“Well, maybe one more night.”
Ted didn’t bother to show, and the crowd at The Rarin’ Stallion doubled that night.
* * *
Mike leaned against a tree, the North Platte River flowing on past. He’d had a similar place near the farm where he’d grown up. He’d taken his brothers swimming there in the summer, and many of his songs came to life in his head while staring up at the clouds from the banks.
Only a few rehearsals to take up their time during the week left plenty of opportunities to discover their surroundings, write music, and have sex.
With the remnants of a picnic packed into a cooler, Mike idly strummed his guitar, Killian sitting on their blanket a few feet away.
“What if I put in…” Mike added a few chords to the ones Killy had strung together.
Killian grinned and added a few contrasting notes.
So far, they’d written a dozen songs, two of which they’d try out Friday night. Ted hung out but didn’t try to sing—an agreement reached with Merle the club owner—leaving Killy and Mike free to do their own thing.
Three weeks. For three weeks Killy spent his days and nights with Mike. Occasionally he’d stare off at nothing. Itching to be on the road again?
They’d signed no contracts, so were free to leave when the mood hit them. Mike certainly hadn’t planned to stay so long.
Yet every night, lying in Killian’s arms, he couldn’t bring himself to think of leaving, of not looking over the breakfast table at Killian’s handsome face to discuss some lyrics that were giving him trouble, or plan a leisurely day.
“Where’d you go?”
Mike jumped back from the hand waving in front of his face. When had Killian come so close?
Close enough to kiss. But no. Killian didn’t kiss. Or rather, didn’t kiss Mike. But he might have a point. The more time they spent together, the more they shared, the harder it would be giving this all up.
But one day, probably soon, Killy would leave. Why else would the man insist on keeping distance by not kissing and by calling him Tex or Cowboy, instead of his name?
Their time together had an expiration date, but each morning he woke to Killy’s smile was another gift to enjoy.
* * *
Another week. Another week with his cowboy. How much longer could Killian stay put before wanderlust got the better of him?
No matter how many times he changed his phone number, somehow Gus always managed to find out and call. Twenty-four unanswered messages on his phone said he needed to move. At least he’d remembered to disable tracking on his phone this time.
He’d never before taken the time to relax by a river, or laze in bed because he wanted to stay with the one lying beside him.
Dangerous. Too dangerous. But what was the harm in enjoying the moment while he could? Tex never asked him for anything. Wasn’t a user.
Wasn’t a druggy. Only drank beer. Never smoked.
Was beautiful in his wide-eyed innocence. He’d seen the world, some, but not the dark underbelly Killian had. Never knew the pain of finding his mother dead, a needle still stuck in her arm.
Better for Killian to leave. His world could only bring pain.
Maybe tomorrow. Not today.
Today he could dream of the normal life he’d never have.
Tex let out a contented sigh and joined Killy on the blanket. Without thinking, Killy wrapped a welcoming arm around the warm hunk of cowboy. How long since he’d felt this close to someone, trusted someone not to knife his back?
So much ran through his head, so many things he’d never told anyone, held inside until the pressure built. Could he share the burden now? Maybe explain the reason for his constant need to move? Could he make this man understand why he’d have to leave, and soon?
Tex turned to him, a worry wrinkle across his brow. “Is something wrong?”
