Page 7 of Baker (Bastian Brothers #1)

Chapter Four

A nger and something, perhaps even a bit deeper, had my thoughts clouded.

I threw open the big sliding door to the stable, intent on grabbing Prissy and riding to Canada to become a Mountie, and skidded to an abrupt stop.

About twenty feet from me stood Hanley Welsh, stripped down to his jeans, with a wet washcloth in his hand, eyes flaring wide at the intrusion.

His chest was a lovely sight, covered with soft light brown hair, some of the curls reflecting gold in the overhead light.

Firm and fit, he had abs for days and a well-defined treasure trail that led downward into the unzipped top of his battered old Levi’s.

“Shit!” he gasped, holding the wet cloth up to cover one nipple. “Fuck. You scared me. Whistle or something.” He let the cloth fall from his chest as I stood there like a dipshit, eyes roaming over all that damp manly flesh like a creeper. “Did you need to get a horse?”

“Sorry, no, sorry.” I turned my head so fast my neck cracked, my sight flying to Prissy peeking over the stall door after hearing my voice. “I mean…” He stared at me as I bumbled over myself. “I was…no, no, I’m not taking a horse.”

I had been strongly considering it, but I wouldn’t have really taken my mare out in the dark.

There were too many dangers, such as reduced visibility and wildlife meetups, as well as the higher spook ratio for some horses in the dark.

They are prey animals after all, so no, I would not have put my girl at risk.

“Okay, so you’re out here to visit her then?

” He chucked the cloth into an old black rubber feed dish that he had scavenged for a washbasin and shrugged into a soft blue flannel shirt.

The long hair on his neck was wet still as were some wild strands that tickled his brow.

“Or were you hoping to strike up a conversation with me?”

I blinked softly, unsure whether he was flirting or if I was just projecting. The man was pretty, no doubt, and a good hard fuck in the barn would surely purge my head of the family horseshit.

“To be honest, I forgot you were out here.”

He placed a hand on his heart. “Ouch. My poor male pride.”

That made me smile just a little. “No, nothing like that. We had a little family dispute, and I needed air.”

“Ah gotcha. I know how that goes. Well, you’re welcome to stay.

It is your barn after all.” He swept an arm in a grand fashion, then fell into a terrible French accent.

“We serve only ze finest fresh hay and grain. Ze bedding is always fresh and ze guests quiet.” Prissy whinnied.

“Well, some of ze guests,” he amended in that same ghastly accent.

“Come, pull up a haybale, Monsieur! I have some granola bars for ze appetizer followed by canned stew for ze main meal.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle as he flitted about and tugged a bale from in front of Pumpernickel’s stall for me to sit on.

“I hope you never use that accent if you go to France,” I said, lingering just inside the open door, hands in my pockets.

“Oh trust me, I didn’t.” He nudged at the bale with his booted foot, then jerked his head at the door. “Think we can close that? My nipples are hard enough to cut glass.”

“Shit, sorry.” I turned to yank the door closed while forcing myself not to think about those dark cherry nipples I had inadvertently seen. “Don’t want the guests to get chilled.”

When I turned back to him, his gaze dropped to the ground. Ah, so he had been checking out my ass. Maybe that hard fuck in the barn would become a reality. God knows it had been ages since I’d gotten off with a partner.

He took a seat on a bale in front of Persimmon. The old gray gelding craned his neck out to snuffle at Hanley’s damp hair. Hanley smiled gently as he broke off a bite of a granola bar to sneak to Persimmon.

“You’re spoiling my horses,” I commented, walking over to join him. The barn was chilly, not cold, though. The horses threw off body heat, and with the doors closed, no drafts were moving through.

“He’s pushy,” Hanley replied as I sat down with a huff of exhaustion. “Why do all their names start with a P?” He jerked his scruffy chin at the hand-painted name placards on the stalls.

“Oh, that’s my ex-wife’s doing. She likes to name things in lettered groups. Her cats are Yasmine and Yodel.”

“Ah, sorry about the marriage.”

I shrugged. “Not her fault. She tried her best. I wasn’t the easiest man to live with, still ain’t if you ask Granny.

Family trait, I’m ashamed to say. The final straw was when Ollie found me pass out drunk in public with a well-hung bull rider.

” His eyes rounded momentarily. “Yeah, not my finest moment. She filed for divorce. I agreed to it, wholly uncontested, obviously. Then I dried out. A day late and a dollar short as the saying goes. Want to see my shiny tokens?”

“Sure.” I dug out a couple of older ones.

Something about having a chip in my pocket helped me stay sober.

When the urge got strong, like it was building to now with my siblings deciding to chuck it all and play fucking Bonanza IRL, I could finger the chip and remind myself I was stronger than the urge.

So far, so good. “I still go once a month to group in Bastian Grange.”

“Congrats on getting sober. I know it’s hard. My sister is still fighting that fight.”

“Sorry. She drinks?”

He sat back to rest his shoulders on Persimmon’s stall door. The horse would not leave him be, and Hanley seemed okay with horse slobber on his clean cheeks.

“No, she’s been into some pretty hard drugs since she was a teenager. We’ve done all we can as a family unit now, short of locking her in my parents’ basement and that’s against the law so…” He lifted a shoulder, a wave of sadness darkening his green eyes. “So, yeah, I get the struggle. Congrats.”

That ready smile was back. Charming as hell it was, but I rather liked knowing he had some dark stuff hidden behind the devil-may-care exterior. Gave him a little character.

“There’s some cold bottled water in the fridge over there.” I jerked my chin in the direction of a stack of empty feed bags. “You might have to dig for it but help yourself.”

“Thanks.” He rose and walked over to an empty stall that held all manner of tack that should have been stored in the tack room, but I just never got around to it.

Just like cleaning the barn of empty bags of horse feed.

I took the opportunity to eyeball his ass once more, making sure that when he reached the dusty little dorm fridge, my sight was on my horse.

He returned with two bottles. One he passed to me before sitting down again then offered me a granola bar. “Here.”

“I’m good, thanks.” I’d eaten dinner. No dessert because I’d been a bad boy. I did take the water though. “We had a big meal.” I eyed the bar. “Okay, just to be neighborly.”

“You sure?” I nodded, so he handed the granola bar over then bit into what remained of his. “So you’ve lived here all your life?” I cocked an eyebrow while cracking open my water. “Ollie likes to talk.”

That he did. I would have to get in his ear about that the next time I ran into my old friend.

“I have, yeah.” The water was icy cold as it splashed down my throat.

A good thing, probably, as I did have to chill out before returning to the house.

“My father cut and ran when I was about five, leaving me and my mom here with my grandmother. Mom didn’t take the abandonment well.

She was already dealing with a lot of mental health issues, which were pretty much largely chalked up to her being a hysterical woman by the old doctor in town.

” His lips flattened. “Him walking out on her to make her a single parent was too much for her. She uhm…” This was the part that always stuck in my throat despite my being forty years old.

“She overdosed on some cattle tranquilizers. She’s buried where you found us planting my old man, but he’s out in the blazing sun while she’s resting by some purple coneflowers. ”

“Jesus, Baker, I am so sorry.” He wiped his hand on his pant leg to reach over to give my forearm a squeeze. “That’s tough for a kid to go through.”

I shook it off with an awkward grunt. “It was rough. But Granny and I…we made it work, somehow. Over the years, we had to downsize a lot, but we’re still here.”

“That’s impressive.”

“Meh, it’s not all that, to be honest. But we’re still on family land. They’ll have to take us off this old dirt patch in body bags she likes to say.”

“It’s beautiful land, really. I’ve been around the world a couple of times over and have photographed some of the most gorgeous landscapes and animals in existence, but for some reason, I never looked in my own back yard.

Which is odd because I grew up watching Marty Stouffer.

He was the one who made me want to capture wildlife on film at a young age.

My dad bought me a used Nikon for my tenth birthday after I used up every roll of film for his Kodak instant camera, taking shots of a cluster of swallowtails drinking out of a mud puddle. ”

I chuckled softly and quietly sipped. Sitting here with him was relaxing. He had a nice way of spinning a yarn.

“And the rest is history as they say,” I chimed in and he nodded.