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had forced them to remove their heavy jackets. Travis stood with his back to Ray, the sleeves of his blue-checked shirt rolled up to his elbows. The material pulled across his back as he moved, flattened against taut, defined muscle. Ray found himself mesmerized by the play of lean muscles as they contracted and extended from shoulder to hip. He imagined that back bare, his hands sliding slowly over warm skin, tracing the curves and contours of each muscle with his tongue.
    Travis reached behind and shoved a red bandanna into his back jeans pocket. The movement grabbed Ray’s eyes and pulled them along with it. His gaze remained focused on that bandanna—in the back pocket of well-worn, butt-hugging Wranglers—a red flag taunting an angry bull.
    Ray couldn’t pull his eyes away, so he squeezed them shut. The lack of sight only amplified sound. Travis’s even breathing and the low murmur of his deep whiskey voice as he soothed the horse’s anxieties.
    What Ray wouldn’t give to have that soothing voice murmur in his ear, encouraging him, coaxing him to obey the other man’s commands? His skin tingled, and heat rushed south as his cock agreed.
    Ray cursed under his breath.
    “What’s that, Ray?”
    His eyes popped open, and the blood that had been pooling south suddenly reversed engines and raced north, flooding his neck and cheeks. He took a deep breath and said a small prayer of thanks for small miracles. Travis still had his back to him. Ray rubbed his own bandanna over the back of his heated neck. He cleared his throat and, wincing at the roughness of his voice, said, “Uh, I see why you’re the best in the country.”
    Travis glanced over his shoulder at Ray. Those magnetic eyes locked with his, and Travis flashed one of the most stunning smiles Ray had ever seen. The sheer brilliance of it hit him like a hoof square in the center of his chest with enough force to shove him back a step.
    Shit on a stick.
    He was done for.

Chapter Four
     
    “Hold on, I’m coming,” Travis hollered as he stepped out of the small bathroom and wrapped a towel around his waist. He crossed the small room in three long strides, dripping a trail of water as he went, and swung the cabin door open. The blanket of cold air that attacked his exposed, wet skin was more refreshing than chilling after his hot shower.
    Jesse stood on the porch with his mouth open, about to speak, but the words had apparently died on their way out. The kid’s gaze suddenly riveted to Travis’s bare chest, traveled slowly downward, until it got hung up on the bulge behind the thin blue towel.
    Well, well, well . Travis hadn’t seen a perusal that blatant outside a gay bar. So, it seemed Jesse Davis was gay. How the fuck about that? Wouldn’t Sam just shit a brick?
    He bit back a laugh at the irony, but couldn’t stop the smile breaking out across his face. “Something I can help you with, Jesse?”
    Jesse’s head shot up to meet Travis in the eye; shock and embarrassment played out on his young face. The kid’s neck and cheeks flushed such a brilliant red, Travis thought he’d pop an artery. Jesse’s jaw worked silently a couple of times before he was able to force sound out of his mouth. “I, uh, we”—he cleared his throat—“we’re…me and the guys…we’re gonna light a fire and toss back a few beers.”
    Travis looked over Jesse’s shoulder and saw Clay and Ross throwing logs and kindling into the fire pit, creating a tepee. He hedged. “Okay.”
    “Uh, yeah, so…you want to join us?” Belatedly, Jesse held up his hands, a bottle of Wild Fly Ale in each. A cold beer actually sounded pretty good.
    “Sure. Just let me dry off and throw some clothes on.”
     
    Travis rarely made friends on the ranches he worked. He made a point of keeping his head down, doing his job, and moving on the second he was done. No attachments or commitments meant no problems, disappointments, or hurt.
    But these men sitting around a roaring