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“Sounds like a plan.” Dalton pinched his butt. “We’re a little spunky.”

“Good way to start the day. I’ll be right in.” He would let Dalton do his business first. That they were still a bit new for….

“You got it.” Dalton whistled, heading into the bathroom. That sweet little body moved like a dream, all loose-limbed and easy.

“Damn.” He slapped his thigh. Life was good.

When he walked into the bathroom, Dalton stepped out without a word. Tank did his thing, then started the water. He stuck his head out. “Come on, honey.”

Dalton was bent at the waist, stretching himself out. Oh, that was nice. He stared some, but just smiled when Dalton straightened up and came on over.

They got in the shower and started cleaning each other, touching in a curious way, learning each other’s scars. Dalton had a terrible mark on his leg from being gored. Tank had heard about that. His were loved on too, Dalton touching shoulder and knees and hip.

Neither of them bothered to explain anything. If you were in their line of work, each scar told its own story. Bulls, horses, other men—they all left their own kind of mark, and God knew you started early when you made your living rodeoing.

The hot water felt almost as good as the pool, so they stayed in there as long as they could, soaping each other up, loving on each other.

“We’re turning pruney,” Tank finally said, rinsing soap off Dalton’s chest.

“It’s a luxury, huh? To just be?”

“You know it, and I love it, but….”

“But I’m hungry, and we’ve got things to see.”

They headed down to the pool grill for their breakfast, since it was included, and gorged themselves on omelets and hash browns and toast and this amazing rich oatmeal.

God, he was full as a tick.

They sipped their coffee for a while before they went back to the room. “You got hiking boots?” Tank asked.

“I do, yeah.” Dalton headed into the unused bedroom and started lacing up.

Tank grabbed his boots, an old straw hat crushed in his bag, and waters for the cooler.

Dalton stood up, gimme cap on, UT T-shirt clinging to every inch of him.

It was gonna be a ways hotter today than the weather forecaster said it was. “Ready? Do we need trail mix or something?”

“I got some bar deals. You want them?”

“Sure. That way we don’t have to rush.”

“I’ll get ’em.” Dalton grabbed a little drawstring backpack and packed it up.

“I figure I’ll drive since you got your trailer hooked up.” He’d been coming into the event on the fly, and he’d bunked with Tony.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Dalton snatched up his wallet and a pair of sunglasses. “Let’s hasta.”

“Yep.” He hustled out to unlock the truck. No one wanted to start Hanging Lake after about 10:00 a.m.

They headed into the canyon toward Carbondale, the river burbling happily beside them. Tank almost missed the damn exit because it was one of those crazy things that went zooming off the highway and curved and dipped. They made it, both of them whooping.

“Lord have mercy, that’s a hell of a get-off.”

“It is. Not as bad as the get-on in West, though.”

“No shit on that. It’s worth it, though, for the pecan rolls.”