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“How’d things go for you, out in Oregon?”

Rusty jolted out of his distraction at Will’s words. His mare, Fancy, danced a step sideways but he moved with her easily, nine months not long enough that he’d forgotten how to keep his seat. The cool Kansas breeze brought the scent of grass and manure, pulling him into the present. “Sorry, what?”

Will tipped his Stetson back and met Rusty’s eyes.

“Just wonderin’. You’re awful quiet since I got back.

” Will had been out on the coast for Scotty, watching the Rafters win their Vancouver series in five games, but then had come back to the ranch while Casey stayed to cheer Scott on in the next one.

“Making up for Kris,” Rusty joked, although his best friend wasn’t that loud.

“Must be hard, coming home and not seeing your family?” Will let his tone tip that up into a question.

Rusty was happy to run with that painful truth. “Yeah, feels weird. I drove up County Road 7 the first day and hit that turn toward home and… kept on going past.”

“You think your folks might’ve come round a bit, now they’ve done without you for near on a year?”

He shook his head. “I can’t imagine. Mike’s dead—” He swallowed, cleared his throat.

“And I expect they’re acting like I am too.

” He’d thought about options for the last ten days, maybe heading to the high school to see if his brother Roy was at baseball practice, or ducking up to the house to see his mom on Saturday morning, when Dad would be off at the farmer’s market with Jake.

He’d chickened out every time. He couldn’t imagine how seeing family could go worse than the last time, but he didn’t want to find out.

“Well, you ever want some backup, let me know. I’d go with you.”

“Thanks.” Will might be four inches shorter than Rusty, forty pounds lighter, and almost twice his age, but there was something about his quiet presence that’d feel comforting at a man’s back in a tight spot.

Not that Rusty planned on taking him up on the offer.

To lighten the mood, Rusty teased, “So are you cheering for Scott to win the Cup or eager to have him back home sooner?”

Will tugged his hat down straight. “Can I say both?”

“Sure. Both is good.”

They found the errant cow and her calf, herded her back through the gap in the fence, and stopped to fix the wire.

It wasn’t till they were riding home side by side, the cow off grazing with the rest, that Will said, “Scotty’s worried about Cross.

Said he was going to show up to that last home playoff game and then didn’t.

Said he’s real quiet on the team chat. Do you hear from him? ”

Not like I want to. “Some. He messages me.”

Rusty’s phone had a long string of messages he’d sent Cross over the last two weeks. A view of the sunrise from that first hotel in the mountains with, ~Almost makes it worth getting up early. Trying for 14 hours today.

And Cross’s reply. ~Pretty. Good luck.

A picture from where he’d paused for lunch in Utah not far from Salt Lake. ~Looks a bit like Eastern WA. Shorter mountains though.

Cross. ~True.

A photo of the “Welcome to Kansas” sign. ~Home state. A couple of hours to go. My ass really wants out of this seat after three days.

He’d hoped for maybe a joke about his ass, but got back, ~I bet.

“Rusty?”

He realized Will had said something he’d missed. “Huh? Didn’t catch that.”

Will’s blue eyes were shrewd but his quick smile looked kind. “No big. Let’s go see how that new kid’s doing painting the shed. Maybe lend him a hand.”

Rusty wasn’t sure about the abrupt change of subject, but since he didn’t want to talk about Cross, he ran with it.

“Sure thing. Who is this guy?” Will was set to take in a couple of out-of-work teens from a big-city charity for summer work this year.

He’d picked the first of them up from the bus stop that morning, but Rusty’d been out checking fence when they got back.

“Name’s Ayden. Says he’s never been on a ranch before but he’s willing to learn. Dingo liked him.”

“Dingo likes everyone.” That dog was a barking fool, but he loved people.

“Mags liked him too.”

“I guess that’s some kind of testimony.” She was a pickier pup. Rusty rubbed at a patch of dirt on his jeans and nudged Fancy to a jog. “He’s queer-friendly, right? I mean, he has to be, coming here.”

“I asked the agency to send queer kids who aged out of foster care. I didn’t ask Ayden’s identity, but hopefully, yeah.”

“Good.” Rusty had enough to handle without some guy looking at him funny here at the closest thing he now had to a home.

They jogged most of the way back, then walked the horses the last quarter mile to cool them down, unsaddled, and turned them out into the paddock by the barn.

Will led the way around to the calving shed.

The back of the building as they approached looked rough, but when they rounded the side, the front gleamed red.

Up on a step ladder, a slim young guy wielded a roller and paint tray, whistling to himself.

“Hey, Ayden,” Will called, soft enough not to startle the guy. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty good, Mr. Rice.”

“I’m Will. Come on, I told you that.”

Ayden twisted to look down. “Sure, yeah. Will. Scraping took a while but I’m getting paint on it now.”

Rusty blinked because fuck, Ayden was hot.

Not Rusty’s type, but if you liked slim and small-featured with pouty lips, big eyes, and straight copper bangs escaping from under a backwards ball cap, hell, yeah.

Barely looked eighteen, but had to be, because Will said they could only take adults.

Ayden’s bare arms below the T-shirt were more wiry than muscular, and pale as winter, like the rest of his face.

Redhead skin. Rusty said, “You wearing sunscreen? Don’t want to burn. ”

Ayden laughed. “SPF like a hundred, yeah, and I’ll probably burn anyway. Hi.”

“This is Rusty,” Will said. “He’s a hockey player like Scott, out on the west coast, but back for the summer. Rusty, Ayden.”

“Not like Scott,” Rusty corrected. “Scott’s an NHL star in the Stanley Cup playoffs. The league I play in, we qualify for food stamps.”

“Scott says you’ll be in the NHL soon,” Will noted.

Rusty ducked his head to hide how much he appreciated that vote of confidence. “Well, this summer I’m just a hired hand. Have you done ranch work before, Ayden?”

“Nope. City boy. But I like animals and I’m not afraid of work.”

“Pretty sure you’re provin’ that with this paint job,” Will said. “You’re farther along than I expected. Rusty, you wanna grab some painting clothes and help out?”

“Sure. Can do.”

Before heading inside, Rusty snapped a quick selfie of himself, the shed, and Will, and sent it to Cross. ~Spent the morning with cows, but a paint roller will be my afternoon job. Working in the sun really makes me miss the ice.

He was surprised, a few minutes later as he stripped off his riding jeans for some crappy ones, to hear his phone ping three messages in quick succession.

He zipped up, then took a look.

~Hope it goes well.

~Who’s that with you?

~Not that it’s my business.

He blinked at the replies, trying to process them, and was about to send back “that’s Will, duh,” because Cross knew Will perfectly well.

Then a quick scroll back showed that he’d caught Ayden in the photo, his cap off as he rubbed his hair, the sunlight catching that red mop and highlighting Ayden’s cheekbones and lips.

He looked hot as hell. No wonder Cross wanted to know.

~That’s Ayden. A new hand for the summer. Ayden’s foster care background wasn’t something he needed to reveal.

~Looks like a kid. Is he even eighteen?

Rusty bristled at that because, fuck, Cross was still hung up on ages. ~Yeah, Will doesn’t hire kids

~Right. Of course. Is he a friend of yours?

~Not yet. Just met him. Hoping he will be. Ayden seemed friendly enough and the summer would go a lot better if they worked together well.

~Sure.

That short answer sounded like Cross checking out again, and Rusty wasn’t ready to let go of the first real conversation they’d had in ten days. ~Hey, I sent you a selfie. You have to send me one.

He waited, wondering if he’d gone too far. But after almost a minute that he spent picking through his T-shirts for the rattiest one, his phone chimed again.

The photo Cross sent showed his head and shoulders, clearly sitting in a wheelchair in a garden somewhere.

Presumably the rehab, since Rusty hoped Cross would at least mention if he left.

Small pink flowers dotted the bush behind the wheelchair and the dapple of sunlight on Cross’s face suggested he was under a tree.

But sunlight didn’t hide the dark circles under his eyes and his expression looked pinched and tight.

Rusty wondered if he was still in pain, or dealing with bad news. He wanted to be there, but that wasn’t something he could say. He settled for, ~At least your hair is starting to grow out, thank fuck

~Didn’t you like it shaved?

~It’s hot but I want something I can stick my hands into. If you leave it the fuck alone you might have that back the next time I’m there

Rusty worried that was maybe too much, but he needed Cross to know he was still all in.

~I won’t shave it again.

That was something, Cross agreeing to what Rusty wanted. Except maybe that wasn’t right either. ~It’s your hair, though.

~You’re the one looking at it.

That was good. Suggested Cross wanted Rusty to look. He replied, ~Hell, yeah. Lots of looking. I don’t have many pics of you though. Don’t want to jerk off to your team portrait. You could send me more.

That was followed by a long, long pause.

Long enough for Rusty to put his socks and boots back on, choose a cap he’d rather get paint on than his Stetson, and kick himself around the room half a dozen times for pushing Cross.

Too much, too soon. He knew Cross wanted to go slow with the sex stuff, even before he wrecked his legs.

He would be jerking off to thoughts of Cross, like he had for weeks, but he didn’t need to point that out in conversation.

He was halfway out the door when his phone pinged twice. He almost didn’t want to look, but paused in the dim entryway.

Two messages. ~Don’t you have painting to do?

But followed by another selfie of Cross face-palming, eyes half hidden by his strong hand.

Rusty sent back, ~Thanks. Then ducked out into the sunshine where he could overthink that mixed message to death while slathering red paint on weathered wood.