“Hey, y’all.” Adam Taggart strolled over, a six-pack in his hand.
Oh, damn, that man was fine as frog’s hair. Landon was far enough from the lights that he felt free to watch.
“Tag.” Gramps Pharris grinned over. “How’s the baby brother?”
“Sleeping off his migraine, thank God.” Tag handed Landon a beer. “Here, kid. Have at.”
“Thanks.” His mouth was a little dry, having that long, firm body just right there. Adam was damned fine on horseback, but Landon thought the man looked better just sitting in faded Wranglers and a soft T-shirt. With legs so long that they actually led the rest of Adam’s body when he walked, the oldest Taggart triplet was like a cold drink of water on an August day. Landon couldn’t help but stare, and Adam caught his eyes, smiling at him just so.
His grin couldn’t be fought, no way. Hell, he wanted little more than to launch himself over and get to rubbing, seeing if they could make fire. He thought they maybe could.
Adam’s gaze sharpened, those eye lines deepening. Oh. Oh, look at that man look at him. Heat rose in Landon’s cheeks.
His dick filled, pushing against his fly, the teeth of the zipper pressing into his skin.
“You gonna drink that?” Dillon Walsh plopped down next to him, waving at his beer.
“Yes, sir.” He took a swig, the cold beer hitting his belly. Mmm. Better.
“You did great today. I mean on the bulls, too, but when Chris got hurt.”
“I know horses, and folks needed help.” Maw-Maw always said that was what all them had been born to, helping folks.
“Well, thanks.” Dillon seemed like a right nice man, for a clown. Everyone always said Dillon freaked them out a little, but he was okay.
“Yeah. You saved Chrissy’s bacon.” Adam’s words were slow, lazy, pouring over him like Tupelo honey. The feeling of it made him shiver.
Coke laughed. “Chrissy eats a lot of bacon.”
Everybody started laughing, even Sammy with his hooty owl sounds. Landon liked how that hadn’t changed. He guessed that came from a different part of the brain than talking. Good to know.
“What do I do?” Adam’s brother came up, sleepy as all get out, and grabbed a beer. His face was all swelled and bruised. Damn. Poor guy probably needed the beer as pain relief.
They talked and sang, and somehow he had a plate of barbecue. By the time Gramps and the clown left, and Mr. Beau put the fiddle away, he was flying some, his belly full and his eyelids heavy.
Adam was sitting there, gimme cap shading his eyes, hands cupped in his lap. They kept drawing Landon’s gaze to the bulge there at Adam’s crotch. It wasn’t fair, not one bit, how well shaped Adam’s thighs were. Or how nice that bulge was behind the zipper. He could ride that man straight up the highway to Heaven and be left as happy as a bug in a rug.
Abruptly, Adam stood and jerked his head at Landon. “Walk with me, kid.”
“Sure.” Like a puppy tied to a leash, he was up. Up and after the man like there was no one else on earth he’d rather be near.
Adam led him to the big trailer the Taggarts carried their horses in. It had one of them fancy tack room compartments, and that was where they ended up, Adam staring at him in the light reflecting in from the parking lot.
Landon blinked up, Adam’s eyes the color of moss-covered rocks dried by the summer sun. Good Lord help him, he knew those eyes like he knew his own soul.
“Well,” Adam said, mouth lifting in a little grin. “I didn’t exactly buy you a beer…”
“Nope. You gave me one.” He tilted his head. “But I reckon we can settle things up another way, iff’n you want.”
“You think?” Adam moved a little closer, the heat from that tall, muscular body amazing.
“I do.” He dared to reach out, cup that long, hard dick, trace it with his thumb.
“Let’s get with the doing, then.” Adam shifted away from his touch, unzipping those tight Wranglers.
“Okay.” He wasn’t sure how Adam wanted to do this, but most guys wanted it fast and quiet, just get off and go. He reached for Adam’s hips again, but those strong fingers caught his hands.
“Now, there’s no need to rush, huh? Come here, honey.”
