Calvin’s Cowboy Read Free Page A

Calvin had decided to accept the quote; if nothing else, the eye-candy would be worth the few extra bucks. Also, throughout their conversation, Calvin’s gaydar had been pinging softly. He suspected Brock was deeply closeted.
    Their handshake and eye contact at the door were held a second longer than those of a straight guy. This gave Calvin further support to his growing theory that Brock was a kindred spirit.
    Once he had bid the tall drink of water goodbye, Calvin closed the door and rested his back against it. “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus!”
     
    Chapter 2
     
    Brock looked up from his drink and saw the last man he wanted to see. “Of all the motherfuckin’ gin joints in all the motherfuckin’ towns in all the motherfuckin’ world, he walks into mine,” he growled at Calvin.
    “And here was I thinking this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” Calvin picked up Brock’s hat from the stool and sat down.
    “Why the fuck did you call him?” Brock asked Hal, the barkeeper.
    “It was either him or the sheriff.” Hal continued to wipe down the already pristine bar top.
    “Thanks a bunch!” Brock knew he was being an ass, but didn’t give a damn.
    He’d planned on going straight from the old Hamilton place to line dancing, but seeing Calvin and how rich and successful he’d become had put him in a bad mood, so after leaving Calvin’s folks’ place, Brock had pointed his truck at Hal’s Bar & Grill for a drink before going on to the dance. One drink had led to two, then…
    “So, Gary Cooper, ready to saddle up and mosey on back to the bunkhouse?” Calvin handed the Resistol to Brock.
    Brock put the hat on, annoyed that the fuckin’ New York asshole could be so chipper, when he felt like total shit. It wasn’t fair. He should have been where Calvin was now. All successful and shit. After all, he had been the fuckin’ big man on campus, star baseball jock with girls hanging all over him. And what had Calvin been? A fucking nerdy fag, that’s what!
    “Not fuckin’ fair!” Brock growled. “Give us another Jack for the road, Hal.”
    “Sorry, Brock, you’ve had enough for tonight. Go home and sleep it off.”
    “I said I want another!” Brock rose from his bar stool and wobbled.
    “Whoa there, cowboy,” Calvin caught him.
    God, he smells good , Brock thought. But he couldn’t—no he mustn’t—feel like that about another guy. Not in public anyway. “Get your fuckin’ pansy hands off of me!”
    Brock fought to get free. The barroom began to tilt. He fixed his gaze on the shelves of liquor behind the bar to steady himself, but the strong hands never left him.
    “Come on; let’s get you out of here before you draw even more attention to yourself.” Brock heard Calvin, but his voice seemed a million miles away. “Has he settled his tab?”
    “Uh, no. But I can get it from him later.”
    “It’s okay, I’ll take care of it, just tell me how much.”
    Brock, still with his eyes fixed on the shelves, leaned further into Calvin’s side. God, the man had good muscles for a swanky New York lawyer or whatever the hell he was.
    “Come on, pardner, time to hit the trail.”
    “Not your fuckin’ partner,” Brock mumbled.
    “Whatever. Come on, let’s get some fresh air. See if that will sober you up some.”
    Brock thought the idea was good, so he began putting one foot in front of the other. The room swayed and he felt himself pitching forward.
    “I got ya.” Calvin’s grip around his waist tightened.
    Brock leaned into the embrace. Calvin felt strong, safe. Whoa! Brock jerked free and almost cannoned into a guy just coming out of the bathroom.
    “Watch where you’re going!” the guy said.
    “Fuck you, asshole.”
    “Brock, can it.” Calvin got a hold of him again. “Sorry, man. He’s had too much to drink and—”
    Brock didn’t know what the guy said in reply because Calvin picked up the pace and the next thing he knew they were in the parking lot.