afternoon.

The sound of a truck made him cock his head, pausing as he

wolfed down his sandwich. He swallowed a gulp of milk to wash
down the last bite of his food and then headed toward the front.
He prayed it wasn’t his parents, again. That was the last thing he

Charlie Richards

wanted to deal with on a day like this. Laramie wouldn’t put it
past his dad or brother to plant the hemlock in the middle of the
night. They were just that vindictive.

Stepping onto the porch, Laramie’s brows shot up when he

recognized Trace’s truck. His dick immediately thickened in his
jeans and he reached down to adjust himself. The firefighter was
fucking sexy, in and out of bed. He couldn’t remember the last
time he’d been so satisfied by a man.

The fact that he didn’t ever have to stress about hurting the

guy’s feelings if he didn’t call the next day just made everything
better. He’d never had a fuck buddy before, and except for the
occasional twinge of regret every time he had to leave Trace’s
arms, or Trace had to leave his before morning, Laramie really
enjoyed the arrangement.

Laramie cocked his head and watched his lover park, realizing

he didn’t remember agreeing to meet the man today. And,
unfortunately, as much as he’d like to play hooky, today Laramie
couldn’t drop everything for a screw, no matter what his dick
wanted.

He watched Trace exit his truck and stride toward him,

admiring the taller man’s confident stride and sexy, welcoming
smile. Laramie reflexively smiled in return, because he was really
always happy to see the man. Trace didn’t hesitate to step up onto
the porch next to him and capture Laramie’s mouth in a deep, toe-
curling kiss.

When Trace finally lifted his head, Laramie’s breath came in

harsh pants in his chest. “Wow,” he muttered. Licking his lips, he
added, “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what are you
doing here?”

Trace chuckled. “I was hoping to catch you on lunch. I’ll only

take a couple minutes of your time,” he promised.

“Okay,” Laramie said, drawing out the word.
His lover slid his hand down and gripped his elbow, leading

him to the small table and chairs off to the side. “We talked about
the new barn you’re trying to get built, and I wanted to make sure
I picked the right plans,” Trace said.

“Um.” Laramie felt his jaw drop as he watched Trace roll a set

Piggyback

of plans out on the table. He must have been too busy ogling his
lover to notice them. “Holy shit,” he hissed, looking at the
extensive floor plan.

Had his lover been taking notes? The barn had everything he

wanted. The plans were for a twelve stall barn. Ten of them were
standard twelve by twelve box stalls, while two were twelve by
twenty-four birthing stalls. Notations on the plans showed where
cameras would be placed so someone could monitor the mares
from the comfort of the ranch house. There was a wash rack at one
end of the barn, which he saw had taps for hot and cold water.
Even the tack room was strategically placed with a heater set on
one wall, out of the way from the saddle racks.

Laramie even saw a plan set for a massive shed for hay storage.

Separate, this time, so if it caught fire, there was a chance it
wouldn’t take the barn with it.

“These are amazing,” Laramie murmured, running a finger

over the tack room dimensions, impressed by their size.

“So, it’s what you want, right?”
Trace seemed to radiate excitement, which Laramie didn’t

understand. Shouldn’t he be the excited one? He nodded. “Yeah,
this really would be just about perfect,” he admitted.

“Good,” Trace said, grinning.
To Laramie’s surprise, his lover pulled out his cell phone and

punched a couple buttons, obviously sending a text. Cocking his
head, Laramie asked, “What’s going on?”

Trace wrapped his arm around Laramie’s waist and turned

him toward the driveway. He pressed a kiss to his temple and
then nodded toward the vehicles rumbling up the drive, their tires
crunching on the gravel.

“Who are all these people?” Laramie asked, his brows shooting

up. He spotted the logo on the side of one of the trucks and
realized it was for Sorenson Construction. A semi came next, this
one carrying trusses. A second semi appeared, its flatbed loaded
with wood with a Teledyne on the back. “What’s going on?”

This time Trace answered the question. “I called in a few

favors. I know Jackson, the owner of Sorenson Construction.
That’s him in the truck,” he said, pointing. “He doesn’t have a

Charlie Richards

crew that can build the barn, but he let me work out a deal to get
the lumber delivered.” Trace waved a hand at all the other
vehicles parking and the men pouring from them. “These guys are
friends of mine and friends of Vincent’s, and friends of Carl’s,” he
finished with a laugh.

Okay, Laramie could admit he was a little overwhelmed. He

frowned. “And what are they doing here?” he asked tentatively.

Trace cupped his cheek and forced him to meet his gaze. He

pressed a gentle kiss to Laramie’s lips—a kiss that felt
suspiciously like one of reassurance. Laramie felt something shift
in his chest, and he gripped Trace’s flannel shirt with one hand.
Finally, Trace pulled back, sucking his bottom lip lightly before he
let go and grinned at him.

“We’re gonna build your barn, babe,” he murmured. “You just

go about your business.” Trace winked. “I got this.”

Babe? The endearment, which Trace normally only used when

they were having sex—or at least leading up to it—quickly fled
his mind as he processed the rest of what the man had said.
“You’re going to build my barn for me?”

Trace nodded and grinned. “Yep.”
“Why?”
Chuckling, Trace released his jaw and grabbed his hand.

“Because you need the barn,” he replied simply, tugging him
down the steps and toward the group of men.

Laramie followed, still overwhelmed, and took in the

assortment of males gathered in his yard. They were all dressed in
work attire and many were already strapping utility belts around
their waists. He had to admit, these laughing, joshing men looked
like they knew what they were doing.

A couple he even recognized, like Trace’s firefighter buddy

Vincent, and Vincent’s lover, Detective Carl Lewis, who was
working his case. Those two men disentangled themselves from
the crowd and strode toward him, grins on their faces. They held
out hands, which Laramie shook, and exchanged greetings.

Vincent slapped him on the back. “Well, once you confirm

where your power breaker is and where the water and gas mains
are, we’ll get to work,” he said.

Piggyback

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Laramie replied. “They’re this way.”
“We’ll warn you when we’re going to turn everything off,”

Trace assured.

Laramie shrugged. “I’m headed back to the pastures to hunt

for strays all afternoon. I won’t even notice.”

After showing the men what they needed, he returned to the

front yard in time to see a tall, muscular, auburn haired man
directing where to unload the lumber and supplies. “That’s
Jackson,” Trace said. “Come on over and I’ll introduce you,” he
offered.

He nodded and followed his…lover, friend, fuck buddy? God,

after this, Laramie just didn’t know what to call Trace. This went
way beyond the bounds of their current situation and changed the
whole dynamic of their relationship. Laramie guessed they’d need
to have a little talk, but hells bells, he sure didn’t know what he’d
say to the man.

“Whatever you’re thinking about so hard, cut it out,” Trace

whispered.

Laramie’s brows shot up, but they stopped next to Jackson

before he had to think up a reply. Trace slapped the slightly taller
Jackson on his back and grinned. “Jackson, I want you to meet the
man we’re helping.”

Jackson stretched out a large, calloused hand and took

Laramie’s. “Ah, nice to meet you, Laramie,” he said, smiling.
There was an appraising expression on the man’s face that
Laramie couldn’t figure out as Jackson swept his gaze up and
down him. “I’m sorry I don’t have the manpower to actually build
it for you, but Trace says one of his buddys’ father used to be in
construction and will be running the show, so you should be in
good hands.”

Damn, Laramie hadn’t even thought of that. Knowing he

needed to say something, he smiled and said, “I just appreciate
you getting the lumber out here. I know it takes you away from
other projects. Please, let me know what I owe you.”

He had the money in the bank. Laramie just hadn’t had

anywhere to get what he needed. He glanced at Trace out of the
corner of his eye, taking in the man’s relaxed stance and confident

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smile. Trace really was something else.

“Trace has the invoice for the supplies,” Jackson replied. “Once

these are unloaded, I gotta get moving. Good luck with your
barn,” he said.

“Thank you again,” Laramie said, really meaning it.
As Jackson turned back to his task of unloading wood, Laramie

swept his gaze over the group of men. At this point, they were
crowded around an older man who stood at a card table that had
been set up near the back of one of the SUVs. The blueprints Trace
had shown him were spread out on the table, and the man was
pointing at the prints then at certain men, obviously assigning
tasks.

“I suppose I should meet these guys who are so graciously

donating their time to help me,” he murmured, meeting Trace’s
warm brown eyes.

Trace nodded. “They’re a good bunch of men,” he assured.
He gritted his teeth and forced the question past his lips. “I’m

assuming they know why they’re out here?” Just how many men
from town knew his business?

His lover’s hand on his arm stopped him, and Laramie turned

and took in Trace’s pensive expression. “I am sorry, but yes.” His
voice got very quite. “I don’t lie to my friends. I’m sorry that I had
to share some of your situation.” Trace took his hands between his
own and brought them to his lips for a soft kiss. “I hope you’ll
forgive me for taking this liberty.”

Laramie’s brows rose. It was the first time he’d ever seen

uncertainty on Trace’s face. He really didn’t like it. Pulling one
hand free, he lifted it to Trace’s jaw and slid his thumb over his
bottom lip. Trace’s tongue slipped out and licked the pad of his
finger.

“Are we becoming friends?” he whispered, somehow liking

that idea.

Piggyback

Chapter Eight

race cocked his head. Well, damn. Laramie didn’t know
he considered him a friend? They hadn’t really

discussed it, but surely the time they spent drinking a beer
and chatting on Laramie’s porch or his own back patio could
be considered moments between friends? From the way
Laramie looked at and touched him, Trace guessed not.

“Yes,” he replied, his confidence returning. “I consider you a

very good friend,” he told him before sucking Laramie’s thumb
back into his mouth.

Laramie’s breath caught and his eyes dilated, telling Trace

exactly what the exchange was doing to him. It matched the
tightening in his own groin, and Trace wondered if they could slip
away for a couple moments without being completely razzed by
the guys.

“Hey! Get your ass over here, Trace! We’ve got work to do!”
Vincent’s amused holler told Trace that a quickie was definitely

out.

He released Laramie’s thumb and stepped away, severing the

contact. “I’ll introduce you to the guys,” he said, folding Laramie’s
smaller hand in his own and leading the way to the grinning
group of idiots he called friends.

“All right, all right!” he yelled, getting everyone’s attention. He

grinned at their amused expressions and slung an arm around
Laramie’s shoulders. “This here is the good man we’re here to
help. Laramie Goshen. Most of his family is pricks, but he’s not
one of them.”

Charlie Richards

Good natured ribbing followed, just like Trace had planned.

He held up a hand and the noise settled again. “Okay, those two
over there are fellow firefighters Roger & Craig,” he said,
pointing. “That’s Brody and Brian. They’re cops like Carl, so keep
your nose clean.” Trace winked at Laramie, so his lover knew he
was teasing. “The guy with the cute ass is Zack. Don’t get any
ideas, ‘cause he’s dating Brian, who’s a jealous fucker.”

Trace pointed at the older guy standing at the table looking

extremely amused. “That’s Samuel. Everyone calls him Sam, and
he’s going to be running the show.” He squeezed Laramie’s
shoulders and grinned at him. “Don’t worry. He worked at a
construction company in the city before retiring out here. He
knows what he’s doing.”

Sam chuckled. “Glad ya got some faith in me, son,” he teased.
Trace gave him a two finger salute, then pointed at a stocky,

bearded man leaning against an open tailgate and a pale featured,
slender fellow next to him. “You know Carl’s work partner, Greg,
and you may remember the paramedic, Randy.”

Laramie nodded. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat and stepped

forward. “I sure appreciate everything you guys are doing for
me.”

“Boss!”
The shout drew everyone’s attention. Trace watched a slender

blond riding a bay horse lope toward them and pull to a stop ten
feet away.

Laramie pulled away from Trace and strode toward him.

“What is it, Dirk?”

“Todd found some tire tracks in the pasture where we found

the hemlock, so we followed them. There was a twenty foot
section of fence cut open on the north end,” Dirk replied. “That
must be where those bastards drove in. We found hemlock
planted in several places along the tracks.”

“Son of a bitch,” Laramie growled. He turned away from the

group and strode toward his truck. “Show me.”

Trace grabbed his lover’s arm, pulling him to a stop. “What’s

going on? What’s wrong?”

An angry scowl covered his lover’s face. “Someone broke into

Piggyback

my north pasture and planted hemlock,” he snarled.

“Hemlock? What’s that?” Trace asked, confused.
Laramie heaved a sigh and explained, “It’s a weed that’s

poisonous to cattle, and I had my herd out there the last couple
days.” He ran a hand through his hair, showing his agitation. “It
wasn’t there last week,” he added.

“Damn, I’m sorry. Are any sick?” Trace asked. He gripped his

lover’s neck, massaging gently.

“Not that I’ve seen yet. We moved all but seven strays out of

there this morning. I gotta go check this out and then round up
the strays this afternoon,” Laramie explained.

Using his grip on Laramie’s neck, Trace pulled the smaller man

forward and wrapped his other arm around him in a hug. “I’m
sorry, babe.” He kissed Laramie’s lips lightly. “Don’t worry about
a thing here. We got this. Just take care of your cows.”

Laramie sagged against him in relief for several seconds before

sucking in a deep breath, almost as if he was drawing strength
into himself from Trace. He took a small step back and nodded.
“Thank you for doing this,” he said, waving toward the group of
men that were now moving around the area, following Sam’s
directions.

“Don’t mention it.” Trace felt equal parts warmed by Laramie’s

praise and concern for the problems that were still happening on
his lover’s farm. “I’ll see you later.”

Nodding, Laramie grabbed his arm and tilted his head. Trace

recognized the desire for a kiss, and gave it to him without a
second thought. “Later,” Laramie murmured.

Trace nodded. Before turning away, he watched Carl jog

forward and fall into step beside Laramie. “Why don’t I tag along?
It sounds like foul play. I can add it to the file we already have
concerning the barn fire,” he said.

Laramie paused, his brows lifting. “Really? That’d be great.”
“Yep. We’ll get these bastards trying to ruin your farm,

Laramie,” Greg said, joining them.

Relief flooded Laramie’s features. “Thanks, guys.”
He watched Greg snag a bag from his trunk, then hop into the

bed of Laramie’s old pick-up. The detective banged on the side,

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signaling he was ready. Behind the wheel, Laramie steered the
truck and the vehicle headed down the lane.

Vincent’s arm over his shoulder brought Trace back to himself.

“Carl and Greg will get this solved,” Vincent assured. “Let’s get to
work so when your lover gets back he won’t be disappointed with
our progress, eh?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. He gave his buddy a lopsided grin.

“Wouldn’t want to disappoint the man, right?”

Leading the way back to the others, Vincent threw his head

back and laughed. “I’m sure there’s no way you disappoint that
man.”

As he worked, Trace kept one eye on his hammer and one eye

on the road. An hour after the three men had followed Dirk and
his horse up the lane, several police cars disappeared up the same
way. His curiosity skittered over his skin like an itch he couldn’t
scratch, driving him nearly nuts.

It took everything in Trace to keep from climbing down from

where he worked on the roof of the new barn when he saw
Laramie’s beat up truck bounce back up the driveway. It was only
the realization that two people were in the cab and not three that
gave him pause, causing him to wait.

Carl and Greg climbed from the cab. Trace frowned. Once

more, he fought the urge to go down and start asking questions.
He doubted he’d get much from the two detectives anyway, so
Trace returned his focus to carefully placing the metal sheeting
that protected the roofing.

They’d already finished placing the wrap used for a moisture

barrier on the two ends of the barn, and Brian and Zack were
working their way down one of the long walls while Randy and
Vincent were doing the same on the opposite long wall. Once that
was done, they’d hang the siding, then move to the interior of the
building.

Trace actually had no idea who the guys were that had come

out to work on the electrical and plumbing. As long as they were
good, he didn’t give a fuck. They were friends with Sam, who’d
greeted them with handshakes and back slapping hugs. Both

Piggyback

appeared just a smidge younger than Sam, mid to late fifties,
maybe.

It took another thirty minutes to finish the last of the sheeting.

Once done, Trace carefully crawled back to the ladder and
climbed down to the ground. Upon reaching it, he stretched his
arms over his head and twisted his back this way and that,
working out the kinks caused by working crouched over for the
last two hours.

“Hey, Trace,” Carl called.
He turned to see the detective striding toward him. The crease

of his brow gave away his concern. “Yeah, man. You gonna tell
me anything?” He was actually a little surprised the detective was
approaching him.

“I can’t tell you much,” he replied with a head shake. Stopping

in front of him, Carl lowered his voice and added, “I will say that
someone is bent on sabotaging your boyfriend’s ranch and they’re
twisted fuckers. Laramie explained what hemlock can do to
livestock. Nasty plant, that.”

Trace didn’t bother trying to correct Carl’s use of the term

boyfriend, telling himself that getting information was more
important than getting into a verbal sparring match with Carl. “I
don’t know anything about that shit,” he admitted. Although he
had his suspicions, he asked anyway. “Who do you think is
sabotaging his farm and why?” Trace remembered Laramie telling
him Carl suspected the man’s family, and he wondered if that had
changed.

Carl stared at the barn, as if he hadn’t heard the question. He

started walking around the structure as he said, “You all have
made quite the progress. Think you’ll get it done today?”

At first, Trace wanted to grab the man and force him to answer,

but then he realized Carl was leading them farther from any of the
other workers. Obviously, whatever was going to be said would
need to stay between them.

“Yeah. Moving right along,” he replied. “I’m hoping to only

need to apply hardware tomorrow. Light switch and outlet
covers, fan covers, and the like.” He shrugged. “Hang the doors,
maybe,” he added, a corner of his mouth hitching up.

Charlie Richards

“This is a good thing you’re doing for your boyfriend,” Carl

murmured.

Trace shrugged. “It’s not like I’m paying for it or anything.

Laramie had talked about how he had the money, just couldn’t get
anyone to accept his business, so I’m just putting together the
labor.” It wasn’t until he’d finished speaking that he realized he’d
once more not denied the boyfriend claim. What the hell did that
mean?

“Someone has a hard-on for your lover’s farm. My bet is on his

homophobic, asshole family,” Carl mumbled the words, low and
quiet, angry even.

Trace’s brows shot up. “Are you saying that from experience?”

he guessed.

“Hell, yeah,” Carl snapped, but Trace knew the anger wasn’t

directed at him. “After the barn fire, Greg and I went to question
them. I wanted to slam my fist into the grinning bastards jaw and
knock out some of his perfect white teeth after hearing some of the
filth he was spewing about his son. Fucking homophobes.”

The admission caused Trace’s brows to shoot up. Carl was one

of the most even tempered men he’d ever met. He’d only seen the
man truly angry once, and that was when his ex-wife was slurring
his lover and his son. “Well, damn,” Trace whispered.

Carl curled a lip in disgust. “Yeah. From the looks of things,

our guys want to cause just enough damage to drive Laramie off
his land. Maybe force him to sell. First his cow ponies, then his
cattle.” Carl shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest.

His gaze rested on the barn being constructed, but something

told Trace that the detective wasn’t really seeing it.

“I’ve already told your man to be careful and to keep an eye

out, but maybe you should, too. Sometimes, hearing it from
someone who cares is more effective,” Carl muttered. “He needs a
fucking guard dog.”

Trace watched in stunned silence as the other man abruptly

strode away, all the while grumbling under his breath and
shaking his head. He stood there for a few minutes, uncertain
what to think after Carl’s little tirade.

“Don’t let him get to you. He’s just frustrated and worried.”

Piggyback

Trace turned to find Vincent standing behind him. He

wondered how long his friend had been there. Vincent smiled
slightly. “I’ve seen the signs before,” he said. “Once he locates the
elusive clue that will tie a suspect to the crime, Carl will be fine.”

“What if he doesn’t find a clue?” Trace asked, expressing what

worried him the most. No one, least of all his lover, should have
to deal with continued crimes that wreaked havoc with his life.

Vincent wrapped his arm around Trace’s shoulders and started

leading him back toward the front of the barn and the rest of the
guys. “Don’t worry. After a time, petty crooks like this get sloppy.
They’ll make a mistake.”

Pulling away, Trace glared at his friend. “These things

happening to Laramie aren’t petty,” he snapped. “They’re
threatening his livelihood. They could put him out of business.”

It just irritated Trace more when Vincent rolled his eyes.

Fortunately, the other firefighter’s words calmed him a bit. “I
mean petty because they’re foolishly done. Carl has asked around
the community, and Laramie has no other enemies,” he muttered,
keeping his voice low. “His neighbors don’t have a problem with
him because his farm is well maintained and he keeps the facilities
clean, which means there isn’t much smell even though he deals
with pigs,” he said, pointing at the dozen low slung pig barns that
took up several acres south of the house. “His clients love him
because he delivers quality product, on time. Hell, he’s not even in
debt, other than the house and a new tractor. His uncle had a hell
of a brain for business, and he passed it on to Laramie.”

Trace stumbled back a step, his jaw open in shock. “How—

how the hell do you know all this?” he whispered fiercely. He was
aware of most of what Vincent had just rattled off, except the
neighbors’ part. He and Laramie had spent a number of hours
chatting about their pasts. In fact, the only thing they’d never
discussed was the future. Maybe I need to change that.

Vincent’s face flushed and he ran a hand through his dark hair.

“Look, you didn’t hear it from me, okay? Carl would skin me
alive if he knew I’d said anything. Just,” Vincent shook his head.
“Case information is supposed to be sensitive, and the only reason
he mentioned it to me is because he’s your—” He paused,

Charlie Richards

obviously searching for the right term.

“Boyfriend?” Trace whispered.
Vincent’s brow lifted and the corners of his lips twitched.

“Does he know that?”

Trace resumed walking. “Probably not.”
“Uh huh.”
Without turning around, Trace lifted a hand and gave him the

finger.

“No thanks!” Vincent called, laughing.
Trace chuckled as well, because really, it was funny in an ironic

kind of way. He hadn’t been looking for a new boyfriend, but he
hadn’t been with any other men since that first time with Laramie.
Even when he went dancing, he’d left alone. His brows shot up.

Before he could ponder the situation any more, Sam hailed

him. “Trace, we’re ready to start the stalls, you up for that?”

“Sure, sure,” he replied. “As long as someone else cuts the

boards and tells me where to hold them, I’m your man,” he told
him, grinning.

Roger snorted, his green eyes twinkling as he teased, “Ain’t

that the truth. You can’t use a measuring tape to save your life.”

It really was true. He’d tried to build a dog house with the

guys for one of their fellow firefighters and it didn’t matter how
carefully he measured, he always got the distances wrong.

Trace smirked. “Good thing I got you to take care of that manly

duty, Roger,” he said, batting his eyelashes.

A water bottle came flying at his head. Trace caught it on

reflex, winked at Roger, then opened the plastic container and
swigged down half the contents. “Thanks.”

They got to work on the interior of the building, and Trace

managed to mostly concentrate on what he was doing.

Piggyback

Chapter Nine

aramie wiped the sweat from his brow after tying off the
last strand of wire.

“Finally,” Dirk muttered from next to him.
Chuckling, Laramie nodded. “Yeah. Of course, the bastards

had to make the hole wide enough to drive three trucks through.
Argg,” he grunted, stretching at the waist and popping his back.

“Damn,” his hand snickered. “That sounded like it hurt.”
“Naw,” Laramie replied. “It felt good. Self-induced

chiropractic adjustment,” he said, winking.

Dirk rolled his eyes and picked up their tools. He shoved them

into his saddlebags and mounted. “So, what’s with those guys
building the new barn? I thought you said the construction
company couldn’t get it done for another couple months,” he said.

Laramie crossed to the mount Todd had brought him earlier

and swung into the saddle. “Yeah, looks like my, uh, buddy,
called in a few favors to get it done earlier,” he said, stumbling
over his words.

“That was nice of him,” Dirk said, his horse falling into step

beside Laramie’s as they headed back toward the farmhouse.

“Yeah,” Laramie murmured. “Come on. I’m ready for supper.”
He urged his horse into a ground eating lope, knowing Dirk

would follow. He didn’t really want to try to figure out why Trace
had done this for him. This kind of action didn’t seem to fall into
the category of fuck buddy or friend. Trace seemed like a pretty
straight-forward guy. If he’d wanted something more, wouldn’t
he have said something?

Maybe this is his way of doing that. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?

Charlie Richards

To have a steady man as sexy as that?

“Shit,” he muttered, trying to ignore the little voice in his head.

Laramie had no delusions about a player like Trace. He wouldn’t
stick around for long. It was best to keep this firmly in the friends-
with-benefits category.

He rode into the yard and his jaw dropped open, shock

coursing through his system. He reined in his horse, staring.
Where there had previously been just a flat piece of earth when
he’d left stood a massive barn. Laramie gaped at the structure as
Dirk rode up and stopped next to him.

“Wow, boss,” the man muttered. “Your, uh, friend —yeah, he’s

a keeper if he can pull this shit together.”

Laramie’s jaw snapped shut and his brows shot up as he

watched his stable hand trot toward the structure and the group
of men lounging on and around the tailgate of a red dodge pick-
up. Shaking his head, Laramie nudged his horse to get it walking
again.

He recognized Vincent and Carl, and the foreman Sam. The

other two men looked familiar, but he couldn’t remember who
they were. Trace was not among them, and he didn’t like the spike
of disappointment that went through him. Especially, since it was
immediately alleviated when he saw the man’s truck still parked
by the porch, meaning that his lover was around here somewhere.

Swinging his leg over his horse’s back, Laramie dismounted.

“Wow, guys,” he called, making certain a smile was on his face.
“This is amazing! How the hell did you get this done so fast?”

“Well, it’s not completely finished yet,” Vincent said, striding

forward. He held out a beer, which Laramie gratefully took. “We
still need to hang the stall and tack room doors, put fixture
coverings on, and a couple other things. A few of us will come out
in the morning and take care of it,” he assured.

Laramie shook his head. “You really don’t have to do that. If

you make a list, the hands and I will finish those things up.” In
truth, he’d end up doing them himself because everyone was so
busy, but he hated feeling any more indebted to these men than
he already did.

“Nonsense,” Carl replied, wrapping an arm around Vincent’s

Piggyback

shoulders. “We already know what needs to be done. Me and
Randy are all set up to do it,” he assured. “We’ll be out about
nine.”

He looked from Carl to where he pointed. The pale, slender

man lifted a hand and gave a small salute. “Um, well,” he started,
lifting his own free hand in response.

To his surprise, Dirk, who now held a beer, too, wrapped his

arm around his shoulders and grinned down at him. “Don’t
argue, boss. Just accept the help of friends.”

Laramie lifted his gaze the three inches it took to meet his

hand’s eyes. “When did you start calling the shots?” he asked
dryly, smirking at the man to soften his words.

The slamming of a door caught everyone’s attention, and

Laramie turned toward the house. He couldn’t stop his smile
when he watched Trace drop down the porch steps and head
toward them. To his surprise, Trace’s eyes narrowed, and Laramie
realized Dirk’s arm was still around his shoulders. Was that a
gleam of jealousy in his lover’s eyes? Huh.

Then the look was gone, and Trace grinned at him. “Hey, you

made it back in time. That’s fantastic!”

“In time for what?” Laramie asked.
“Supper. I just put steaks and burgers on the grill out back.

Come on, guys, they’ll be ready shortly. Let’s head out there.” He
smiled directly at Laramie. “Hope you don’t mind me using your
grill and deck to feed the guys.”

Laramie found himself stepping away from Dirk, gently

dislodging his ranch hand’s arm. “After everything you and your
friends have done for me, of course, I don’t have a problem with
that. Just let me help Dirk put Gracy away,” he said, referencing
his horse, “and I’ll be right in to help.”

“You don’t have to help, babe,” Trace said. “You should relax.”
“I—”
Dirk tugged the reins from Laramie’s hand. “You go on. I’ll

take care of the horses,” he said, giving him a cheeky grin.

“You guys go ahead,” Vincent called, retreating back to the

tailgate. “We’ll be around back in five minutes. We’re just gonna
clean up the last couple things here and then we’ll be there.”

Charlie Richards

“Sounds good,” Trace said, while grabbing Laramie’s hand.

“Come on, Lare,” he said, then tossed over his shoulder, “Don’t be
long, guys. They’ll be done in fifteen and you don’t want the
burgers to get cold.”

Before Laramie could protest, Dirk headed away with both

animals. “Oh, uh.” Damn, why did he feel manipulated? His hand
hadn’t even disappeared from sight when Trace took the last steps
between them and intertwined their fingers. Laramie let himself
be pulled toward the house.

“Come on, babe,” Trace said softly, ducking his head. “You can

get cleaned up while I finish the food.”

Walking a step behind his lover, Laramie couldn’t help letting

his gaze fall to Trace’s ass. The firm mounds flexed and moved
beneath the tight fabric of his jeans. As Trace climbed the steps in
front of him, Laramie reached out and caressed the man’s flexing
globes.

“Babe,” Trace drew the word out as if singing the word, low

under his breath. “You’re asking for trouble,” he crooned.

“You’re only in trouble if you get caught,” he teased right back.
Trace gave a non-committal grunt. Laramie snickered and

glanced over his shoulder to see the guys were laughing at
something Brian had said and weren’t paying them any attention.
He turned back around, palmed Trace’s ass and squeezed.

His lover jerked open the screen door, shoved the front door

wide, and yanked Laramie inside after him. Before Laramie could
get his bearings, he was shoved to the side and pushed backward.
The back of his calves hit a cushion and he tumbled backward
onto the sitting room sofa. Trace’s weight came down on top of
him, and Laramie grunted.

Knowing his eyes were wide, Laramie stared up at Trace’s

smirking face. He tried to move, but realized his wrists were
captured in Trace’s larger hands. Laramie might have been strong
from working on the ranch every day, but Trace was stronger.
Laramie was affectively trapped. Instead of fear shooting through
him, Laramie felt lust heat his blood, quickly pooling in his groin.

“You’ve just been caught, babe,” Trace growled the words

gruffly.

Piggyback

Laramie licked his lips. He liked how Trace’s gaze followed the

movement of his tongue and his eyes lit up. “Now what?”
Laramie whispered.

“Hmm, we don’t have much time, so…” Trace began to lift

away. “Maybe leaving you hard and wanting would be
appropriate,” he mused.

For a split second, Laramie thought Trace was going to do just

that. And, yeah, that would definitely have been punishment,
trying to sit through a meal with a boner, while all he could think
about was getting Trace’s dick in his ass. He let out an undignified
whimper.

Trace’s head snapped up and he grinned at him. Then, Trace

moved a hand and pressed firmly against Laramie’s trapped
erection. Laramie couldn’t help it. His body bucked into the
delicious pressure, greedy for more. The hand was gone just as
quickly, making Laramie moan.

“No,” he whined.
“Awe, I’d never leave you wanting, lover,” Trace murmured.
Laramie panted, his chest heaving as he watched Trace’s

nimble fingers work his belt buckle, button, then zipper. Seconds
later, Laramie followed Trace’s urging, lifted his hips, and his
erection popped free. Without any preamble, Trace sucked down
his cock.

He shoved a fist into his mouth to contain his scream of

pleasure. His balls immediately pulled tight. Laramie had been
battling a hard-on all afternoon after their make-out session in
front of the guys. “Not gonna take long,” he warned, while
rocking his hips as much as Trace’s tight grip would allow.

“Come for me,” Trace encouraged before swallowing his dick

down again.

Trace’s tongue traced around the cap, probed into his slit, and

tickled the sensitive tissue at the front. Coupled with Trace’s hand
firmly jacking his stalk with one hand and massaging his balls
with the other, Laramie did just that.

Fire raced through his bloodstream. His cock jerked and

swelled. Laramie’s mouth opened in a silent scream as his orgasm
bowled through him, spewing his seed into Trace’s waiting

Charlie Richards

mouth. Trace’s mouth and hand on his dick continued to work,
heightening his pleasure and sending aftershocks through his
system.

When he finally pulled enough brain cells together to pry an

eyelid open, Trace already had his jeans open and was jacking his
dick with intent. His gaze was locked on Laramie’s prone form
and lust was clearly etched on his pained expression. Unwilling to
miss out on that action, Laramie slid gracelessly to the floor. He
placed one hand on Trace’s hip, batted away the man’s hand with
the other, and swallowed Trace’s thick cock to the root.

A low growl vibrated through the man he pleasured. Trace

gripped his hair tightly, forcing him to stop his movement.
Laramie looked up at Trace through his lashes, the man’s dick
filling his mouth and stretching his lips.

Trace curved his lips into a pleased smile. The sexy look caused

a whimper to escape Laramie and he sucked on the cap still in his
mouth. Trace gave him a feral grin, then started to move. Trace’s
second hand joined the first, cupping Laramie’s skull as he fed
him his dick over and over. For several seconds, Trace fucked
Laramie’s face with slow, even strokes. Then, a groan escaped the
man, and it was as if something broke inside him. He sped up,
and Laramie felt grateful he had little to no gag reflex.

“So close,” Trace hissed through clenched teeth.
Laramie hummed, knowing the vibrations would intensify his

lover’s pleasure. He loved that he did this to Trace, made him
nearly mindless with lust. It mirrored his own insatiable desire for
this man, calming his insecurities.

He felt the dick in his mouth swell. Trace’s thrusts stuttered.

Suddenly, Trace jerked back, pulling his cock free of Laramie’s
mouth. He tried to follow, but Trace’s firm grip on his head
stopped him. His eyes widened in shock as Trace threw his head
back, roared, and came.

Pleasure-pain was etched beautifully on his features as stream

after stream of seed pulsed from his dick, painting Laramie’s face.
He opened his mouth, catching some on his tongue. Laramie
reached up and jacked Trace’s pulsing stalk, encouraging another
shot of cum to spray toward him. Trace grunted and gasped, his

Piggyback

chest heaving as Laramie watched him come down from his
endorphin high.

Finally, Trace cracked his eyelids and gave him a languid,

satiated smile. “Fucking sexy.” He swiped a thumb through a line
of cum on Laramie’s face and sucked it off his finger. “What you
do to me,” he whispered.

Then he leaned down and began to kiss and lick away every

trace of his seed from Laramie’s face. Laramie sighed softly,
enjoying the sensations of Trace’s mouth and tongue on him,
cleaning him in the most intimate of ways. Finally, Trace’s lips
found his, and they shared a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss, tasting
each other, savoring the contact like the finest wine.

Eventually, Trace gentled his hold and drew the kiss to an end.

“You’re amazing, Lare. You mind if I spend the night? I want to
hold you,” he admitted. Then he winked and added, “And I really
want to fill your ass again.”

“I’m always happy to have you,” Laramie replied, saying the

first thing that came to mind. And, well, damn! Isn’t that the truth?

“Good,” Trace muttered. He pulled away and stood, righting

his pants. Then he offered a hand to Laramie, who took it
gratefully, since his legs still felt kinda like noodles. “Head
upstairs and clean up. I hope I didn’t burn the burgers.” He
snickered, “But even if I did, I brought extra, and it was worth it.”

Laughing along with him, Laramie headed upstairs to get

cleaned up, content to figure out his thoughts another time.

Laramie rolled over and groaned. His muscles protested the

movement, telling him in no uncertain terms of all the aches and
pains permeating his body, and not all of them were in his ass. It
had a been a long day yesterday, what with rounding up the herd,
fixing fences, dinner with the guys—nice of everyone to work so hard
to include me like I’m one of the group—and then several rounds of
sex with Trace. The man could be insatiable. Laramie wasn’t sure
if he’d be able to get his cock up for a week.

Immediately, a strong arm wrapped around his waist and

pulled Laramie’s back against a firm chest. “Too early,” Trace
muttered, nuzzling his neck.

Charlie Richards

Looking over his shoulder, Laramie smiled at the man whose

embrace he loved so much. Ah, shit, I didn’t just think that! He
really needed a couple days away from Trace to get his head on
straight. “I gotta feed the horses, T, you know that. How about I
get the coffee started, and you can wander down when you’re
ready,” he offered.

Trace rubbed his face against Laramie’s shoulder, still

obviously out of it. “Mmm, m’kay,” he said, grunting.

Laramie chuckled and pulled away. This time, Trace let him

go. He pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, took a few minutes in the
bathroom for necessities, then pulled on socks and boots. Laramie
headed toward the door when Trace’s quiet Hey! caught his
attention.

Turning back, he saw his lover seemed a bit more awake as he

watched him. “You leavin’ me without a good-bye kiss?”

Rolling his eyes, Laramie headed back toward his lover. “What

was I thinking?” he teased. He leaned over, one hand on the bed
next to Trace’s smiling face, and pressed their lips together in a
gentle kiss.

Trace’s arms wrapped tightly around his torso and his lover

twisted. Laramie jerked his mouth away and let out a yelp as
Trace rolled him under his larger mass. His mouth took Laramie’s
again in a deep, claiming kiss. Trace delved his tongue deeply into
his mouth, and Laramie could only hang on for the ride.

God, he loved it when Trace took control like this, just letting

Laramie feel.

Gently sipping at Laramie’s lips, Trace brought the kiss to an

end. He grinned down at him, and Laramie just knew he had a
dazed expression on his face. “Now that’s how you say good-bye,”
Trace whispered.

“Okay,” Laramie murmured.
Pecking a kiss to the tip of his nose, Trace winked. “Don’t

forget for next time.” Then he released Laramie and flopped over.

Once more rising from the bed, Laramie had to admit, he liked

that good-bye far more than any other he’d gotten. With a smile
on his face, he trotted down the stairs to the kitchen. Laramie
flipped on the coffee pot, telling himself he really should get one

Piggyback

with an automatic timer. This one had been Uncle Damian’s, so
though it was inconvenient at times, he really was loath to get rid
of it for no good reason.

He pulled on his coat, cursing the ever increasing cold weather.

Southern Oregon had pretty mild winters, but at seven in the
morning, it was still blasted cold. Hunching against the frigid
morning air, Laramie jogged across the yard to the horse pens.

The horse’s blankets rustled as the horses moved toward him

in their paddocks, whinnying in greeting. Laramie’d had to buy
blankets, since the horses were used to being stabled at night.
Their coats just hadn’t grown out enough.

He’d just finished tossing out hay for the animals when the

crunch of tires on gravel caught his attention. Who’d be coming over
this early?

Laramie returned to the house, stepped on the deck and made

his way along the wrap-a-round porch. When he reached the
front, he scowled. “Son-of-a-bitch,” he muttered.

Charlie Richards

Chapter Ten

race eased to a sitting position and swung his legs over
the side of the bed. Running his hands over his face, he

tried to get his brain to function beyond the hard shaft
springing up between his legs. He stared at his erection and
shook his head. “Damn. How the hell are you awake?”

Realizing what he’d done, Trace glanced toward the door,

relieved to discover he was still alone. He sure didn’t need his
lover catching him talking to his dick. Chuckling under his breath,
Trace heaved to his feet and headed to the bathroom.

He went about his normal routine in the bathroom, then

returned to the bedroom and found the duffel bag he’d left on the
chair. Trace was just buttoning his jeans when he heard a vehicle
rumble up the drive. Glancing at his watch, Trace thought it was a
little early for Vincent, Carl, and Randy to return to help him
finish the last of the stray tasks to complete the barn.

If that were the case, they’d probably be expecting breakfast,

since they arrived this early. He pulled on his work boots and
hurried down the stairs. He paused at the bottom, surprised to
hear Laramie’s less-than-cordial greeting to their guests.

“What are you doing here, Simon,” Laramie all-but-snarled.
“Now, son, we’re just here to make sure you’re okay,” came

the voice of someone Trace didn’t recognize.

Okay, not our friends.
Trace paused, thinking quickly. Deciding, he grabbed two cups

of coffee, doctored them up the way he and Laramie liked,
grabbed his coat, and headed outside. When he stepped onto the

Piggyback

porch, it drew everyone’s attention. He handed Laramie one of the
cups of coffee.

“Thanks,” Laramie murmured, clearly surprised.
“Sure, babe,” Trace said. He leaned down and pecked a kiss to

Laramie’s lips, ignoring the shocked gasp of the blonde woman
he’d seen, who could only be Laramie’s mother. “One of these
days, I’m gonna get you a new coffee maker,” he murmured,
smiling, “that way you get to have your coffee before feeding.”

“I—” Laramie’s eyes were huge in his face as Trace drew away.
Trace smirked. He wrapped his free hand around Laramie’s

waist and faced the twin glares of an older man, who must be
Simon, and a younger man. Laramie’s brother? Man, if looks could
kill. He could feel his grin growing bigger. Okay, so maybe I am an
asshole, but I just can’t resist.

“Who are these, love?” he asked, as if he couldn’t already tell.
“Uh, this is Simon, uh, Simon Goshen. That’s Regina,” Laramie

said pointing to the woman, “and Lane.” He waved toward the
younger man.

“Nice to meet you,” Trace said, just because he knew it’d piss

them off. “Too bad you couldn’t make it yesterday,” he continued,
just because he could. “You missed the guys and the barn raising.
We could have used an extra pair of hands.” So, that was a bald
faced lie, but the increasing red flushing Simon’s face was so
worth it.

“Barn raising?” It was Lane who finally managed to sputter out

the indignant words.

“Yeah, that asshole company up north refused to do business

with Laramie just because he’s gay. Can you believe it?” He
scoffed and shook his head. “Well, me and a few friends pulled
some strings because we know the owner of the local construction
company. He got us the supplies, even though he couldn’t
provide the labor.” He gave his lover a fond smile and pressed a
kiss to his temple. “Can’t have my baby’s babies out in the cold.”
He turned back to the three clearly shell-shocked individuals and
took a sip of his coffee and waited. It didn’t take long.

“You’re one of them!” Simon snarled, lifting his finger and

pointing at him. “You’re a fag! Are you fucking my boy? I’ll have

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you arrested!”

Well, that was way out of left field! Trace couldn’t help it. He

laughed. That shut Simon up real quick, and his face turned an
interesting shade of purple. “Oh, Simon! Laramie didn’t tell me
how funny you are!”

“Why you—” Simon stepped forward, his fist raised. “You

worthless piece of shit! Laramie doesn’t deserve this farm. It
should be mine, and I’ll destroy anyone who stands in my way.
You got that?”

Trace’s eyes narrowed. “I get that you just threatened me, Mr.

Goshen. That’s not a very smart thing for you to do,” he
murmured.

“Oh, yeah? Why not?” Simon actually took another threatening

step toward him, but it seriously missed the mark, considering the
man was standing three steps down, and even if he wasn’t, the
guy might have had thirty pounds on Trace, but it was all fat.

Smiling coldly, Trace replied, “Because that could be construed

as a motive for causing a fire, Mr. Goshen. Or perhaps for
trespassing on land, destruction of property, and planting harmful
plants in Laramie’s field.”

While Simon scoffed, Lane paled. Regina just looked cowed

and confused. “You can’t prove anything,” Simon muttered.

“I have you threatening us on record,” Trace replied smugly,

holding up his phone from where his hand had been tucked
around Laramie’s waist. “Damn, I love smart phones.”

Simon opened his mouth, then snapped it closed again. He

growled, sounding a lot like an animal, turned on his heel, and
headed back toward the car. A still confused Regina called,
“Simon? What’s going on?”

Lane glared at Laramie and snarled, “This is all your fault.”
Laramie finally found his tongue. “None of this is my fault.

Simon is a hateful, spiteful asshole and you follow him of your
own free will. He kicked me out when I was sixteen,” he snapped,
“and I never heard from any of you again until after Uncle
Damian died.”

Trace could practically feel his lover vibrating with rage, and

protective instincts that he never knew he had surged through

Piggyback

him. He finally recognized the urges that had prompted him to
call in hard earned favors and build Laramie’s barn, a desire to
take care of his lover. Trace could easily admit that he’d never felt
that way about anyone before, not since his own family had cut
off all ties once he’d come out. With Laramie, Trace wanted to
make their own family. Now, he just had to figure out how to get
Laramie on board with the idea.

But first, Trace needed to get rid of these assholes and calm his

man down before he blew a gasket. “Easy, lover,” Trace soothed,
resting a hand on the back of Laramie’s neck and massaging
gently. “They’re not worth getting worked up over.”

Lane sneered. “Fucking faggots. You disgust me.”
“Funny,” Trace immediately replied. “You disgust me.”
That wiped the sneer off Lane’s face to be replaced by

incredulity. “What? Why?” he asked, his lip curling.

Trace had known the little shit couldn’t contain his curiosity

and it was a perfect opportunity. “Because you’re hateful and
ignorant, narrow-minded, and don’t care how your spiteful
comments affect other people.”

“Fuck you,” Lane snarled.
Oh, isn’t that a clever comeback. “Not if you were the last human

on the planet.” Trace smirked when he saw the pallor that seeped
over Lane’s face. Damn, he loved baiting bigots. So much fun!

“Lane, get over here,” Simon snapped from where he stood by

their car door. “We’re leaving.”

Throwing them both one last hateful look, Lane stalked back to

the car and got in. Trace watched them drive away. Once they’d
disappeared from sight, Trace turned to Laramie and pulled him
gently into his arms. Laramie came willingly enough, tucking
himself into Trace’s embrace as if it were the most natural thing in
the world.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that,” Laramie whispered.
“I know,” Trace replied, then gently cupped the nape of

Laramie’s neck and encouraged his lover to look up. Staring into
Laramie’s green eyes, he whispered, “I wanted to, Laramie.” He
pressed a soft kiss to those lips he loved so much and smiled. “I
know we started this whole thing as fuck buddies, but I want you

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to know, you mean more than that to me.”

Trace shook his head when Laramie opened his mouth, stalling

his response. “I haven’t been with anyone since taking up with
you, and I know you’ve offered me the same courtesy. You’re a
hard-working, sexy man, and I admire your heart and
dedication.”

Finally, Trace paused and Laramie whispered, “Wow. That’s

just,” he licked his lips. “Wow. I’m not sure what to say to that,”
he admitted.

Resting his forehead against Laramie’s, Trace stared into his

lover’s eyes and said something he never thought he’d ever say to
another man. “I think I’m in love with you, Laramie. I want to
know if someday, you might feel the same.”

“Oh,” Laramie expelled the word on a soft breath.
When he didn’t get anything else from the man, he read

Laramie’s body language. Trace felt the hard press of Laramie’s
coffee cup against the small of his back as the man’s arm tightened
a fraction more. The fingers of Laramie’s other hand dug into his
shoulder blade, clutching at him. Laramie panted softly, his breath
mingling with Trace’s.

Everything pointed to Laramie being open to the idea, what

with the way he clung to Trace, not pulling away. Trace
whispered, “I know it’s not how we started, so I don’t expect an
answer right away. Just think about it, babe.”

Knowing a subject change was needed, Trace said, “You ready

for breakfast? How about I make omelets?”

Finally, Laramie seemed to shake himself out of whatever

thoughts consumed him. He nodded, smiling, then chuckled self-
consciously. “Yeah, I’m definitely ready for food.”

Trace grinned. “Me, too. Come on.”
He grabbed his lover’s hand and led the way to the kitchen.

Making himself at home in Laramie’s kitchen, Trace pulled out
eggs, cheese, sausage, and peppers. “Here,” he said, handing
Laramie the pepper. “Dice that puppy for me and I’ll get the rest
ready.”

Laramie swigged back the last of his coffee, then set to work on

the red pepper. Trace thought the man’s brows were furrowed in

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concentration until he said, “I didn’t need you to step in like that,
you know?”

Trace paused where he beat the eggs, his brows shooting up in

surprise.

“I can take care of my problems with my family. I got tongue-

tied by your PDA demonstration, not by anything my father
said.”

Returning to beating the eggs, Trace took a minute to formulate

his response. He added a splash of milk, stirred again, then
poured it into a lightly heated skillet. Trace turned back to
Laramie and leaned on the counter. He waited until Laramie
stopped cutting and lifted his gaze to meet Trace’s eyes.

“I know you don’t need me. Part of what attracts me to you is

your independence, Laramie,” he explained.

“It is?” Laramie asked. “Why?”
Trace chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong, your hot body is a

definite turn on, and I’ll be honest, it’s what first attracted me to
you,” he said with a shrug. “But as I’ve gotten to know you, your
strong commitment to your employees and your ability to take
care of your own issues is what keeps me coming back. I don’t
want to take care of you, Laramie. I want to stand beside you.”

Holy shit! Did that really just pour out of my mouth? Talk about

soap opera crap!

Clearing his throat, suddenly uncomfortable, Trace turned

away and focused on making the omelet. He swallowed hard, a
wash of unease crashing over him. Never had he thought he’d say
anything like that to anyone. An emotion Trace could only
describe as terror filled him. His heart pounded in his chest, his
skin felt clammy and tight, and his brain started to shut down.

Thinking that doing something he’d done thousands of times

before would help ground him, Trace grabbed the necessary
ingredients and finished creating the omelets. He opened a
cupboard and reached for a plate, his hand freezing halfway there.
He hadn’t even had to think about where the plates were kept.
He’d been here so many times, eaten and cooked here enough,
that he’d just opened the right cupboard on instinct.

A hand reached over his shoulder and grabbed the plate. Trace

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shut his eyes and bowed his head, struggling to just keep
breathing. Somewhere in the peripheral of his psyche, Trace
registered the scrape of a spatula on the pan and the creak of a
floorboard as Laramie moved around the kitchen. When Laramie
rested a hand on the center of his back, Trace nearly jumped out of
his skin.

Spinning around, Trace prepared to flee. Laramie, wrapping

his arms around him and holding fast, stopped him. Ducking his
head, Trace tucked his nose against Laramie’s neck and inhaled
his lover’s scent. The smell of sex and man filled his nostrils, but
not just any man, Trace’s lover, steadied him.

“You’ve never said anything like that to someone,” Laramie

whispered. “Have you?”

Unwilling to trust his voice just yet, Trace shook his head.
“I’ve never had anyone say it to me,” Laramie murmured,

nuzzling the side of Trace’s face. “I’m sorry I don’t know how to
respond. I’ve been…” He paused and Trace heard his throat
muscles work as Laramie swallowed hard. “You rebuilt my barn,
gave me so much patience and affection. I worry that I won’t be
enough for you.”

Trace jerked his head up. He opened his mouth, ready to

reassure his lover, when Laramie rested his fingers over his lips.

“You’ve had your pick of so many men,” Laramie murmured,

his expression understanding, not condemning. “I come with so
many problems, so much baggage.” At Trace’s confused
expression, Laramie elaborated. “The farm, the family problems,
having no idea how relationships work.” He shrugged. “I know
what you’ve said, and I think I just need a little time to believe it,”
he admitted.

Trace assimilated Laramie’s words. Nowhere in there was a no.

Something settled inside Trace, and he realized his panic had
stemmed from Laramie’s silence, his lack of a response, fear of
rejection. Resting his chin on Laramie’s shoulder, Trace sighed.
His body relaxed, as if physically releasing the anxiety.

“Time, I can give,” he murmured.
“Good,” Laramie said. After a pause, he said, “Let’s eat. We

wouldn’t want these fabulous looking omelets to get cold.”

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Trace nodded, and the two men gently untangled themselves.

They set coffee and juice on the table, followed by their omelets,
and sat down to eat. As they tucked into their meal, the fact that
this was incredibly domestic didn’t escape Trace’s attention —nor
did the fact that he liked it, a lot.

Charlie Richards

Chapter Eleven

hristmas is in a week.”

Laramie glanced up from where he slathered grape jam

on a piece of toast. “Yeah,” he said, though it hadn’t really

been a question.

“I don’t see a tree. Do you do anything for the holiday?” Trace

asked, eying him with curiosity.

Grimacing, Laramie shrugged.
“I’m sorry,” Trace murmured, picking up on his discomfort.

He grabbed Laramie’s hand and squeezed. “That’s probably
painful for you.”

Taking a deep breath, Laramie let it out slowly through his

nose. He jerked a nod. Laramie hadn’t been looking forward to
Christmas. Thanksgiving had been miserable, then on Black
Friday his barn had burned down. So far, it was shaping up to be
a pretty crappy holiday season.

Trace’s hand on his knee brought Laramie’s gaze snapping to

him. To his surprise, Laramie found Trace had moved from his
chair and now knelt on the floor in front of him. His lover applied
gentle pressure to Laramie’s legs and he opened to the man. Trace
slipped between his thighs, grabbed Laramie’s hips, and pulled
him to the edge of the chair, bringing their groins flush together.

Laramie gasped in surprise, but instead of taking advantage

and capturing his mouth, Trace cupped his jaw and tilted his head
so they were looking eye to eye. “Talk to me,” Trace urged. “What
can I do to make this better for you?”

At first, Laramie was surprised by the offer. His uncle was one

of a few topics they’d never discussed in depth, kinda like Trace’s

“C

Piggyback

grandmother.

“Please,” Trace murmured, his thumb rubbing over Laramie’s

jaw.

The contact and the one whispered word soothed Laramie

more than he thought possible. Who knew he’d been so tense?
“When Uncle Damian was alive,” he started slowly, the use of
past tense awkward on his tongue. After licking his top lip,
Laramie forced himself to continue. “We’d take a day off and take
the wagon out into the hills and cut down a tree. Then we’d bring
it back and decorate it while listening to Christmas carols. Uncle
Damian would always sing along at the top of his lungs,” he said,
smiling.

Laramie paused and scoffed, amazement filling him. “Damn,”

he whispered.

“What?” Trace prodded gently.
“That’s the first time I’ve been able to laugh at a memory,” he

admitted. Laramie smiled at his lover, tipped his head forward
and pressed a kiss to Trace’s firm lips. “Thanks.”

For a split second, Trace looked surprised. He smiled and

returned the kiss. “You’re welcome.” Pulling away slightly, the
man actually looked uncertain. “Would you—Would you still like
to do that? With me?” he asked, obviously hesitant to suggest it.

Laramie only had to think about it for a couple seconds before

he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I would,” he said. “That’d be fun.”

“Then just tell me when, and I’ll be here,” Trace promised.
“Do you have to work tonight?”
Trace shook his head. “No. I’ve been working a lot of double

shifts,” he reminded Laramie. “So they’re giving me a couple
extra days off to keep me from burning out. Why?”

“Maybe if I get the hemlock cleared from the pasture this

morning, we can go this afternoon,” he said impulsively.

A grin spread over Trace’s lips. “I’d like that.”
Laramie wrapped his arms around his lover’s shoulders and

pressed their chests together as he captured Trace’s lips with his
own. Trace immediately opened to him, and Laramie tasted
ketchup, coffee, and a masculine flavor that was all Trace. He
squeezed his thighs, trapping Trace, holding him close as he

Charlie Richards

plundered his lover’s mouth.

Sweeping his tongue into the warm, wet cavern again and

again, Laramie tried to express all the things he couldn’t seem to
put into words. How much he cared for Trace. How much he
loved holding him, touching him, kissing him, even just having
him near. If he weren’t already in love with Trace, Laramie feared
how much deeper his emotions could go.

His dick hardened in his jeans. Laramie gave a slow roll of his

hips, giving his thickening shaft pleasant friction that sent warm
tingles pinging through his system. Trace gripped Laramie’s hip
lightly, encouraging the slow movement. The man’s other hand
cupped his head as he took over the kiss and assumed mastery of
his mouth.

A tingle started in his balls, and Laramie groaned. He reached

for his fly, intending to relieve the pressure when the sound of
gravel crunching reached his ears. Trace sucked his bottom lip
lightly, then released it and pulled away. He gave Laramie a
rueful look.

“Sorry, babe,” Trace whispered. “Looks like we have company,

again.”

“As long as it’s not my parents,” Laramie replied, grimacing.
Trace chuckled. “I’m sure it’s Vincent and Carl this time.”

Reaching between them, Trace gave Laramie’s hard cock a too
gentle squeeze. “Keep this warm for me.”

Laramie moaned. “Fucker.”
Laughing, Trace stood and pecked a kiss to his lips. “Worth the

wait.”

Laramie rose and grabbed his coat, pulling it on as he headed

toward the door, Trace on his heels. Pulling it open, he watched
three men he recognized pile from a sedan. Vincent, Carl, and
Randy all greeted him and Trace with grins and waves.

“Are you guys hungry?” Laramie asked. “We just finished

eating omelets, but I’d be happy to make more. I’m really in your
debt for doing this.”

“No thanks, man,” Carl replied, smiling. “We’ll get at it and

then get out of your hair. Once Randy double checks the wiring, it
shouldn’t take us long to hang the stall doors and get all the trim

Piggyback

and plates on.”

The guys headed to the barn, and after giving Laramie a kiss,

Trace followed them. Laramie strode toward a shed and pulled
out a halter for Tyson, his Tennessee walker stud. Since he wasn’t
moving cattle, he wanted to give his boy some exercise.

As he tied the animal to the fence, Laramie spotted Trace

moving toward him. Smiling, he admired his lover’s long-legged,
relaxed movements. Laramie knew he’d have no trouble staring at
the confident man’s movements every day, in or out of clothes. He
grinned at his thoughts and lifted a brow in question. “Need
something?”

Trace shrugged and gave him a lop-sided grin. “Actually, I was

going to ask you if you needed help pulling those weeds.” He
pointed over his shoulder with his thumb and added, “The guys
booted me.”

Laramie chuckled at the man’s sheepish expression. “Are you a

really bad handy man?” he teased.

Grimacing, Trace nodded. “Yeah. I’d probably be more

hindrance than help,” he admitted.

Laughing, Laramie headed toward the shed to get another

halter. “Well, I’d be happy to give you a riding lesson,” he said.

“I’ve ridden a time or two. It’s just been a while,” Trace told

him.

Laramie nodded. “Excellent. Then I’ll give you a refresher and

we’ll get going.”

Trace listened carefully as Laramie instructed him in grooming

and saddling. Once they were mounted, Laramie urged Tyson
into a walk and when Trace did the same to his mare, Skye, he
took in how Trace sat the saddle and moved with the horse. He
reminded Trace to keep his heels down, keep his legs under him
instead of out front as if in a chair, and to rock his hips with the
movement of the horse.

It didn’t take Trace long to get with the rhythm and they were

able to pick up speed. Trace chuckled when he felt Skye’s running
walk. “Well, damn, this is a lot smoother than I remember,” he
commented.

Laramie chuckled. “That’s because these horses don’t trot,” he

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said.

“What do you mean?”
“Well,” Laramie started, thinking of how to explain. “When a

horse trots, its alternate legs move forward at the same time.
That’s what makes it so bouncy. These horses were bred in
Tennessee to remove that gait and instead have something called
a running walk. Think of it like power walking. Instead of
trotting, they speed up their walk, so it’s still a four beat gait. It
makes it a smooth and comfortable ride, huh?” he asked,
grinning.

“Yeah,” Trace agreed. “You breed these?”
“Well, I’d certainly like to get into it,” he admitted. “It’s why I

wanted the birthing stalls. Now I can pick up a couple more mares
and breed them to Tyson, here,” he said, indicating the stallion he
rode.

“Wow, it sounds like you have big plans,” Trace said. “How

long before you buy your new mares?”

Laramie shrugged. “I’d originally planned to start looking

right after Christmas,” he said, “but with all the problems that
have been happening on the farm…” Shaking his head, he
finished, “I’m just not sure anymore.”

Trace reached over and patted his leg. “Carl will find out who’s

responsible and put a stop to it.”

His lover sounded so sure. “God, I hope so,” he murmured.
They arrived at the field where the hemlock had been planted

and Laramie stopped at the first bunch. He swung off his horse
and watched Trace do the same, biting back a chuckle as his lover
stumbled a couple steps and groaned.

“Damn,” Trace grumbled. “You don’t realize how much work

that is when you’re up there, but shit, my legs hurt!”

“Sorry, T. Walk around a bit. You’ll feel better,” he told him.
Trace grunted and did just that. Laramie untied the horse’s

lead ropes from their saddles and dropped them on the ground.
He’d taught both animals to ground tie, so didn’t worry that
they’d wander off. Then he got to work. Five minutes later, Trace
dropped to one knee on the ground next to him and helped,
pulling the poisonous plants from the ground and shoving them

Piggyback

into saddlebags Laramie had brought for the purpose.

Three hours later, Laramie straightened with a groan. His back

cracked in several places and he twisted and turned, stretching it
further.

“Gives a whole new meaning to back breaking labor, huh?”

Trace muttered, doing the same next to him.

Laramie snickered and nudged his lover with his elbow.

“Right.”

“So, you gonna give me a massage later?” Trace teased.
Winking, Laramie replied, “Maybe. Maybe not.”
Trace chuckled, which was exactly what Laramie had been

going for. He loved seeing his lover smile, the way the carefree
grin lit his face, making little lines crease at the corners of his eyes.
It was a beautiful sight to behold, and Laramie loved when it was
aimed at him.

“Come on,” Laramie said, still grinning. “Let’s head back to the

ranch. I’m ready for a hot cup of tea and a sandwich.”

“Sounds good to me,” Trace replied, following him back to the

horses.

Laramie checked his girth and picked up his reins. Placing his

foot in the stirrup, he’d just started to swing aboard Tyson when
the animal jerked backward and sideways. The move sent
Laramie tumbling backward almost under the clearly frightened
animal, if the way the stallion screamed a panicked whinny was
any indication.

Landing on his free leg, Laramie felt pain shoot through his

ankle. He couldn’t stop the surprised yelp from escaping his lips
as his leg collapsed. He released the reins as his back hit the
ground hard. Fortunately, his boot slipped from the stirrup right
before Tyson gave another frightened whinny and took off.

“Laramie!”
He hated hearing the fear in Trace’s voice, but with the wind

knocked out of him, Laramie couldn’t find the breath to answer.
Seconds later, Trace stared down at him, concern etched across his
features. “Are you all right?” Trace asked, his gaze sweeping over
him, obviously searching for injuries.

Finally, Laramie’s lungs seemed to remember how to work and

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he sucked in a much needed gasp of air. “Fucking hell,” he
growled. “What the fuck?” Grunting, he peered up at Trace. “I
can’t remember the last time I came off a horse,” he grumbled.

Trace still looked worried. “You okay?”
Laramie nodded as he slowly sat up. “Yeah,” he muttered,

drawing out the word. “Only my pride is hurt.”

Finally, Trace smiled. “Technically, you didn’t fall off the horse.

You weren’t all the way on,” he said, snickering.

“Shut up,” Laramie muttered. “Did you see what spooked

Tyson? Where are the horses?”

“A moose peeked out of the trees and completely wigged your

boy out,” Trace replied. “As for where they are?” He grimaced
and held out a hand. “My guess would be…I have no idea. They
took off.”

“Well, shit,” Laramie muttered as he took Trace’s hand. “That

means quite a long walk.”

Trace grimaced. “Sorry, Lare.”
Taking the first step to that long walk, Laramie settled his

weight on his right foot. The ache in his ankle turned into a spike
of agony, making him cry out in surprise, and he nearly ended up
on the ground again. Trace’s arms around him kept him upright.

“Hey, you okay?” Trace asked.
Sucking in several steadying breathes, Laramie shook his head

quickly. “Guess that landing was a bit harder than I thought,” he
admitted through gritted teeth. “Turned my ankle.”

“Let me see,” Trace said, dropping to his knee and reaching for

his boot.

“Wait, don’t,” Laramie said, pulling his foot back, though he

didn’t settle any weight on it. At Trace’s questioning look, he said,
“If you take my boot off, and my ankle swells, I might not be able
to get it back on. Then my toes would freeze off by the time we
finally got back to the house,” he finished, trying to lighten the
mood with teasing.

Trace looked up at him for a second, then nodded. To

Laramie’s surprise, he turned around, still on one knee. “Climb
aboard.”

Laramie hesitated for a second then rolled his eyes and obeyed

Piggyback

his lover. “All right,” he said. “I’ll let you give me a piggyback
ride.”

Carefully he climbed onto the back of his lover, while Trace

tried to control his shudders of laughter. Laramie wrapped his
arms and legs around his man, a crazy grin breaking his lips when
Trace rose to his feet. Unable to resist, Laramie swung his arm
down and slapped his lover’s ass. “Giddy-up!”

Trace froze and peered over his shoulder at him. “Oh, you did

not just do that.”

Snorting with laughter, his body shaking with mirth, Laramie

tucked his face into the crook of Trace’s neck.

“You’ll pay for that later,” Trace muttered as he started across

the field.

Finally able to control himself, Laramie nipped Trace’s neck

lightly and whispered, “I hope so.”

Charlie Richards

Chapter Twelve

n Trace’s opinion, they got lucky. They found the horses
on the other side of the pasture happily grazing and

looking none the worse for wear for their terror at seeing a
moose. It wasn’t that Trace minded carrying Laramie, quite
the opposite, in fact. But, Trace would really like to check
out Laramie’s ankle soon, and he couldn’t do that out here.

He helped Laramie double check that the saddlebags

containing the hemlock were still firmly tied not only to the
saddle, but closed. It wouldn’t do for them to go to all this trouble
pulling the weeds if some of the plants fell out on their trip back.

That done to his lover’s satisfaction, Trace helped Laramie get

on Tyson’s back. The young horse still seemed a bit skittish, and
Trace offered to put Laramie on Skye and then lead both animals
back, but Laramie waved his concerns away. Fortunately, as soon
as Laramie’s butt hit the saddle, Tyson calmed right down.

Trace mounted the mare and followed Laramie back to the

ranch, keeping a careful eye on his lover. Okay, he was impressed
that, even obviously in pain, the man had no trouble riding his
horse. He did note, however, that Laramie didn’t put his right foot
in the stirrup, which just impressed Trace even more, since
Laramie easily kept his balance as the horse moved underneath
him.

Relief filled Trace when they made it back to the farm. He

quickly slipped from his horse and tied her up like Laramie had
shown him. Then he hurried to Laramie, tied up Tyson, and
watched his lover slide from the horse’s back. He had an arm

Piggyback

ready in case Laramie needed help, but he didn’t. At least, not
until he tried to put weight on his right foot and it nearly buckled.

“Whoa, babe. Easy does it,” Trace crooned gently. “Let’s get

you in the house on the couch then I’ll come back and take care of
the horses. Okay?”

Laramie frowned and glanced between the animals, then

grimaced. “Yeah. I guess.”

Not liking the frustrated look on his lover’s face, Trace winked

and asked, “So, you ready for another piggyback ride, my little
pig farmer?”

Laramie’s eyes widened for a split second, then he snorted.

Lifting a finger, Laramie waggled it under Trace’s nose. “Oh, you
have just been waiting forever to use that line, haven’t you?”

Trace wrapped his arm around Laramie’s waist, encouraging

him to lean on him as they slowly made their way to the house. “I
told you I’d get you back,” he teased.

Halfway across the clearing, Trace heard a shout and spotted

Randy jogging toward them. “Hey, what happened?” his
coworker asked.

“Just turned my ankle, is all,” Laramie replied quickly.
If his lover wanted to downplay the incident, Trace didn’t have

a problem with that.

“Let me take a look anyway,” Randy insisted. “I am a

paramedic. Come on.”

Trace helped Laramie into the house and eased him onto the

sofa. “Let Randy take a look,” he urged. “I’ll be back shortly.” He
paused in the doorway and asked over his shoulder. “Where do
you want the hemlock put?”

“Toss the plastic bags in the garbage bins on the side of the

house,” Laramie instructed. “Vance has that stuff burned once a
week.”

Knowing his lover referred to his foreman of the pig operation,

Trace gave Laramie a two finger salute and headed back to the
horses. He had just finished grooming them when Carl and
Vincent walked up. “Hey, what happened to Randy?” Vincent
asked.

“He’s in the house checking out Laramie’s ankle,” Trace said.

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“He twisted it while out cleaning up,” he hedged, figuring it was
his lover’s story to tell.

“Hope he’s okay,” Carl said. “You mind if we head in there? I

need to talk to him.”

Trace straightened and took in Carl’s serious expression. “This

about the fire?”

“Among other things,” Carl stated.
Nodding, Trace waved toward the farmhouse. “Front door is

open. I’ll be there in a moment.”

His friends nodded and headed that way. Trace untied Skye

and led her to the paddock he’d pulled her from. When he got
back to Tyson, he paused and looked around, trying to remember
where Laramie kept the stallion. The way the beast looked toward
an empty shelter helped him remember.

Scratching the animal’s forehead, Trace muttered, “Thanks a

lot. Your silliness may have cost me a very nice afternoon,” he
added, putting the horse away.

The horse snorted, and Trace rolled his eyes. And now I’m

talking to a horse.

He put the halters away and headed into the house. Trace

found Laramie on the couch where he’d left him. Randy knelt in
front of him and was carefully pressing certain points on his
ankle, which really did look swollen. It was a good thing he’d
followed Laramie’s instruction and hadn’t removed his boot out
in the field.

To his surprise, Vincent handed him a cup of coffee. He took a

sip and discovered the drink was doctored with a tablespoon of
milk and a touch of sugar, just the way he liked it. Trace lifted the
mug and muttered, “Making yourself at home, are you?”

Vincent shrugged, giving him an unrepentant grin.
Finally, Randy gently rested Laramie’s foot on the arm of the

couch. “Good news is, nothing’s broken. Bad news, it really is a
bad sprain. Ice it, work on rotating it slowly so the tendons don’t
get stiff, and don’t overdo walking for the next few days. You
should be right as rain within a week,” he said, rising to his feet.

“Good,” Laramie murmured. “This sucks.” He laid his head

back against the opposite armrest and let out a long sigh.

Piggyback

“Well, I have news and I don’t know if it will make you feel

better or worse,” Carl said, sitting in a nearby armchair.

“What?” Laramie asked, lifting a brow.
Carl glanced around and waved a hand at the room full of

men. “You want me to speak freely or would you prefer we go
somewhere more private?”

That got Laramie’s attention and he rose up on one elbow. “It’s

about the barn fire?”

“Among other things,” Carl said.
Laramie glanced around at everyone, his gaze finally resting on

Trace. Trace crossed to the couch, lifted Laramie’s head and
shoulders and settled down, repositioning his lover’s torso on his
lap with a throw pillow. Laramie let him do it, and when he was
done, he could see the surprise in his lover’s eyes.

Leaning down, Trace pressed a light kiss to Laramie’s firm lips.

“Here for you, babe,” he murmured. The appreciative smile he
received pleased Trace to no end.

“All right. Fire away,” Laramie said, returning his focus to

Carl.

Carl heaved a sigh, pulled out a notebook, and flipped it open.

“First, I apologize it took so long to even get this much.
Unfortunately, it takes time to get requisitions for records
approved and then even more man-power to go through
everything.”

Laramie nodded.
“This is all circumstantial evidence, but it’s still valid if we can

tie it to something more substantial,” Carl said. When no one said
anything, Carl said, “Your father took out a second mortgage on
his house, and he’s missed a couple payments, indicating he’s
hard up for cash. Your brother purchased two five gallon gas cans
at a store the afternoon of the fire. Lane also purchased eight
gallons of gasoline at the gas station two miles from here. Your
father purchased a roll of barbed wire two weeks ago.”

Carl looked from his notebook and must have noticed

Laramie’s pallor. “Something you want to tell me?” he asked,
scowling.

“I didn’t think anything of it at the time,” Laramie said. “Just a

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case of bad luck, ya know?”

“I’ll be the judge of that. What is it?” Carl asked.
“I found four calves wrapped in loose barbed wire. It took me

and the hands hours to cut them loose and doctor them up. We
rode the pasture and found a number of loose strands, but
couldn’t find any place where they could have fallen or been
pulled loose from,” Laramie told him.

“Do you still have the wire?” Carl asked.
Laramie frowned then nodded slowly. “I believe so. I don’t

think we’ve cleared out the shed where we tossed the scraps yet.
Why?”

“Possible evidence,” Carl said. “I don’t know if we can find out

if it’s part of the same bale of wire Simon purchased, but we’ll
give it a shot. And if he handled it without gloves, and if we get
really, really lucky, we might be able to get some kind of trace or
blood evidence off it if he pricked himself.” He shrugged. “It’s a
long shot, but worth a try.”

“Sure,” Laramie said, starting to rise.
“Where do you think you’re goin’?” Trace growled, grabbing

his shoulder and stopping him from getting up.

Laramie glanced up at him in surprise, then looked at his foot

and flushed. “Right,” he muttered. “I forgot.”

Randy chuckled. “Then the pain killers are doing their job.

That doesn’t mean you should get up and wander around just
yet.”

“Shit,” Laramie muttered. “Todd should be in the pig barns

cleaning and checking the sows. I’ll give him a ring and have him
show you.”

“Sounds good,” Carl said.
Laramie pulled his cell from his pocket and shot off a text.

Then, he turned and smiled up at Trace. “Sorry about the change
in plans,” he murmured.

Trace’s brows lifted. “What are you talking about?” he

crooned, leaning down and pressing a swift kiss to his lover’s
forehead. “Just because we can’t go cut down a tree today doesn’t
mean we can’t do it another time.”

“You were going to cut down a tree?” Vincent asked.

Piggyback

From his expression, Trace knew his friend was interested. He

grinned. “Yeah. Laramie was going to hook up his wagon to a
couple horses and we were going to take a trip into the hills to cut
down a Christmas tree.”

“You know,” Vincent murmured, looking at Carl, “we haven’t

picked up a tree yet.”

Carl snorted. “Oh, Vince, babe. You’re not very subtle,” he

said, winking. He turned to Laramie and asked, smirking, “Is this
a party we can crash? I know my kids would love an experience
like that.”

Laramie’s brows shot up, and he peered up at Trace, his

expression clearly questioning. Trace just smiled and lifted a
brow, letting his lover know it was his call. His mouth breaking
into a grin, Laramie nodded. “Yeah. That’d be real fun. I didn’t
know you had kids. How old are they?”

Smiling with obvious pride, Carl replied, “Jake is fifteen and

Lorna is twelve. I have partial custody and will have them this
weekend.” The man glanced between Trace, Laramie, and his
lover, whom Trace worked with, so the detective understood
crazy schedules. “Are ya’ll available then?”

Trace racked his brain, trying to remember what his next few

shifts were. Slowly, he nodded. “I could do Friday evening or
Saturday morning.” He looked toward Vincent, his coworker, and
lifted his brows. He knew most of the time their schedules
coincided, but with all of the changes for Derek’s wife’s
pregnancy, Trace couldn’t be certain.

Vincent’s eyes narrowed in thought for a second before he

nodded. “Saturday morning. That will give us plenty of daylight
and time to get home and decorate,” he said. Then he winked at
Laramie. “And we sure wouldn’t want to overstay our welcome
by letting it get too late.”

All the men laughed.
Randy rose from the chair he’d settled in, a big grin on his face.

“Well, guys, I have a tree already and a date waiting for me to
take him to a late lunch. So, if you all don’t mind, I’d like to get
back home, so I can get ready.” He rested his hands on his hips
and looked between Vincent and Carl expectantly.

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“Of course,” Vincent immediately said. He held his hand out to

Carl, who took it and used the grip to pull him to his feet.

Just then, a knock sounded at the back door.
“That should be Todd,” Laramie said.
“Perfect timing,” Carl said. “I’ll get that wire and see you in a

couple days.” He paused and smiled. “I really appreciate this. The
kids’ll love it.”

“No problem,” Laramie replied. “The more the merrier.”
Once everyone had trooped out, Trace heaved out a sigh. “You

sure you’re okay with others coming with us?”

Laramie smiled up at him and nodded once. “You know what?

I think I like the idea of sharing my holiday tradition with you
and your friends.”

“Good.” Trace leaned down and captured his lover’s lips. This

time, there was nothing chaste or gentle about the way he claimed
Laramie’s mouth.

Piggyback

Chapter Thirteen

aramie limped around the wagon and team, checking the
harness, stays, and lines. He peeked into the bed, making

certain several tie-downs were in there. They’d need
something to make sure the trees didn’t bounce out of the
back while returning home. Laramie headed to the shed and
retrieved a couple hand saws. They were older, but as he
fingered the blades, he saw that they were still sharp.

Tucking them into the back, Laramie looked up at the sounds

of vehicles coming up the driveway. He couldn’t stop the smile as
he saw Trace’s big blue pick-up lumbering up the driveway,
followed closely by Carl’s sedan.

Trace parked in his usual spot near the porch. Carl parked a bit

closer to him near the barn. From the sedan spilled a clearly
excited girl with blond hair and green eyes, who Laramie pegged
as Lorna. She immediately started walking toward him so swiftly
it was just shy of running. He hid a smirk behind a horse’s neck,
just knowing Carl had said something about not running to his
daughter.

The teenager —young man, really —looked like the spitting

image of Carl, although he still needed to fill out his broadening
shoulders. Once he was closer, Laramie noticed Jake’s green eyes
and realized they matched Lorna’s, and probably their mother’s.

Laramie called a greeting to the three men and accepted a light

kiss from Trace once he reached his side. He bit back a sigh,
because the short contact wasn’t nearly enough to make up for not
seeing him last night. Laramie had been more disappointed than

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he thought he had a right to be when he’d gotten a call from Trace
yesterday because a fellow firefighter had been injured in a fire
and Trace had volunteered to finish his shift.

He’d been extremely tempted to ask Trace to just come over

whenever he got done. It had taken all Laramie’s self-control to
keep his yap shut and not give in to the need to see his lover
before this morning. He was still coming to grips with how their
relationship had changed and evidently, he found himself far
more serious about the sexy firefighter than he’d realized.

That monumental realization had been unsettling. He’d made a

cup of tea, sat on the porch, then missed Trace even more. To ease
his frustration, he’d taken Skye for an evening ride that had lasted
several hours. Once back at the house, he’d been exhausted and
his ankle had throbbed, so he’d taken several pain killers, drank
another cup of tea, and crawled into bed.

At least the inordinate happiness he felt upon seeing his lover

slip from his truck didn’t shock him.

Evidently, Trace read the mixture of emotions going through

him, for he cocked a brow and murmured, “Everything okay?
How’s your ankle?”

Laramie smiled, internally pleased with Trace’s concern. “I’m

okay,” he assured. “Just…thought about some things and…” He
paused, but Trace’s questioning look had him admitting, “I
missed you last night.”

Trace smiled faintly. “I missed you, too.”
This time, his lover gave him a more thorough, deeper kiss.

Trace’s tongue pushed in deep, sweeping into Laramie’s mouth,
dueling with his own. His lover’s arms were tight around his
waist, caressing the muscles of his back. Laramie clutched Trace’s
shoulders wanting to get closer, drown in this man’s taste and
touch.

A giggle cut through the haze of pleasure caused by his lover.

Trace immediately brought the kiss to an end and Laramie
struggled to catch his breath as he took a step back to put some
distance between them.

Finally, Laramie turned and saw Lorna grinning up at them.

He smiled at her, praying his lips weren’t too kiss swollen. “Hi.

Piggyback

You ready to go find a tree?”

Lorna nodded, grinning happily. “Can I pet your horses?” she

asked.

“Sure,” Laramie replied. He slipped from Trace’s embrace and

led her to the front of the wagon where his horses waited
patiently. He pointed to the dark bay gelding and said, “This is
Pickles and that one,” he added, pointing at the flea-bitten gray
gelding, “is Freckles.”

The girl giggled. “Freckles?”
Laramie grinned. “Yup. See all his spots?” he asked, pointing

to the tiny brown hairs that, when seen on a white coat, looked
like freckles. “Come on over and pet his neck, here,” he said. He
stood at the horse’s shoulder and stroked the animal’s thick neck.

“Cool,” Lorna said, mimicking his movements.
From the corner of his eye, Laramie saw Jake approach. He

smiled at the teen and tilted his head, asking silently if he wanted
to pet the animal as well. Jake glanced over at his father, who was
helping Vincent carry a small cooler and a pile of blankets toward
the wagon. Jake turned back to Laramie and grinned.

Laramie took that as a yes, and he stepped back and let Jake

move closer to his sister. He watched in pleasure as the young
man stroked a hand down Freckles’s neck. “Do you ride them?”
Jake asked, curiously.

Nodding, Laramie answered, “Yes, all my horses are broke to

ride. These two are the only ones that are also trained to pull the
wagon.”

“Hey, Laramie,” Vincent called. “Is there anything we can do

to help get ready?”

Laramie shook his head. “Nope. Just pile in the back and we’ll

get moving.”

“Come on, Lorna, Jake,” Carl said, beckoning with an arm. The

two left Freckles’s side and headed to the back.

Laramie did one more double check of everything, then

climbed onto the bench seat. Trace was already seated on it,
waiting with a smile. Looking over his shoulder at Carl, Vincent,
and the kids, he grinned and asked, “You guys all set back there?”

He received a number of hollers in the affirmative. After

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100

sweeping his gaze over everyone, taking in how they sat on the
bench seats that lined the inside of the buckboard’s bed, he
nodded once. Lorna sat directly behind him, with Carl next to her,
his arm draped along the side protectively. Jake sat behind Trace,
with Vincent on his other side, minus the arm, but still obviously
watchful. A look straight down showed Laramie that Carl had
lined the back of Laramie’s driver’s seat with all his goodies.

“Well, off we go, then,” Laramie said, turning back around.

With a flick of his reins, the horses leaned into their harnesses and
started walking. The wagon lurched into motion. The movement
earned a laugh from Lorna.

Laramie smiled, incredibly happy to be sharing his and his

uncle’s holiday tradition with someone. If it hadn’t been for these
fantastic people, he didn’t even know if he’d end up putting up a
tree, and Laramie knew without a doubt that his uncle would
have belted him for that one.

He looked over at his lover and winked. The corner of Trace’s

mouth lifted into an amused smile. The broad firefighter stretched
his legs out as far as possible and wrapped his arm around
Laramie’s waist, resting it on the low bench seat’s back.

Chuckling, Laramie said, “Don’t get too comfortable.”
“Why is that?” Trace replied, lazily.
“Cause you get to open and close the gates,” he quipped,

pointing at the metal gate straight ahead.

Trace laughed. “You got it, babe.” With little effort, Trace

hopped down from the slow-moving vehicle. Laramie reined in
the horses, waited for Trace to swing the gate wide, then urged
Pickles and Freckles forward again. Once they were through, he
paused, again, and Trace closed the gate and climbed back
aboard.

“How many gates are we going through?” Vincent asked.
“Oh, three, maybe four if we can’t find the tree we want,” he

said.

“If you don’t mind my asking, how many acres do you own?”

Carl questioned.

Laramie thought for a moment. “Two hundred and thirty six,”

he answered. “Most of it’s forested, like up ahead. We only have a

Piggyback

101

few pastures for cattle, which is why I keep my herd so small. I
use them mainly for personal meat.” He smirked at the men
behind him. “Even I get tired of eating pig.”

After their laughter eased, Vincent asked, “How many pigs do

you have?”

Humming, Laramie did a mental calculation in his head.

“Right now, around three thousand.”

“Holy shit,” he heard Trace mutter over the sound of several

whistles of surprise. Trace looked over his shoulder and said,
“Sorry, Lorna.”

But Lorna wasn’t paying Trace any attention. Her eyes were

large and she asked, softly, “Why do you have so many pigs?”

Oh, how to explain this to someone not in the industry?

Laramie wondered if she’d get upset. “I breed pigs and sell them
to make bacon and ham,” he stated bluntly.

“Oh,” she said, snapping her mouth shut.
Fortunately, Jake piped up, “I love bacon. I’d eat it every meal

of the day if dad would let me.”

Laramie held his breath, wondering if anyone would ask more

questions, but Jake’s comment seemed to smoothly change the
subject to favorite foods and how often they could eat it. Letting
out a relieved sigh, Laramie felt Trace pat his thigh and give him
an understanding look.

It wasn’t that Laramie was ashamed of being a pig farmer, but

many people found the idea of hundreds of pigs in individual
stalls in a climate controlled barn to be inhumane. What they
didn’t understand was that the pigs were well cared for, kept
clean, and were well fed, given plenty of supplements and
vitamins. On his farm, he didn’t use the controversial gestation
crate and farrowing crate. Instead of being trapped in a space just
large enough to hold them, a sow was given a small stall, allowing
her freedom of movement and enough room so that lying on and
smothering her piglets was kept to a minimum.

Sadly, Laramie still couldn’t figure out how to transform his

operation into a free range program without completely
destroying productivity for several years. He and his uncle had
been working on it when Damian had passed. Now, Laramie

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102

really wanted to carry out that last wish of his uncle’s, and it was
one of the reasons why he planned to get into breeding Tennessee
Walkers. Then, he wouldn’t be as dependent on the pig income to
survive and he could afford a couple lean years.

“Do you have any baby pigs?”
Lorna’s hopeful question drew Laramie out of his thoughts. He

glanced over his shoulder at her and nodded. “Ah, not any real
young piglets,” he said. “I have some sows that are pregnant and
some sows that are getting a break from breeding. I have a bunch
that are about six months old.” He didn’t bother mentioning that
about a third of all sucklings were sold for their tender meat
before they reached two months.

“Maybe after my pregnant sows give birth in a month or so,

your dad will let you come back out to see them,” he offered.

Lorna’s eyes lit up and she turned to her father. “Could I, Dad?

Please?”

Carl snorted and sent Laramie a mock glare. “Sure, sweetie,”

he replied, returning his focus to his excited daughter.

Laramie drew the horses to a stop again and Trace got the gate.

Once they were through, Laramie asked, “So, what kind of tree
are ya’ll interested in?”

He grinned at the answers. All of them seemed to have a

different idea about what the tree should look like. Laramie
laughed as he listened to them argue. Their arguments sounded so
much like the things said between him and his uncle it was like
watching the past, just with different voices.

The third gate came quickly, and then they all started looking.

Laramie pointed out possible trees, interested to hear his
passenger’s opinions and their reasons for saying yay or nay. He
wound the wagon through the trees, a grin splitting his features.

“Wait, stop,” Trace ordered.
Laramie obeyed. “What’s up?” he asked, curious.
“Can I have that one?” Trace pointed at a small, three foot

sapling. The branches were fairly close together and Laramie
couldn’t see any bald spots from this view.

His brows lifted. “Uh, sure.” For some reason, it hadn’t

occurred to him that Trace would want his own tree, but then,

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103

Trace had been the one to bring the whole thing up. Of course,
he’d want his own tree.

Trace smiled. “Thanks,” dropping from the wagon’s bench.
Laramie set the brake and followed, careful to land on his good

foot so as not to inadvertently reinjure his ankle. There was no
way he wanted to put a damper on everyone’s fun.

“I didn’t know you decorated a tree,” Vincent said, hopping

from the back.

“Yeah, every year,” Trace replied striding toward the small

pine he’d chosen. He walked around it in silence, smiling, clearly
pleased with his decision.

“How come I’ve never seen it before?” Vincent pressed.
Laramie knew Trace and Vincent had been good friends for

nearly a decade and wondered how that little tidbit had been
missed by the man. He looked between them, carrying the hand
saws he’d stowed earlier, wondering at the flicker of irritation on
Trace’s face. It cleared almost instantly, making Laramie wonder if
he’d even seen it at all.

“I only keep it a couple days,” Trace admitted. “And you’ve

never asked to see my tree before,” he added, giving his friend a
leer.

Vincent rolled his eyes. Carl frowned. Laramie replayed the

words in his head twice, then his eyes widened and he glanced at
the kids. Fortunately, both seemed completely oblivious to the
innuendo. Frowning at his lover, he held up the saw and growled,
“Watch it, or I’ll cut down your tree for you.”

Trace struck a hang-dog look and murmured, “Not nice, babe.”
Laramie couldn’t keep his glare in place, and a smirk curved

his lips. He held up the saw. “Cut down your tree, T.”

Trace immediately grinned. Taking the saw, he pressed a quick

kiss to Laramie’s temple and whispered in his ear, “I can’t wait to
trim your tree later, Lare.”

A shiver worked its way down his spine, settling in his balls.

Laramie’s dick plumped in his jeans. He quickly stepped
backward, letting his lover get to work. The sooner they all found
their trees, the sooner they could get to…trimming their trees. He
gave a mental groan at the horrible, and yet incredibly evocative,

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104

pun.

He watched Trace drop to one knee, lift a bottom branch with

one hand, then get to work sawing the slender trunk with the
other. Laramie shook himself from his lustful thoughts and
grabbed the branch Trace held, allowing his lover to use two
hands on the saw, and if Laramie’s dick twitched at the sight of
Trace’s grateful smile, only he had to know.

Ten minutes later, Trace hefted his small tree into his arms and

carried it to the wagon.

Everyone piled back into their seats and they started the search

again. Lorna spotted her family’s tree next. The family of four all
took turns working the saw, slowly cutting through the trunk of
their eight foot tall pine tree. Vincent handed Laramie a camera
and after figuring out how to zoom in and out, Laramie had a
blast taking shot after shot of the family as they bickered,
squealed, laughed, giggled, and guffawed their way through
cutting down the tree. There was much more laughter as they
went about lifting it into everyone’s arms, trying not to get struck
in the face by a wayward branch in the process, carried it to the
wagon, and loaded it in beside Trace’s. Once they were all piled
back in, Laramie took one more shot of the group huddled in the
wagon around their Christmas tree. The forest and horses in the
background made for a wonderful winter shot.

Trace wrapped his arms around Laramie from behind and

pressed a soft kiss to the back of his neck. Laramie shivered. He
looked over his shoulder at his lover and smiled. “They’re having
a blast,” Trace murmured. “After everything Carl and Vincent
went through to find love, happiness looks good on them.”

“What happened?” Laramie murmured.
Shaking his head, Trace replied, “Just shit with exes and bigots.

I’m sure you’ll hear the tale eventually, but I won’t make them
think about it today.” Trace pointed off to the left and, changing
the subject, said, “I found our tree, babe.”

Laramie’s brows lifted at his lover’s wording, but he followed

Trace’s direction. “I thought the little one was your tree,” he
murmured, trying to figure out which tree Trace thought was
perfect. They all seemed a bit…thin-branched…to him.

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105

“Yeah, but that one’s for a different purpose. I’ll tell you about

it later,” he promised, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin right
behind Laramie’s ear. “Come on,” he said, releasing Laramie’s ear
after a quick suck—and damn if that didn’t send lust curling
through Laramie’s belly and fill his dick the rest of the way,
making it press painfully against his fly—Trace stepped around
him and tugged him along with the arm still around his waist.
“Let me show you this tree. It’s perfect.”

He let his lover tug him deeper into the woods. He glanced

over his shoulder and saw Vincent lift a hand in a wave. Laramie
waved back. A moment later, Trace stopped them in front of a tree
and held out a hand. “This one.”

Laramie stared at the tree, smiling. “It’s perfect,” he whispered.
In reality, the branches were pretty spread out, making it look a

little bare. He cocked his head, already thinking of ways to fill
those gaps, or hide them. “I have popcorn,” he murmured. “It’d
look awesome strung together and wound around it.”

Trace smiled, his eyes filled with warmth. “My family used to

make rings out of construction paper,” he murmured. “We’d
gather together the evening we found our tree. Do it as a family.”
His jaw tightened and he looked at the sky.

Laramie knew what that admission had cost his lover. Trace

rarely talked about his family. His family had disowned him at
seventeen. Trace had told him that. Laramie felt grateful Trace
had had his grandmother to turn to, just as he’d had his uncle. It
was a shame Trace had only had three years with the woman,
reminding Laramie to feel thankful at having over a decade with
Damian.

He wrapped his arms around Trace’s waist, sliding his hands

up his back. Standing on his toes, Laramie pushed a couple layers
of fabric to the side and latched his mouth onto his lover’s
collarbone and sucked lightly. It had the desired effect, and Trace
looked down at him.

Laramie didn’t comment about the tears in Trace’s eyes. He’d

be there for his man, no matter what. That’s what you did for the
people you loved. Oh, shit! How long have I felt this way? How did
this happen?

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106

Pushing his own unsettling thoughts aside, Laramie

whispered, “We can do both. We’ll go into town, get a package of
construction paper and a bag of kernels. We’ll sit in front of the
fire and string them together.” When a few seconds passed and
Trace just stared at him, Laramie pressed, “What do you say?”

Finally, Trace smiled. “That sounds fantastic, Laramie. Simply

fantastic.”

Trace’s head bowed and captured Laramie’s lips in a feral

possession. His lover threaded his fingers through Laramie’s thick
hair and clutched his head. Trace used his grip to tilt Laramie’s
head, giving him access to delve deeper into his mouth. Sinking
deep, Trace swept his tongue into Laramie’s mouth.

Laramie let him in, dueling gently, but mostly just allowing

Trace to claim him. He pressed close to his lover, enjoying the feel
of one strong arm sliding down his back, massaging the ridges of
his spine, sending delicious tingles through his body.

When they finally broke for air, Laramie gasped, “I love the

way you kiss me.”

“Good,” Trace growled out, “because you’re mine, Laramie.

Always, only mine.”

The claiming words caused lust and pleasure in equal measure

to infuse his entire system. “Yesss,” he hissed. Never had Laramie
wanted anything more to be true.

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Chapter Fourteen

e was in over his head. Trace just knew it. Never had
he wanted to possess a man so badly as he did right

now. Trace wanted to turn Laramie around to face the
nearest tree and sink his hard, aching dick into his lover’s
tight ass. The way Laramie surrendered to him was better
than any rush he got from entering a burning building. Just
the thought of losing this man sent a shard of icy panic
through his gut.

Problem was, this was neither the time nor place for

confessions or fucking.

With his grip on Laramie’s hair, Trace held his lover steady as

he pulled away gently. “Later,” Trace murmured against
Laramie’s lips. “We’ll talk later. We can’t do that now or here.”

“Why do you have to be the fucking voice of reason,” Laramie

whined softly.

Laramie’s body bucked against Trace’s and he nearly gave in to

his lover’s obvious need. Then he heard the giggle of a little girl in
the distance and groaned. “Damn it all,” he grumbled as he pulled
away gently, putting an arm’s length between them. “Let’s get this
tree cut down so we can head back.”

His lover nodded. Trace lifted the bottom branches of the

slender tree and watched Laramie get to work. Imagining the flex
and contraction of Laramie’s arms under his coat sleeves as he slid
the saw back and forth did nothing to alleviate the ache in Trace’s
groin. In fact, in reminded him of the way Laramie’s muscles did
the same thing when he pressed their erections together and

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stroked.

Trace fought down a moan, but from the way Laramie looked

up and gave him a knowing smile, he didn’t quite succeed.

“Just hurry up,” he said, practically growling the order. If they

were lucky, they could sneak away for a quick jack-off session
once they got back to the farm.

Laramie snorted, clearly amused. Trace rolled his eyes. The

crack of wood sounded through the forest a moment later.
Looking up, Trace watched the tree waver. He glanced in the
direction he thought it would fall and spotted their friends in his
peripheral vision. Damn, he’d been so caught up in his fantasies
he hadn’t realized they now had company. Good thing he’d kept
his trap shut.

Carl and Vincent stepped forward, steadying the tall, slender

pine—that way Trace didn’t have to let go of the branches he held
and possibly whop his lover on the head. “Thanks, guys,” Trace
said.

Once they loaded the tree and made certain everything was

safely stowed away, Carl opened his cooler and pulled out drinks
for everyone. Hot drinks. He offered coffee, tea, even hot
chocolate. Trace peeked into the cooler and noticed the hot packs
lining the walls. “Nice, thanks,” he said, taking a cup of coffee. It
wasn’t steaming, but still tasted great, just the same.

“Figured we might enjoy something warm to drink after

spending hours in the woods. It can get chilly just riding in the
open like this,” Carl said.

After Laramie finished his tea, he settled on the bench seat and

asked, “Are we ready to head back?” There were a mixture of
yeses as well as do we have tos, making Laramie laugh. Trace liked
how nice the relaxed pleasure looked on his lover.

The easy banter between everyone continued until after Trace

closed the last gate. A figure appeared in the distance, galloping
toward them at breakneck speed. Laramie frowned. “Damn, that’s
Todd. Something must be wrong for him to be riding like that,” he
muttered, just quiet enough for Trace to hear him over the squeak
of the wagon wheels and creak of leather harnesses.

Todd reined in his mount and fell into step beside the wagon,

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talking quickly. “Boss, some of the sows are out. Someone must
have opened all the gates. Brand walked into the barn to check the
temperature because the gauge read hotter than it should be, and
half the gals were wandering the aisle-ways!”

“Son of a—” Laramie started then cut off the rest of his words.

He turned to Trace, “Can you drive the team back to the yard? I
need to go.”

Trace’s brows shot up. “I have no idea,” he admitted truthfully,

“but if I can’t, I’ll walk the team.”

Trace saw the concern in his lover’s eyes, and gave him a gentle

push. “Go on. We’ll be fine,” he said, glancing back and
exchanging smiles and nods from the other men.

“We’ll take good care of Freckles and Pickles,” Lorna said, very

solemn.

Laramie spared the girl a smile. “I know you will.” He turned

to Trace. “I’ll see you later.”

Grabbing the back of Laramie’s neck, Trace hauled him

forward and took a hard kiss. “You be careful.”

After nodding once, Laramie stepped off the wagon and settled

on the horse behind Todd. It irked Trace that his lover was
pressed against another man, arms wrapped around his waist,
and he struggled not to get too jealous. Then Todd kicked his
horse and the pair galloped down the road.

Trace quickly picked up the reins as the two geldings started

trotting after the retreating horse. For a second, he worried the
animals would ignore his tug on the reins, but then they slowed
back into the lumbering walk Trace had become familiar with.

Letting out a relieved sigh, Trace glanced over his shoulder and

with a smirk said, “So, anyone know how to get back to the
farm?” When he saw Lorna’s worried expression, Trace felt a little
bad. “Just kidding, sweetie,” he assured.

The group rode in silence for the most part until the farm came

into view. They spotted the horse Todd had been riding tied to a
hitching post near the pig barns. Trace barely had to do anything,
as the horses seemed to know their way. They turned toward their
paddocks and came to a stop a few feet from them.

Trace looked at his friends ruefully. “Well, I guess I didn’t have

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to worry about driving, did I?”

He got a smile from Vincent, but Carl looked toward the low

slung white buildings and asked, “How could the pigs get out of
their pens?”

“I’ve not actually been in his pig barns,” Trace admitted. “But

those are his livelihood, so I’d guess it wouldn’t be easy for one to
get loose, let alone a bunch of sows.” He shook his head. “This has
got to be deliberate.”

“Does he have surveillance of some kind?” Carl asked.
Trace frowned. “I’m not sure, but I bet a look in his office

would tell us.”

“I can’t take any information that isn’t given to me by

Laramie,” Carl said, shoving his hands in his pockets and shaking
his head.

That made sense. “Then let’s get these trees unloaded, the

horses put away, and the wagon back in the shed. Then we can
head over there and see if we can give him a hand,” he said,
shrugging.

He turned and discovered Vincent was already instructing the

kids on how to lift the trees and set them against the barn, so
Trace walked to the front of the wagon and the patiently waiting
geldings. As he approached, two large heads turned and four
brown eyes looked at him. He smiled and shook his head. “And
just how do you undo all these buckles, hmm?”

Knowing he wouldn’t get an answer, Trace thought back to the

saddle he and Laramie had undone a few days ago and started
with a strap that looked like a breast collar and then the girth of
the first animal.

It took Trace a few minutes, but he got the harnesses off. Of

course, he’d probably made a mess of them as well, but at least he
got the job done. He moved the horses to the hitching post and
called to Lorna, “Hey, Lorna. You wanna help me brush the
horses?”

She glanced at her father, and after getting a smile and nod

from Carl, Lorna grinned and hurried over. Trace handed her a
brush and they got to work cleaning the animals of sweat and dirt.
It didn’t take long to clean them up, then together he and Lorna

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led them to their paddock and turned them loose. He squeezed
her shoulder and gave her a smile. “Thanks for your help,
sweetie,” he said.

“Sure,” she said.
Together, they returned to where they’d left the wagon. He

noted that his small tree had been removed, and a look around
showed a couple limbs poking above the side of his truck bed.
Laramie’s tree was propped up by the door on the porch. Vincent,
Carl, and Jake were strapping down their tree to Carl’s sedan’s
hood.

Walking toward them, Trace snorted. “Wouldn’t it have been

easier to bring your jeep, Vincent?”

Vincent looked up and shrugged. “Maybe, but then the kids

wouldn’t have had room to sit.”

Carl rested a hand on Vincent’s shoulder and said, “I gotta

stick around and talk to Laramie once he has time. You wanna
head home with the kids and set up the tree? I can call you later
when I need to be picked up.”

“Sure,” Vincent replied softly, leaning down to press a soft kiss

to Carl’s lips. “Try not to be too long, hmm?”

Carl nodded. “Yeah.”
“You can take my truck when you’re ready,” Trace said,

holding up the keys. “I’ll have Laramie drop me off later.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Carl said, taking the offered ride.

“Thanks.”

Trace nodded. “Let me just grab the tree. Then we’ll head

around back.”

Five minutes later, Vincent and the kids were gone and Trace

and Carl headed toward Laramie’s pig barns. Shouts could be
heard over the squealing and grunting of pigs from the third barn
from the left, so they headed to that one. Trace gripped the handle
and pulled, and the two men quickly slipped inside.

“Holy shit,” Carl murmured.
Trace couldn’t have said it better himself. Dozens of massive

pigs that had to weigh over a hundred pounds ran this way and
that, sometimes knocking people over or shoving past them. He
didn’t see his lover, but pairs of men in jeans, wearing gloves,

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worked together to bring a sow down. One would get the
animal’s attention while the other would reach behind it and yank
the back legs into the air then flip it as though wrestling a calf to
the ground. While the second man tied her legs and verified
information on a tag in her ear, the first kept other hogs out of the
way.

Once it was confirmed where her home was, the pair picked

her up by her legs and returned her to her stall. They carefully
placed her inside, obviously mindful of her pregnant state, and
released the hobble on her legs. It was done swiftly and concisely.

Trace looked over at Carl and figured the man’s shocked and

amazed expression mirrored his own. “Think we can do that?”
Trace asked.

“Uh, even if we did manage to get one, we wouldn’t know

where to put it,” Carl pointed out.

“Then maybe we should each work with one of those guys

who knows the system,” Trace said, just as a pig came straight at
him.

Trace mimicked the moves he’d seen some of the others do to

get the animal’s attention. To his complete and utter shock, it
worked. The sow stopped, its legs splayed, and stared straight at
him. One of the guys quickly came up behind the sow and
grabbed her back legs, flipped her, and took her down.

Laramie came up behind the guy holding the pig down and

checked the tag. “Stall three-twenty,” he said. Looking up,
Laramie gave him an exhausted smile. “Hey, T, it’s gonna be at
least another thirty minutes to catch and put the rest of these girls
away. Sorry.”

“No problem, Lare,” Trace replied. “Let us help. We may not

know how to hobble them, but we can get attention as well as the
next man,” he said with a wink.

Laramie glanced between them and Carl shrugged. “Yeah. I’ll

give it a go. Always happy to help out a friend.”

“You may not feel that way by the time you’re done,” he said,

but the smile seemed more genuine. “A couple extra pairs of
hands are always welcome.”

The pig started struggling, and the guy kneeling on her

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snapped, “Sometime today, guys. If I hold her down much longer
it could risk her piglets.”

“Right,” Trace responded, stepping forward. “Show me how to

hold her and I’ll help you take her wherever.” The guy obeyed,
and together they carried the sow to her pen.

It ended up taking over two hours to round up the rest of the

sows. Trace leaned against the wall and rubbed a hand over his
forehead, wiping away sweat and grime. “Good grief, I’m glad
that’s done,” he muttered.

“Yeah. I hope that never happens again,” the man he’d been

helping stated. “Thanks, man. I’m Vance, by the way,” he said,
holding out his hand. “You’re Trace Plinter, right?”

“Yes. Have we met?” he asked, realizing he’d been helping

Laramie’s pig foreman.

Vance grinned. “Not officially. But everyone knows about

you,” he said, winking.

Trace’s brows shot up. “Really?” he said, dryly.
“Don’t stress, man,” Vance said. “We all knew Laramie was

gay. His uncle was, too,” Vance added, getting to his feet. He
offered his hand. “We’re really happy he found you.”

Taking his hand, Trace allowed the other man to pull him to

his feet. “Yeah? Why?” It was probably wrong to get the goods on
his boyfriend from his employee, but Trace was curious about
their opinion on his lover.

Vance shrugged. “Laramie had a real hard time when his uncle

passed.” He smiled sadly. “Damian was more father to Laramie
than uncle. We worried he’d never get over Damian’s passing,
then you came along.” Vance’s smile looked genuinely pleased, if
a bit crooked. “You seemed to breathe new life into him. Give him
joy again. You turned a hard-ass back into a human being.”

“I wasn’t a hard-ass,” Laramie grumbled, interrupting their

conversation.

Throwing his head back, Vance laughed. “Yeah you were. If

something like this had happened before Trace came along, I
shudder to think of the consequences.” The man gave an
exaggerated shiver, but his smile remained firmly in place.

Laramie rolled his eyes. “I know this isn’t your fault. There’s

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no way in hell all these sows got out without help.” He turned
and looked at Carl, who stood behind him. “I have cameras in the
barns. Uncle Damian placed them three years ago when we had
trouble with a homophobe trying to sabotage us.” He frowned,
then shook his head. “Come up to the house and we can check the
videos from my computer.”

Carl nodded. “Thanks. I hope your cameras are high powered

enough and placed right to give us a face,” he muttered as he
headed out of the barn in front of them.

Before Laramie could take two steps, Trace stepped forward,

grabbed his arm, and pulled him closer. He smiled and lowered
his head, placing a gentle kiss on his lover’s lips. “I’d do more,” he
said, snickering, “but we’re both filthy.”

The mirth in Laramie’s eyes, especially in the aftermath of his

pigs getting loose, pleased Trace to no end. He liked that these
things didn’t get his lover down for long. The man always seemed
to be ready to face every challenge head on. “Get out of here,”
Laramie said. He turned back to Vance. “Thanks for calling in all
the guys, Vance. I do appreciate it.”

Vance slapped him on the shoulder and smiled. “It’s my job,

boss.” He grinned. “I’m your foreman, remember?”

“And I couldn’t ask for anyone better,” Laramie replied. “Since

you’re the foreman, will you let everyone who is allowed to leave
know that they can?”

Smiling, and giving him a mock salute, Vance turned and

headed deeper into the barn.

Trace took his lover’s hand, and without a word, led Laramie

from the building. When they stepped outside, Trace took a long,
slow breath. He smiled at Laramie and murmured, “Not the way
we planned our afternoon, huh?”

“No. I’m sorry about that,” Laramie murmured.
“Don’t worry about it,” Trace responded.
They walked in silence for a few seconds, then Laramie turned

to him and said, “Thank you, for your help.”

Trace paused in his stride just long enough to press a kiss to

Laramie’s temple. “Any time.”

Grabbing his lover’s hand, Trace hustled him across the yard.

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He knew the barns were set up a good hundred yards from the
house so the only time the smell was strong enough to detect was
when the wind blew just right. His lover had explained that they
tried to keep the barns as clean as possible, not only to cut down
on smell, but to cut down on transmitting diseases and parasites.
He’d been so proud of his uncle’s set-up.

Carl was lounging patiently on the porch when they walked

up. “‘Bout time you two got here,” he teased, winking.

Laramie rolled his eyes. “A boss’s job is never done.”
He couldn’t help snickering at Laramie’s words and didn’t

miss Carl’s snort.

“Come in, you hyenas.” Then it was his lover’s turn to smirk.

“Hope Vincent doesn’t mind you stripping down in front of other
men, because there’s no way in hell I’m allowing your clothes
beyond my laundry room.”

The detective shrugged, his brows drawing into a frown. “He’s

never said anything about me going to the gym, and I know
there’s a locker room at the fire station.” He shrugged.

Taking mercy on the man, Trace stepped forward and slapped

his friend on his shoulder. “Relax. Vincent and I don’t have hang-
ups like that. Let’s get in and get cleaned up. The sooner we do
that, the sooner you can get our statements, and you can head
back to your family.”

Carl rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’ll still have to

make a trip to the station first.”

It wasn’t said with any heat, just a statement of fact.
Once they’d stripped to their briefs, or in Carl’s case, boxer-

briefs, Laramie handed the detective a clean pair of sweats and a t-
shirt pulled from drawers in the laundry room. Then, Laramie
pointed Carl in the direction of the downstairs shower.

Trace followed Laramie upstairs. It took more self-control than

Trace thought he still had, but they managed to keep it utilitarian
and short, each taking their turns under the water and cleaning
themselves.

As Laramie stepped out of the shower behind him, Trace

wrapped a towel around his lover and pulled him close. He
cupped Laramie’s still wet jaws and pressed their lips together.

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Nipping Laramie’s lower lip, Trace grunted happily as his lover
opened immediately to him. He swept his tongue into the man’s
mouth, tasting heat and male, the heady essence of his lover.

Trace drew away, ending the kiss and stepping back slowly.

“We need to get downstairs.”

Laramie nodded.
Grabbing a pair of sweats and a shirt that Trace had left there a

couple weeks ago—And didn’t the fact that Laramie didn’t mind him
leaving clothes at his house send warm fuzzies through Trace?—he
headed down with his lover.

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Chapter Fifteen

oth he and his lover padded barefoot through his home,
wearing shorts and a t-shirt. To Laramie, it felt

incredibly domestic. He wondered if he should be worried
that he didn’t feel any sense of panic over the fact. Instead,
Laramie just decided he liked it.

He met Carl in the living room and beckoned the man over to

his office. “I have eight cameras in the barn. They watch the door,
a high-overview of the stalls, and the storage room, inside and
out. Hopefully, one of them will have caught what we need,” he
said, sitting behind his desk.

Booting up his computer, Laramie went to the program that

accessed his camera’s views and recordings. The first camera he
picked was of the front door. It took a few minutes, then Laramie
watched in shock as Lane and Simon walked into the building and
glanced around furtively. He switched views to a camera that
overviewed the stall area. The men watched in silence as the two
intruders ran down the aisles and opened each stall door. Then,
they ran out the back door. Five minutes later, the first sow
pushed her way through her cracked-open door and lumbered
into the aisle in search of…something.

“I’d like to take these recordings with me,” Carl said softly.

“Do you have hard copies somewhere?”

“Yeah,” Laramie whispered. He frowned at the tape and shook

his head. “I should really be more upset, but all I feel is…relief,”
he admitted. He lifted his head and glanced between his lover and
the detective. “Is that normal?”

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Carl nodded. “Perfectly. This gives you some closure,” he said

with surprising compassion.

Laramie shook his head. “I always knew he hated me, and

Lane followed right along in his footsteps. But to endanger the
animals and the lives of others? What the hell were they
thinking?”

“Sometimes, not a lot of thinking is involved when people do

shit like this,” Carl replied. “Everything in their mind is clouded
by hate.”

Laramie didn’t bother responding. After all, what could he

really say? He rose. “Come on. Let’s go get the originals.” He
turned to his lover and gave him a wan smile. “Are you sticking
around?”

Trace looked surprised, then almost angry. “Yes. I’m sticking

around until you don’t want me here anymore,” he said gruffly,
his words surprising Laramie. “I’ll make us a late lunch.”

He watched Trace head out of the room, turning in the

direction of the kitchen.

“Damn, you really stuck your foot in your mouth this time,”

Carl said. He crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head.

Frowning, Laramie led the way back to the laundry room. As

they slipped on their boots and coats, he softly said, “I know.
Trace is a good man. I shouldn’t just assume he’s going to ditch
me now that the excitement is over.”

Carl slapped his on the back in a friendly manner. “Nope, you

shouldn’t. Vince and I have talked about Trace at length a number
of times,” he admitted. “He’s never seen him act toward a lover
the way he does toward you.” Carl gave him a lopsided smile.
“He’s quite taken with you. You do know that, right?”

His surprised look must have said it all, because Carl laughed.

“Come on. Let’s get those recordings, so you can grovel for
forgiveness from your man.”

Laramie pointed to a locked equipment shed. It had been

converted into a computer bay several years back when the
cameras were put in—that way, he and his uncle could control
who had access to the monitoring system. Better safe than sorry,
and all that.

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It only took a couple minutes to locate the tapes in question

and hand them over to Carl. The detective nodded and thanked
him, although Laramie really thought it should be the other way
around. Carl held up the tapes. “I’ll get to the station and request
a warrant. I’ll let you know once I have some news,” Carl
promised.

“Thanks.”
After saying their good-byes, Laramie hurried back to the

house and Carl headed around front. Laramie had just stepped
inside the back door when he heard Trace’s truck roar to life and
his heart skipped a beat. Had his lover decided to bail after all?

Chanting no, no, no under his breath, Laramie raced through

the house, uncaring of the mud his dirty boots tracked across the
hard-wood floors. Trace wasn’t in the kitchen, and a mewl of
distress caught in Laramie’s throat as he picked up the pace.

Two strong arms wrapped around him from behind. Laramie

would forever deny the shocked yelp that escaped him, but then
he caught Trace’s distinctive masculine scent and sagged against
his lover.

“Hey, Lare, what’s wrong?” Trace crooned, nuzzling the

sensitive skin behind his ear.

Laramie gulped, trying to get his brain to work around the

delicious tingles shooting down his neck. “I—I heard your truck,”
he whispered. “I was worried you were leaving.”

“Ah,” Trace murmured, then pulled the lobe of his ear into his

mouth and sucked.

The light pulls seemed to transfer straight to Laramie’s cock,

and he knew if he looked down, he’d see his rigid shaft pressing
obscenely against the front of his sweats. He gasped and rocked
back against Trace’s crotch, desperately wanting confirmation that
Trace was just as affected by their embrace.

Laramie wasn’t disappointed. Trace’s hard shaft pressed into

the cleft of his ass. Lifting one hand over his head, Laramie twined
his fingers in his lover’s hair, loving the connection he felt with
this man. His other hand reached for Trace’s hip, encouraging the
way their bodies pressed together.

Continuing to work his ear, Trace slipped his hands under his

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shirt. The first pinch and tug on his nipple had Laramie bucking
and moaning in Trace’s grip. Never had he experienced sensations
like this man could pull so easily from him.

He could feel his cock leaking, lengthening even more,

stretching up to the top of his waistband, as if searching for a
hand to play with it, too. Then Trace’s other hand was on him,
cupping him lightly, just enough pressure to stimulate him, but
not near enough to bring him off. Trace’s thumb dipped inside
Laramie’s sweats, swiping across the slit in his head and rubbing
the moisture all around his sensitive glans.

“I told you I wasn’t going anywhere, lover,” Trace told him.
The man’s throaty purr and talented hands had Laramie on the

edge in seconds. “Please,” he whimpered.

His balls pulled tight. He could practically taste the bliss of his

orgasm.

“Please what, babe?”
“So close,” Laramie moaned. “Please let me come.”
“Mmm,” Trace purred against the skin behind his ear, the

vibrations sending a fresh wave of shocks through his system. “I
do love it when you beg,” his lover crooned.

Laramie’s balls were on fire. He could no longer keep his body

still and his hips bucked forward against Trace’s palm. His lover
kept his hand still, letting Laramie rut mindlessly against him.
Only his thumb of that hand actually did anything, continuing to
scoop pre-cum from his slit and work it around and around his
head, stimulating his sensitive organ.

Trace’s other hand pinched and rolled first one nipple, then the

other. Laramie couldn’t keep quiet. Mewls and whimpers escaped
him in between his pleas for just a little bit more, something,
anything to make him come.

A low growl vibrated through Trace’s chest behind him,

exciting Laramie even more. “Such a sexy, responsive man you
are in my arms, Laramie.” He paused, and his tone became
impossibly even more throaty. “Come for me. Let me see your
pleasure.”

Laramie moaned. Between Trace’s vocal encouragement and

his hand suddenly squeezing his hot, hard, aching prick, he could

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do nothing but obey. His cock pulsed, and his orgasm raced
through his body, starting in his toes, sweeping up his body,
forcing a yell from his lungs, then back down to settle in his
tingling balls. Cum shot in long, thick spurts from his dick,
painting ribbons of white across the floor in front of him.

Laramie’s back bowed in Trace’s arms, his body shuddering,

his breath coming in panting gasps as he floated on waves of bliss.
Laramie smiled drunkenly and hummed. His body slumped
against his lover and he knew with inexplicable faith that the man
behind him would always be there to hold him up. Laramie bit
back words he’d never said to another man, and as he floated in a
daze, he wondered when the right time would be to tell his lover
that he’d gone and fallen in love with him.

“Come on, babe,” Trace murmured in his ear. “Let’s get to the

dining room, so I can clean you up and we can eat.

“What about you?” Laramie asked, looking up and over his

shoulder at Trace. He bumped his ass against Trace’s still
straining erection.

Trace smiled down at him, and if Laramie wanted to believe he

saw love shining in his lover’s eyes, that was on him. “I’ll come
later, when I’m buried in your tight ass.” He leaned down and
pressed their lips together in an awkward kiss. “Now, come on.”

Turning him around, Trace kept one hand around his waist as

he led Laramie into the dining room and sat him on a chair. Trace
grabbed a napkin from the table and carefully wiped him up, then
tucked his cock back in his sweats. Laramie made no move to
assist, liking how his lover cared for him.

After one more kiss, Trace placed a plate containing a turkey

sandwich, BBQ flavored potato chips, and a pickle in front of him.
“Be right back,” he said. Grabbing a handful of napkins, Trace
walked back the way they’d come. Laramie assumed it was to
clean up the mess he’d made, but couldn’t bring himself to be
embarrassed. Instead, he dug into his food.

Trace returned a moment later. After washing his hands, he

took another plate from the counter and placed it on the table. He
stole a quick kiss, then sat down and got to work demolishing his
own sandwich.

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Laramie stared at the tree, watching the colorful lights blink on

and off. Other than those winking lights, the flames from the
small fire they lay in front of was the only illumination in the
room. Draped over his lover’s chest on the floor in front of the
fireplace, the top of his head tucked under Trace’s chin, Laramie
couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever felt more at peace. Even
hearing from Carl and learning that they’d only been able to catch
Simon didn’t detract from his contentment. He knew his brother
would turn up.

He rubbed his head against the firm, naked peck under him

and sighed.

“You tired?” Trace asked softly. “I know it’s been a long day.”
Laramie shook his head, tilting it and smiling up at his lover.

“Not really.”

“Good.” Suddenly, Laramie found himself on his back, the

broad form of his lover levered over him. “Because I have
something to say to you.”

Cocking his head to the side, Laramie rotated his hips just a bit.

“Oh, yeah?” he said, giving his lover a cheeky grin. “Does it have
something to do with the hard-on digging into my hip?” His
asshole fluttered at the idea of being filled by Trace again. Yeah,
four days was just too long. He really wanted his lover in his bed
every night, fucking him, holding him, sleeping with him. Now
that he’d realized he loved the man, Laramie wanted the whole
nine yards.

“I’ll deal with that later,” Trace said, smirking. “Right now, I

have another one of those confessions that I’ve never said to
another person before.” His expression sobered. “And I’m trying
not to freak out,” he admitted.

Laramie reached up and cupped Trace’s jaw with one hand,

but found his other straying to the man’s chest, tracing over the
firm muscle definition he found there. “Whatever it is, T, you can
tell me.”

“I love you, Laramie,” Trace said, slowly enunciating his words,

as though if he didn’t say them carefully, Laramie might
misunderstand. “I’ve discovered that your happiness means more

Piggyback

123

to me than my own, and I want to spend the rest of my days
figuring out how to please you.” Trace paused, his brows drawing
together. “After my family disowned me, I never thought I’d feel
that way about anyone except my grandmother.”

For his lover to mention the woman he loved more than his

own mother, Laramie knew it must be serious. He took a deep
breath and smiled. “Good, because I love you, too, Trace. We
didn’t start out to get all serious on each other, but it happened
anyway.” He grinned. “I sure as hell didn’t plan to fall in love
with you, but I have.”

Trace didn’t respond with words. He leaned down and took

control of Laramie’s mouth. Laramie opened quickly to his lover,
and Trace grunted his pleasure. Their bare chests pressed
together, the heat of Trace’s skin rivaling the nearby fire.

Rotating his hips slowly over and over, Trace rubbed their

cocks together, creating delicious friction that left Laramie
moaning and trembling. After a few minutes, it wasn’t enough,
and Laramie bucked against Trace, trying to express his desire for
more without words. Trace seemed to get the hint and quickly rid
them both of their sweats.

Laramie let out a moan when Trace pulled away and his

eyelids snapped open. He watched his lover rock back to his
knees and reach under the couch cushion. His brows shot up
upon seeing the strip of condoms and bottle of lube.

He grinned. “Confident much?”
“With you?” Trace responded. “Hell, yeah. You’re mine.”
Pleasure coursed from his dick through his limbs as Trace lay

back over him and lined up their shafts. Grunting, Laramie spread
his legs wide, welcoming his lover’s weight between his thighs.
“And you’re mine,” he gasped.

Laramie hissed as one of Trace’s lubed fingers penetrated him.

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, rocking, trying to get the finger deeper.

Trace’s grin turned feral with lust. “That’s the idea.”
“When, ugh.” Laramie gritted his teeth in concentration for a

few seconds before he found his voice again. “When did you—
you bring the lube d-down?”

Okay, it wasn’t eloquent, but at least he got the question out.

Charlie Richards

124

Trace slipped in a second finger and rubbed across his prostate,

making Laramie howl, before he answered. “When you made hot
chocolate a couple hours ago,” he whispered. “I told you I wanted
your ass.”

It took a second for Laramie to even remember what the

question was, then he nodded. “Yours. Always yours.”

“Good,” Trace growled the word as he pressed a third thick

digit into Laramie’s hole.

Laramie rocked on Trace’s fingers, enjoying the feeling of

fullness, the pressure on his internal walls. His cock tapped
against his stomach, stringing the oozing pre-cum, painting spider
webs of clear fluid across his abs.

“Pleassse,” he hissed, desperately wanting, needing more.
Peering through lids at half-mast, Laramie watched as Trace

tore open a condom with his teeth and rolled the rubber on with
one hand. Laramie bit back a protest when Trace pulled his
fingers from his ass. The empty feeling was short-lived, for Trace
lined up his cock and pushed. Laramie sighed, his eyes dropping
closed, as Trace filled him with one long, smooth thrust.

“Look at me,” Trace ordered gruffly.
Laramie snapped his eyes back open and stared up into the

heated gaze of his lover. Trace rested Laramie’s legs in the crooks
of his arms and leaned close, thrusting his tongue in deep over
and over, copying what his dick was doing to his ass. Laramie
gripped his lover’s shoulders, holding on tight for the ride, loving
the way Trace worked his body, especially when Trace reached
between them and pinched one beaded nipple.

Grunting into the kiss, Laramie arched. “So good,” he panted,

wrenching his mouth away from Trace’s dominating kiss.

Trace grinned. He moved his hands to grip Laramie’s thighs,

lifting him and spreading him wide. “Grab your cock, babe.
Stroke yourself off. Let me see you come all over your chest.”

“Oh, yeah,” Laramie muttered. He slid his hand between them.

Wrapping his prick in a tight grip, he jerked himself off steadily.
Between his hand on his dick, the feral possessive heat in Trace’s
eyes devouring Laramie as he looked upon him, and Trace’s thick
shaft spearing him and pressing against his gland on every thrust,

Piggyback

125

it only took a moment to tumble right over the edge into bliss.

His chute clenched tight around Trace’s dick as his cock shot

stream after stream of seed. Trace grunted above him, and
Laramie watched as a look of pleasure-pain crossed his lover’s
features. His sexy man’s body tensed, then jerked above him, and
Laramie felt the dick in his ass thicken slightly before warm seed
filled his rectum, held captive by a thin layer of latex. Seconds
later, Trace unwound his arms from Laramie’s legs and settled on
top of him, some of his weight held on his elbows where they
rested on either side of his head.

Laramie petted his lover’s sweaty back, reveling in the

powerful muscles that twitched beneath his fingers. As Laramie
came down from his endorphin high, he wondered what it’d be
like to be filled by Trace without the condom.

Trace pulled his softening prick from Laramie’s hole. Laramie

grunted as the sensation he always found odd pulled him from
his thoughts. His lover heaved a sigh and dropped to the rug next
to him. Using a few tissues from a box on an end table, Trace
wrapped the condom up and set it aside to be thrown away later.

Rolling back over, Trace pulled Laramie back against his chest

and sighed. Laramie hummed along with the Christmas carol
playing on the radio, smiling happily at being held by his lover as
the afterglow slowly dispersed. The twinkling lights of the small
tree they’d decorated caught Laramie’s eye.

He craned his head so he could meet Trace’s gaze. Trace lifted

a brow, silently entreating him to ask away. “So, what is that tree
for?”

A corner of Trace’s lip lifted in a sad smile. “Every year, I take

my grandmother a tree.”

“I thought your grandmother was, well, that she’d passed

away,” trying to amend his words so they didn’t seem quite so
insensitive.

Trace nodded. “She did. I sit beside her grave and tell her

about my year.” He smirked down at Laramie. “Don’t worry. I
don’t expect any answers back or anything, but it’s nice to talk just
the same.”

“She would have been proud of the man you’ve become,”

Charlie Richards

126

Laramie said firmly, rubbing his lover’s chest.

Smiling, Trace glanced down at him before looking toward the

tree. “I’d like you to come with me this year. Will you do that?”

Laramie’s brows shot up. That was the last thing he’d expected.

He smiled as a pleasant glow filled him and he snuggled closer to
his lover. “I’d love to,” he whispered.

Piggyback

127

Epilogue

Christmas Day

They traipsed through the thin layer of snow. It had snowed

the night before, not much, just a dusting, but it still made
everything beautiful. Trace carried his little three-foot tree in one
hand and gripped Laramie’s fingers tightly in the other.

Trace hadn’t known why he’d invited Laramie, but it had just

felt right, and Trace often went with his gut. He smiled faintly. It
still felt right. Laramie was his future, and Trace wanted to share
everything with him. It was an interesting feeling, one he’d never
felt before, but one he really, really enjoyed.

Giving his lover’s hand a squeeze, Trace led the way between

grave markers. He’d almost reached his grandmamma’s when a
cold voice snarled, “Why couldn’t you have died in the fire? Or
paid dad the money? How come you had to fuck up all our
plans?”

He turned and found Lane standing behind them, a crazed

look in his eyes. That wouldn’t have been so bad, except he held a
gun and pointed it straight at his lover.

“I don’t know what dad told you, Lane,” Laramie said

reasonably. “But the farm isn’t dad’s anymore. He sold his half to
Uncle Damian almost a decade ago.”

“Uncle Damian cheated dad. He didn’t pay him half what the

farm is worth!” Lane yelled.

Trace glanced around surreptitiously. Although he saw others

in the cemetery, none of them were close. He racked his brain,

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128

trying to figure out how to buy some time. “Hey, you mind if I
put this tree down?” he asked, getting Lane’s attention away from
his lover. “It’s getting kind of heavy.”

Lane just glared at him. Trace took that as a yes. Letting go of

his lover’s hand, Trace slowly dropped to one knee and put the
tree down. The position put one hand behind a headstone. Trace
pushed his hand into his pocket and hit one on his phone’s speed
dial, praying Vincent would pick up at nine AM on Christmas
morning.

Slowly, he pulled his hand out of his pocket and stood back up.

“Why do you need the money, Lane?” he asked. “We heard your
father had a good job at an investing firm. You’re an apprentice to
an electrician, which isn’t too shabby either,” he pointed out.
“Why would you break the law, Lane? Why track us down in the
cemetery?”

“I don’t make enough to pay back my dad’s debts,” Lane

muttered, almost like he was talking to himself. “He lost so much
when he made those bad stock deals.” For just a second, Lane
looked incredibly lost, and Trace hoped they’d be able to reason
with him. But then the young man returned his attention back to
Laramie and glared, the look so full of hatred Trace had to fight
back a growl. “And now you won’t even help family, you piece of
shit!”

Laramie’s jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed. “I haven’t

been family since the day you and dad beat the crap out of me and
kicked me out,” he all but growled.

Trace desperately hoped his lover wasn’t planning on doing

something stupid.

Wanting to interrupt the animosity, Trace stepped forward.

“How long have you been following us, Lane? How did you
know we’d be visiting my grandmother’s grave this morning?”

Lane shrugged, and Trace noticed how the gun wavered.

Evidently, Laramie must have seen the move, too. Trace’s heart
nearly stopped when his lover leaped forward. The crack of a
gunshot echoed through the morning air. Grabbing the top of his
tree, Trace jumped around the tombstone and swung the short
pine at Lane’s back.

Piggyback

129

The man grunted and stumbled forward. His disorientation

gave Laramie time to wrench the gun from Lane’s grip and twist
away. Lane landed on his knees and Laramie snapped, “Freeze.”

Trace’s brows shot up and he lifted a brow. “Freeze? Really?”
Laramie shrugged, not taking his eyes from a kneeling, glaring

Lane. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Chuckling, Trace pulled his belt from his jeans. “Yeah, babe. It

worked.”

The shrill sound of a siren ripped through the morning air just

as Trace finished securing Lane’s hands behind his back.

Then cops were pouring into the area. At their command,

Laramie tossed away the gun and lifted his hands. Trace stepped
back from Lane and did the same. Lane started shouting all kinds
of lies and bigoted filth. Trace held his breath, waiting to see who
the officers would believe.

After a couple seconds, the guy who seemed to be in charge

looked down at the trussed man and asked, “You’re Lane
Goshen?” After Lane belligerently answered in the affirmative,
the guy pointed at a pair of uniformed men behind him, who
immediately stepped forward and started removing the belt, only
to cuff him and read Lane his Miranda Rights.

The man didn’t relax until Lane was being led away. “Can I get

your names, please?” he said, stepping toward Trace and Laramie.

They told him, and after a few more concise questions, the man

who identified himself as Officer Harris nodded. “I’m going to
need complete statements of what happened here today. Can you
come down to the station?”

Trace glanced down at his battered tree and replied, “I came to

visit my grandmother’s grave. Do you mind if we do that and
then meet you down there?”

The officer glanced from the tree to the two men and back to

the tree. His brow lifted, curiosity shining in his brown eyes, but
to his credit, he held his tongue. Officer Harris nodded.
“Certainly. We’ll expect you in a couple hours.” He held out a
white card and Trace took it. “See you soon.”

By that time, the gun had been collected and most of the other

men had left. Officer Harris nodded one more time, then turned

Charlie Richards

130

and strode toward his car. Finally, Trace became aware of a noise
coming from his pocket and recognized Vincent’s shouts. He
pulled the cell out and lifted it to his ear. “Enough, stop yelling,”
Trace snapped, cutting into Vincent’s ravings. “Thank you for
sending the cops.”

“Are you and Laramie okay? Is everyone safe?” Vincent

quickly asked.

“Yes.” He smiled and reached out toward Laramie, who

quickly took his hand. “We’re fine. We have to make a trip to the
station, but they took Lane away.”

“Good.” The relief was clear in Vincent’s tone. After a

heartbeat, he asked, “What are you doing at the cemetery,
anyway?”

Trace smiled. “Visiting my grandmamma’s grave. When

Laramie and I swing over for Christmas supper, I’ll tell you all
about it.”

“You’d better, damn it,” Vincent grumbled. “Talk to you later.”
“Bye, and Vincent?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks again.”
Vincent laughed. “You don’t owe me, you owe Carl. He got the

same odd call from Laramie as I got from you. Carl called it in on
his police band.”

“Great minds think alike,” he murmured, dipping his head and

pressing his lips to Laramie’s.

More laughter came through the line. “And that’s my cue to

say good-bye. Later.” The line went dead.

Trace didn’t care. He shoved the phone into his pocket and

wrapped his arms around his lover, plundering Laramie’s mouth
with a desperate intensity he scarcely recognized. When they
finally came up for air, he rested their foreheads together. “I was
so worried about you,” he whispered. “Please don’t ever jump on
a man with a gun again.”

“Only to save your life,” Laramie promised.
Accepting what he could get, Trace nodded. He slipped a hand

up Trace’s jaw and kissed him again, slower this time, the urgency
caused by fear gone. Their tongues tangled and a warm heat fused

Piggyback

131

his blood. He knew things couldn’t get out of control, and eased
the kiss to an end, sipping at his lover’s lips, and ending with
several soft pecking kisses.

“Come on, babe,” he encouraged.
Laramie followed him willingly, their fingers twined together.

Trace finally set the tree down beside his grandmother’s
headstone. “It’s a bit bedraggled grandmamma, but I got it here,”
he said softly, straightening limbs and adjusting ornaments.

Trace knelt in the scant dusting of snow next to his

grandmother’s grave. His eyes burned and he blinked back
unshed tears as he looked over the worn lines etched into the
stone. As time passed, missing his grandmother had settled to a
wistful ache that hit him at the oddest times, but every year, when
he brought her the tree, the loss burned fresh.

A hand on his shoulder and a presence by his side drew him

out of his thoughts. Trace looked at his lover and smiled. He
wrapped his arm around Laramie and pulled him flush to his
side. Together, they knelt in silence for the longest time.

Finally, Trace started speaking.
He told Laramie all about his grandmother. Things he’d never

told another soul. The way she’d taken him in after his parents
kicked him out at seventeen. How she’d encouraged him to
become a firefighter. How she’d showered him with
unconditional love. He explained about her love of teapots, and
how he’d always buy her a new china one every year for her
birthday. Trace even admitted that he still had her collection in a
spare bedroom of his condo and added more to it every year.

Trace told Laramie how she’d embarrassed the shit out of him

by giving him a box of condoms before his first date with some
guy whose name he couldn’t remember. She’d told him, it didn’t
matter that he was a man and couldn’t get knocked up—her
words, not his—she still expected him to practice safe sex. And
Trace had, to this day, never let her down.

He paused in his stories and looked at his lover, who’d

remained quiet all this time. Instead of the vacant, uninterested
look he’d expected, he saw shining eyes and genuine interest. Any
lingering doubts he’d had about their relationship melted into the

Charlie Richards

132

snow under their knees. This man was the one.

Sucking in a fortifying breath, Trace held his lover’s gaze and

said, “Grandmamma, this is Laramie Goshen. The man I love. I
know you would have loved him, too. I wanna take that next step
with him, and since I know it’d be ridiculous for Laramie to move
into my condo, I’m gonna do something a little unconventional.”

As he spoke, Trace watched his lover’s eyes widen more and

more. Trace did something he’d never done while sitting beside
his grandmother’s grave. He grinned. “Laramie Goshen, would
you do me the honor of sharing your life with me and allow me to
move in with you?”

Tears trickled from the corners of Laramie’s eyes, but the bright

light filling those sweet green eyes and the big smile on his lover’s
face told Trace they were caused by joy. Laramie took a raspy
breath and nodded. “Yes, Trace. I’d love to have you move in with
me.”

“Good,” Trace whispered. Cupping his lover’s jaw, he pulled

Laramie into a soft kiss. Seconds later, still smiling, Trace
murmured against Laramie’s lips, “Because I’ve already started
packing.”

About the Author

Charlie lives on a mini ranchette in Utah with her husband
and furry, four-legged children. She started writing fantasy
when she was eight, and after stumbling onto her first erotic
romance at age nineteen, she realized her true calling. She
now focuses on writing erotic romance, normally of the
paranormal variety, with heroes and heroines of all kinds.
You can often find her curled up with her laptop and a cup
of tea or glass of wine, creating her next adventure. Charlie
enjoys exploring the mountains on horseback, 4-wheeler, or
motorcycle. Her favorite exercise is jumping lessons with her
Arabian gelding Apache or her Thoroughbred mare Repo.
And she can’t get enough of sexy highlanders with their kilts
and swords. Right now, she and her muse are working with
dedication on her Wolves of Stone Ridge series and Kontra’s
Menagerie series.

She can be reached at ch.richards2010@yahoo.com
Or visit her at www.charlie-richards.com

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