D G Parker The Last Chance Ranch [Dreamspinner MM] (pdf)

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still. Obie called him every filthy name he'd ever heard. The
chuckle that drew vibrated up through his most sensitive
parts, stealing his ability to swear.
Ben was still dressed, but his britches were open and his
own swollen member was poking out. He dropped one hand
down to give it a slow, leisurely stroke. Obie threw his head
back, and the noise that came out of his throat was
somewhere between a groan and a gurgle. His eyes were
closed in bliss. He could feel his finish creeping up on him, his
stones tightening in their sacs, his cock filling out even more.
He damn near screamed when Ben took his mouth away,
then resumed his cursing when Ben rose up like a shot and
forced his member back into his pants. "Son of a bitch!" Obie
hollered, twisting against the leather strip that held him.
"Don't stop now, you bastard!" His eyes widened when Ben
slid the knife out of his boot. Before Obie had the chance to
get nervous, Ben slit the cord and started throwing his clothes
at him.
"Somebody's coming."
"Son of a bitch," Obie said again as he dressed frantically.
Far from cooling his lust, almost being caught was making
him even harder, and it was no easy task to button his
trousers over his leaking cock. "Whoever it is, I'm gonna kill
'em." He could hear what Ben had heard now. It was a
wagon, and it was coming in fast.
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Ben had an odd expression on his face, like he'd just had a
premonition of something awful. Obie's erection abruptly
wilted away and a twisting, gnawing ache took up in his gut.
They burst out of the barn just as the wagon reached
them. Larry was driving, and Snow was—
Oh God. Oh, my dear God.
Obie watched the color drain from Ben's face.
There was so much blood.
Larry barely slowed long enough for them to jump on the
back of the wagon, then whipped the horses on to the main
house. They carried Snow inside and laid him out on the bed.
Snow's eyes were open, but they didn't look right. The
right one looked normal enough, but the left was big and dark
like a startled horse's. Both were fixed on nothing, blinking
slow and sluggish. Someone's shirt was wrapped around his
head, acting as a bandage. There was blood in his hair and in
his ears. Obie heard Lonnie send someone to town for the
doc, knew that men were rushing around for water, for
bandages, but his gaze was on the one man who wasn't
rushing at all.
Ben sat down on the side of the bed and stared at his
oldest friend. He raised a hand and waved it in front of those
sightless eyes, then let it drop to his side. The look on his
face made Obie's heart clench in his chest. "You've seen this
before."
Ben gave a slow nod. "Once. Fella got kicked in the head
by a mustang."
"He didn't make it." It wasn't a question.
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"No," Ben whispered, taking Snow's limp hand in his own.
His face was drawn, his eyes swamped in misery. "No, he
didn't."
Obie laid his hands on Ben's shoulders and pressed himself
against the man's back. He felt like he'd swallowed a rock, big
and heavy in his stomach. He knew that others were in the
room, doing their best to tend their friend, knew that at some
point the doctor came and went. None of that seemed
important or even real. The world narrowed down to him, his
lover, and the man on the bed. They stayed that way for half
the night, listening as Snow fought harder and harder to draw
breath.
It took almost four hours for him to die.
* * * *
They stepped onto the porch and straight into a whispered
argument, but the men fell quiet when they appeared. No one
had to ask. Ben's face told the story.
"Son of a bitch," Billy muttered, snatching the hat off his
head. "Goddamn son of a bitch."
Larry hunched in on himself, his face disappearing behind
the curtain of his hair. Lonnie dashed at his eyes with the
back of his hand.
It was Porter who finally spoke. "Show him."
All eyes turned to Temper, who flicked his gaze between
Porter and Ben. "You sure?"
"Show me what?" Ben's words came out like knives, and
Temper wisely gave in. He pulled the crop out of his jacket
and held it out without another word. Ben looked at it for a
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The Last Chance Ranch
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long moment, his lips thin and bloodless, his jaw clenched
tight. And then he snatched it from Temper's hand and strode
past them all, heading for the barn.
Lonnie jumped to his feet. "Oh Lord, he's gonna kill him."
He made as if to follow, but Obie held him up.
"I got him. You take care of Snow." With a glance over his
shoulder at the little cemetery, Obie ran to the barn. He had
to jump back when the Bastard plunged through the door and
took off down the road to town with Ben riding bareback and
hunched low over the stallion's neck. Obie tossed a saddle on
the fastest horse he could find and took off as well, hoping
like hell he could catch up with his lover.
And what then? If Ben was set on killing the captain, was
there anything in the world Obie could do to stop him? Did he
really want to?
Obie nearly killed the little filly, but he managed to keep
the black stallion in sight. It was too damn dark to be riding
this fast. The trees were sketchy shadows against a gray-blue
sky that seemed to reach out for him as they flashed by. Ben
rode the stallion into town and right up to the saloon, leaping
off the horse and pushing through the doors in the time it
took the filly to pull up. When Obie ran up the stairs and into
the saloon, the captain was sitting with his back to the door,
playing cards. Ben grabbed him by the scruff of his neck,
dragged him out of his chair like he weighed less than a
kitten, and flung him halfway across the room.
Obie spared a glance at the saloon's patrons, most of
whom he knew. They were silent to a man, frozen with shock,
and Obie knew how they felt. He'd never seen his lover so
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The Last Chance Ranch
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much as raise his voice, never mind his hand, to another
man. No one spoke or moved to interfere when Ben dragged
the captain to his feet by his collar and shoved him up against
the bar. He didn't say a word, just held the crop up in a grip
so tight his knuckles were white and his whole arm was
shaking.
The captain looked at the crop, and the color drained from
his face. He looked into Ben's eyes and saw murder there, his
own death looking back. A damp stain spread across his
trousers. The saloon was so quiet, Obie could hear the piss
hitting the fabric. For a long moment, nothing happened at
all.
Ben reared back and struck the captain across the face
with his own riding crop, a vicious blow that would scar the
man for life. By the third blow, the captain was shrieking and
trying to shield his head with his arms, only to squeal when
his fingers were brutally slashed. Again and again the crop fell
as Ben thrashed the little prick with all the strength in his
muscled body. When the captain was reduced to a sobbing, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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