| The man was waiting in the stable when two other
men rode up. He recognized James West from a long way off, from the way he
sat in his saddle and the easy way he rode his horse. The other man, the
handsome young Mexican, he didn't know, but he'd heard about him, heard
that he was the leading light of the horse racing circuit. That was why
West was with the Mexican; he'd been racing horses since he'd retired from
the Secret Service, and he was learning from the best. Absentmindedly, the man fumbled in his coat pocket for a cigar, but when he realized what he was doing, he stopped. Much as he wanted a smoke, the smell of it would give him away, and he was determined to catch the former Secret Service agent unawares. And, of course, smoking in a stable was an invitation to a fire. He'd been tracking West for over a month now. He'd bribed a cowboy or two but, despite the fact that West had put countless criminals behind bars, earning their deathless hatred, West was not very secretive about how he was living his life. He'd tracked West from one dusty town to another until he'd finally decided to confront him at this ranch a half day's ride south of the Mexican border. He took a deep breath and unclenched his fingers as he watched the handsome Mexican and West dismount from their horses. They were both laughing, and the Mexican embraced West with one arm before heading for the main house, leaving West to see to the horses. West entered the stable, passing within a few feet of his hiding place, and the man in the shadows froze, his hands clenching again. In the dim light of the stable, he studied West's trim figure. West was dressed in a tan, open-necked corduroy shirt, a bandanna tied at his neck. Instead of the Italian leather boots that he'd worn for years, he was clad in cowboy boots that appeared to be ostrich or some other exotic leather. Tan dungarees and dark brown chaps hugged his slim hips and muscular legs. His face was deeply tanned, and his sun-streaked hair was slightly longer than when he was a federal agent. There was an air of relaxation about West that had rarely been present in his former life. Whistling softly, West unsaddled both of the horses. The one he'd been riding was a frisky, black stallion that resembled the one that Uncle Sam had bought for him and which he'd ridden for years. West spoke softly to the horse as though he were an old friend, and he smiled as the horse nuzzled his shoulder. The other horse, the Mexican's horse, he also patted affectionately as he curried him before placing feed and water in their troughs. The man in the shadows was torn between relief and puzzlement that West hadn't detected his presence. But when West finished caring for the horses and, still oblivious to the intruder's presence, headed for the door, he stepped forward, saying, "Your vigilance hasn't improved with age, a flaw that may just end your life prematurely." West whirled, his eyes wide, but his expression quickly shifted from surprise to anger. "What are you doing here?" He clenched his fists at his sides, and his jaw tightened. "You're lucky that I showed up here instead of Emmett Stark or another of the score of men who would be happy to see you dead," he said with an unhappy smile. "I have no intention of living my life in fear," West said, brushing past the other man and heading toward the door. His own anger suddenly flaring, he grasped West's arm and snapped, "You always were an arrogant, stubborn fool." He tightened that grip, intending to prevent West from leaving the stable. West shook the hand off roughly and turned to glare at the intruder. "You've got a lot of nerve showing up here. I think you'd better leave." "I'm not ready to leave. We have unfinished business." Involuntarily, he breathed in West's scent: sagebrush, horses, and the sweat from a day spent riding in the hot sun. His gaze fastened on West's face, weathered from too many years spent in the sun and the elements, but his eyes were as bright green as they'd been when he was twenty-five and his hair was as thick. His gaze moving downward, he noted that West's body was also as trim and muscular. "Unfinished business?" West echoed, and after a pause, his expression altered to reflect grim determination. He took a step forward. "You're right." His hands closed on the intruder's biceps, and he dragged him into an embrace. His eyes closed, and he pressed his mouth to the other man's lips. West's kiss was as sweet as a cool spring stumbled upon unexpectedly in the Sonora desert, and he opened his mouth and stabbed his tongue deep into that moist cavern. West's arms were strong, and his chest and thigh muscles were hard and unyielding in that python-like embrace. He closed his eyes, and the stable, the entire country of Mexico, it seemed, disappeared as he concentrated on that kiss. "Ah," he gasped as West backed him up toward the wall. He tripped over a bale of hay, and West pounced on him. It was like wrestling a grizzly bear. His shirt was soon torn open and so were his trousers, but he gave as good as he got, and it wasn't long before they both sprawled on the hay-covered ground, their half-naked bodies sliding together blissfully. His right hand roamed down West's body, stroking over his muscular chest and abdomen, but proceeding unerringly downward until he clasped West's slippery-with-pre-come phallus. "Oh," West groaned softly, his right hand moving lower to wrap around the intruder's cock, too. "Don't you think--?" But he forebear to complete the sentence, and his kisses grew wilder and his caresses more brutish. "Oh, God!" West orgasmed first, spilling his seed over both of their hands and bellies, but the other man lost control shortly after. They embraced fiercely, still kissing enthusiastically, but, finally, they untangled themselves, their gazes met, and, sitting up side-by-side leaning against a bale of hay, they both laughed almost breathlessly. Their laughter died away, and his expression became serious as West loosened the bandanna from around his neck. "I love you, Artemus." His eyes downcast, he offered the cloth to his former partner to clean himself. "I always have." "I know that, Jim." Artie's expression became equally serious as he mopped at the mess on his belly and groin. He handed back the cloth and fastened his trousers and shirt. "You were right, of course. I never needed the words." "Then why…?" Jim compressed his lips and used the cloth to clean himself before he set his clothes to rights as well. "Come here." Artie grasped Jim's shoulders and kissed his mouth again. Closing his eyes, he rubbed his hands over the rough texture of Jim's shirt, loving the heat of his strong body. He forced himself to look into Jim's eyes when he added, "When you came to see me in Chicago…" He shook his head and cleared his throat before adding, "I am sorry about the way I acted. I regret sending you away." "You came to the race the next day." Jim extricated himself from Artie's embrace, but he settled down with his head in Artie' lap and one arm thrown over Artie's legs. "But you didn't speak to me." He closed his eyes and turned his head to kiss Artie's hip, a faint smile playing over his lips. "I figured that it was because I came in third." "Hardly." Artie smiled, recognizing the teasing tone in Jim's voice. He rubbed his hand over Jim's shoulder. "You were a little busy talking to the cowboy who took first place." "Was I?" Jim massaged his hand over Artie's upper thigh. "Where's your gun, Jim, honey?" Artie asked suddenly, his hand pausing mid-massage. "Just because you're not in the Secret Service doesn't mean that scoundrels like Emmett Stark aren't going to come after you." "I meant what I said," Jim said firmly. "I'm not going to live in fear." He shook his head slightly, a small movement against Artie's hip. "I don't carry a gun anymore. I had my fill of that." He looked up at Artie. "You don't carry a gun either, do you?" "Not in Chicago." Artie shrugged. "Besides, I was never the main target. You're the one that they always went after." "They went after both of us," Jim said, rubbing his cheek against Artie's thigh. "You probably made the right decision when you left me to go back to the stage. You'll live longer as an-" "Jim, I didn't leave you because of that." Artie took a deep breath and stared at the far wall of the stable. "I said some stupid things in Chicago. I tried to make you believe that I was tired of you, tired of our life together, but that wasn't it at all." "Tell me." Although the words were stern, the look on Jim's face was not. "I had a heart attack. And it wasn't the first one." "Oh, Artie." Jim's hand tightened convulsively on Artie's thigh. "Why didn't you tell me?" "I didn't want…" Artie had to swallow the lump in his throat before he added. "I didn't want you to feel obligated to resign. The Secret Service needed you and--" "I owe you far more than I owe the Secret Service," Jim said, his hand rubbing up and down Artie's leg. "And I love you far more." "I know." Artie brushed his fingers over the back of Jim's neck and slid them into his hair. "You seem healthy now." Jim looked up, a hopeful expression on his face. "Is that why you're here?" "What? You think I'm ready to go back to work for Uncle Sam?" Artie said with a faint grin. "Risking my neck on a daily basis?" "I'm glad you're in perfect health," Jim said solemnly, "but I have no intention of going back, do you?" "No, of course not." Artie lifted Jim's right hand to his mouth and kissed the fingertips. "And I'm not in perfect health." He forced himself to smile. "I just couldn't face the thought of dying without being certain that you still loved me. Selfish of me, I know, but-" "You're not going to die," Jim said sternly. "Whatever it takes--" "Jim." Artie put his fingers over Jim's lips to silence him. "I thought about what you said: that you loved me and wanted to be with me. The rest was just details, you said." "Details like Madelyn?" Jim said, sitting up to lean against the bale of hay. He looked sideways at Artie, his expression intent. "No." Artie gripped Jim's hand in both of his own. "Madelyn is no longer part of my life. She obtained an annulment shortly after the theater failed." "So you're broke and alone?" Jim dropped his gaze. "It's not very flattering that it took so much to convince you to come back to me." He lifted his eyes to Artie's face again, and he smiled slowly. "But it doesn't matter. I love you, and whatever I have is yours." "It's not like that, Jim," Artie said firmly. "I'm not completely without resources." His hand tightened around Jim's. "I was referring to details like…" He gestured vaguely toward the house. "Juan. The man whose hacienda you're living in." "Juan?" Jim looked puzzled. "He's been a good friend to me, Artie. I took first place in my last two races. I'd never be as good as I am without his coaching." He frowned. "I fully expect you to continue your acting career, but I also intend to continue competing. I want to buy the ranch that I told you about. I'm meeting potential customers, and I'm about to buy another horse-" "Does Juan know that I love you, and that I want you back?" Artie tried to keep his tone level, but he shook his head and dropped his gaze. "How can I hope to compete with him? How old is he? Twenty-five?" "Twenty-seven. About Madelyn's age." Jim's hand tightened around Artie's, and he smiled as he suddenly understood. "You thought that he was my lover?" "Isn't he?" Artie's chin came up. "Juan has at least four women living in his house. Whatever the Mexican equivalent of a harem is…well, he can afford them," Jim said with a chuckle. "Believe me, he isn't interested in a broken-down, ex-federal-agent cowboy who's nearly forty years old." "Well, I am," Artie said, relief bubbling up inside of him. "Interested in you, I mean." He looped an arm around Jim's shoulders and pulled him close for another slow, sweet kiss. Jim returned the kiss, his left hand sliding around to cradle Artie's head, his fingers sliding into Artie's hair. When they broke the kiss, he smiled and looked around the stable, brushing the hay off his shirt and chaps and pushing himself to his feet. "Come up to the house, Artemus. Juan will be delighted to meet you." "Delighted?" Artie echoed with a snort. "If the man cares anything about you, he'll want to thrash me for the way I treated you." He put out a hand, allowed Jim to drag him to his feet, and stepped into Jim's embrace. "But whatever he does or says to me, I deserve." He turned his head to kiss Jim's temple, heat blooming in his belly and spreading out to his limbs. Despite their earlier activities, he was becoming aroused again, and Jim, pressed tight against him, wasn't bothering to hide the fact that he was feeling the same arousal. "I won't let him hurt you," Jim said with a chuckle. He slid his hands down Artie's back, and his smile faltered. "Your heart condition? What we did earlier…we probably shouldn't, should we?" "Don't be ridiculous," Artie said with a laugh. "If you think that I'm going to refrain from making love to you just because there's a slight risk that-" "We'll find a heart specialist," Jim promised before he kissed Artie's mouth lightly. "Much as I want to make love to you again, I have no desire to have you dying in my bed." "I know that I'm being selfish," Artie said as he brushed his fingers over Jim's lips, "but I'd prefer to die happy in your arms than-" "I'd prefer that you didn't die at all," Jim said firmly. "Fine," Artie responded, and they kissed once more before they left the stable for the main house. -finis |
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