Page 11 of Wellspring

THE SKY grew steadily darker as they rode along, the air hanging thick and heavy on Erick’s skin. “Rain soon,” Webster said from the wagon seat. “Good thing. It’ll cut down some of this dust.”

A streak of lightning brightened the sky, touching the horizon to the west. Seconds later, thunder cracked, making Zephyr dance beneath him.

Erick tightened the reins, murmuring softly in German until the stallion settled.

The first drops of rain hit his skin, warmer than he’d expected.

Another bolt of lightning flashed, the peal of thunder louder, and with no more warning the heavens opened.

Erick’s clothes were instantly drenched, and Zephyr nickered and shifted uneasily.

The sky darkened to an unhealthy greenish tinge, and the sudden sheets of water blurred the road in front of him.

“Well, fuck,” Webster said. He slapped the reins against the horses’ backs to urge them to move faster, but when they reached the bottom of the hill, the lowest point Erick could see, Webster pulled them to a halt and set the brake on the wagon before jumping down from the seat, water running off the brim of his hat and down his back to soak his clothes.

Erick might have taken a moment to appreciate the sight if it weren’t for the frown on Webster’s face and the urgency in his voice.

“Hobble Zephyr and help me get the draft horses unhitched. And pray to whatever god you believe in that we just get rain and not a twister. We’re sitting ducks out here if a twister blows in. ”

Erick wasn’t sure what a twister entailed, but if it was worse than the deluge currently battering them, he could live without experiencing one.

He dismounted and led Zephyr to the side of the wagon, then pulled a strip of leather from his saddlebag.

Once he’d secured the stallion’s front legs to keep him from bolting, he moved to the opposite side of the wagon from Webster to release the other two draft horses from their traces.

The animals didn’t seem troubled by the heavy rain, unlike Zephyr who flinched and neighed at each crack of thunder.

“I’ll put their hobbles on,” Webster said. “Get in the wagon before you get any more soaked.”

Erick did as Webster said because he’d already hobbled two horses and had the leather for the other two in his hand.

He grabbed his saddlebags and shook the water from his hat before climbing into the back of the wagon.

A moment later, Webster climbed in after him and dropped the oilcloth across the entrance, enclosing them in near—but dry—darkness.

“I was hoping for a spring shower, not a heavy storm.” Webster pulled a blanket off one of the boxes, tossed his hat onto the box, and used the blanket to wipe the water from his face.

He pulled his shirt off with a wry twist of his lips and laid it out across the wood, then peeled his union suit down to his waist. “Not that it’s going to dry much until the rain stops, but at least I can get dry myself.

I’ve got an extra shirt if you want. I don’t know how waterproof your saddlebags are. ”

Even in the dim light of the cramped wagon, Erick’s gaze couldn’t help but be drawn to Webster’s broad, bare chest and powerful arms. He swallowed past a suddenly dry throat and looked down at his own sodden shirt.

There was certainly no comparison, but it was foolish to sit in wet clothes and risk catching a chill.

He wrestled the buttons free and, following Webster’s example, pushed the shirt and the equally wet undergarment beneath it to his waist. He reached for the blanket Webster had used to dry himself, his forearm brushing against the cowboy’s torso, solid and warm against his chilled skin.

Suppressing a shiver, he drew his arm back quickly and scrubbed at whatever he could reach, not meeting Webster’s eyes.

Webster either didn’t notice or was too polite to react, because he simply dug in his gear until he pulled out a shirt, which he offered to Erick. “You don’t want to catch cold.”

Erick reached for it before realizing that Webster made no move to retrieve a second shirt for himself. “No need,” he answered, pulling the blanket around his shoulders. “I would not wish you to catch cold either.”

“Suit yourself.” Webster set the shirt on the wooden shipping container and bent to pull off his boots.

He grimaced as he poured water from them to seep between the floorboards of the wagon.

He tossed the boots aside and undid the buckle on his belt.

“I’d offer you a pair of pants, but I don’t think mine will fit you. You’re taller than I am.”

Judging that sitting in wet boots was a poor idea, Erick bent down to grasp one just as Webster thrust his dungarees and undergarment to the floor. Finding himself with his nose almost brushing Webster’s manhood, he sat up abruptly, the interior of the wagon suddenly steaming.

Webster seemed completely oblivious to his distress, drying off with another blanket before digging in his pack to pull out a dry union suit.

He stepped into the legs but only buttoned it as high as his waist. Erick was more grateful than ever for the lack of light.

Surely Webster wouldn’t be able to see his reaction under the circumstances.

After Webster sat down, Erick bent again to remove and drain the water from his own boots. He set them to the side but didn’t dare undress any further. He pulled the blanket down to cover as much of himself as he could and hoped fervently that the storm would pass quickly.

Webster leaned back against the nearest crate and closed his eyes, apparently content to wait out the storm in silence, but the stillness weighed on Erick, pressing in from all sides and leaving him feeling like he had nowhere to look but at Webster’s bare chest and barely covered legs.

He allowed himself a few moments to give in to temptation before he forced himself to close his eyes also.

He didn’t need to stare at Webster. The image of his body was burned into Erick’s mind.

He couldn’t stop himself from imagining every way he would touch and taste and lavish pleasure on Webster—on Cade—even though he didn’t dare hope the other man felt the same.

CADE FELT Heller’s gaze on him like a touch, but he held himself still, his eyes closed to mere slits, so much that it would appear to most people that they were closed completely, and let Heller look his fill.

He’d settled that way so Heller could change in relative privacy if he wanted to get out of his wet pants.

Even if his saddlebag wasn’t completely waterproof, the clothes inside would be drier than the ones he was wearing now, but all he’d done was take off his boots and stare at Cade.

No matter how foreign Heller’s ways, that couldn’t be simple curiosity, could it? That had to be genuine interest.

Cade’s cock stirred inside his union suit, but unless he got fully hard, it wouldn’t be noticeable beneath the loose fabric.

If Heller said anything, Cade could always spin a tale he’d find acceptable about who Cade was thinking about and why.

Heller never had to know Cade was reacting to him. Unless he wanted to know….

Cade pushed the thought aside, but once it had occurred to him, he couldn’t unthink it.

Heller was watching him. Maybe that was a question of being jammed into a cramped wagon soaking wet during a Texas thunderstorm, but Cade didn’t think so.

He could have stared at the roof of the wagon, at the shipping crates, hell, at a spot over Cade’s shoulder.

But he wasn’t. He was staring directly at Cade.

Oh, he didn’t linger for more than a few moments before he closed his own eyes and feigned sleep, but Cade didn’t need more than those few moments for hope to bloom in his chest, as tenacious as the scrub grass that grew around the ranch house at Wellspring.

Cade shifted under the guise of getting more comfortable and stretched in a way that would put his muscles on display.

Was Heller watching? He couldn’t tell without opening his eyes far enough to give himself away if Heller was watching through lowered lashes as Cade was doing.

Before Cade could risk a longer glance, a shrill equine shriek snapped Heller’s eyes open.

He tossed the blanket aside, pulled on his boots, and pushed his way under the oilcloth and out of the wagon faster than Cade had ever seen him move.

Cade slid to the entrance and nudged the oilcloth aside enough to see outside—what he could see through the sheets of rain.

Heller had grasped Zephyr’s head and was murmuring to him, words Cade couldn’t understand—probably German—but the tone was calm and confident.

The horse tried to pull away, and Heller held on, his biceps straining with the effort to hold the big head still.

Slowly Zephyr stopped shaking and pawing at the muddy ground.

Heller tugged at the shirt that still hung around his waist and spread it over Zephyr’s eyes, securing it by tying the sleeves under the horse’s jaw.

He stroked Zephyr’s neck until he stood quiet, then quickly untacked him.

With a final pat to the horse’s flank, he slung the saddle into the wagon and climbed back inside.

Cade didn’t bother trying to hide his appreciative stare as Heller got settled again.

Living with the Comanche, he had learned to live in harmony with nature rather than to view it as the enemy, something that was all too lacking in the world he now inhabited.

Seeing Heller risk his own safety to reassure his horse appealed to Cade in far deeper, more powerful ways than just an attractive body—not that there was anything wrong with Heller’s body.

“I don’t guess he saw a lot of storms like this in Prussia, or wherever he was before he got on that ship,” Cade said, because he had to say something.

He might not be hiding his stare, but he was not quite ready to ask Heller to hold him in the same solid embrace he’d used on Zephyr.

He didn’t want to drive Heller back out into the rain.

Heller bent to pull off his boots again, now liberally coated with mud.

“Once he knows it will not harm him, he will go better.” He glanced at his muddy hands, then raised an eyebrow and wiped them on the thighs of his dungarees.

Cade wasn’t sure why, but the incident seemed to have given Heller back some of his confidence.

At least he hadn’t swaddled himself up in the damn blanket again.

“We will both need to accustom ourselves, will we not?”

“You’re doing just fine,” Cade replied. “Hell of a lot better than I did when I first left the Comanche and had to get used to what passes for civilization around here. Let me tell you, it ain’t always very civilized.

” Heller made it a damn sight better than it had been before, although if Cade was honest, Wellspring wasn’t as bad as most of the ranches where all that mattered was making a buck, not the land or the people who might be hurt in the process.

A corner of Heller’s mouth twitched. “Perhaps not so different than what passes for society in the ‘civilized’ world. At least the dangers here are more direct.”

Cade laughed. “Yeah, there ain’t nothing veiled about a rattler or a twister, although we got our share of hidden dangers too.

Out on the range, might makes right more than it should, and the strong take what they want if there’s no one stronger to stop them, even if what they want ain’t theirs to take.

The people at Wellspring ain’t like that, but without old man Roarke around anymore, the neighboring ranchers are like vultures, waiting for the slightest sign of weakness.

They can’t imagine Miz Roarke is strong enough to run the ranch on her own because they’ve got their own wives so far under their thumbs that they can’t make hide nor hair of an independent woman. ”

“‘Might makes right’ is a philosophy not limited to your range.” Heller slicked the water from his chest, then smoothed down his windblown and water-soaked hair. “In my experience, not showing weakness is seldom enough. The strong must protect those who cannot protect themselves.”

Cade had been right in his snap decision that Heller would be a good fit for Wellspring.

“Just don’t assume, even for a minute, that Miz Roarke can’t protect herself.

Sure, we all watch out for her, but we watch out for each other too.

She’d have our hides if we even suggested she needed it more than someone else. ”

The wind picked up, shaking the oilcloth covering the wagon.

Cade frowned when the flap over the entrance blew back.

He pushed to his knees and scooted past Heller to secure it in place.

The tight space gave him the perfect excuse for brushing against his bare arm as he passed.

His skin was cool to the touch, making Cade want to warm him up.

If he were still with the Comanche, if the Army had never come and Payahoko hadn’t been killed, if he had the freedom to act according to his desires rather than according to rules that would never truly make sense to him, he would pull Heller into his arms, rub their bare skin together until heat sparked through them both.

He’d pull the blanket around them and strip them both bare, bring them pleasure in any and every way Heller would let him.

Hands, lips, ass. He’d give it all right there in that drafty, damp wagon to a man who’d dashed outside to calm a frightened horse without thought to his own comfort or safety and talked about the strong protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

But the Army had come and Cade had left and he didn’t have that freedom. And Heller lived by the white man’s strange rules, so Cade did none of those things.

Heller shivered at the slight touch, but Cade let the moment pass. He lived in the white man’s world now.