Roped In

March 16, 2022 by
Contributors: Jodi Payne, BA Tortuga
Series: On the Ranch Series #2
Genre: , , , , , ,
Release Date: May 10, 2022

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but sometimes distance makes people drift apart.

Rope Canutt has announced his retirement from bull riding and is making the most of his final year on the circuit, riding the big shows and resting in between so he can finish the season on a high note. He isn’t sure what’s next for him. He has no plan yet and nowhere to go, especially since his family sold their ranch a few years back.

Jude Sharpe remembers Rope fondly from their younger days in Austin. Mostly he remembers how hot the rodeo cowboy was and how much fun they had hooking up every time their paths crossed. That was a long time ago, and Jude’s been married and lost his husband to cancer in the years since they’ve seen each other. Now he’s raising a son alone.

When bull riding comes to New York City, Jude’s consulting firm uses their private box to entertain clients from Houston, and Jude brings his son Silas along to see the show. Rope is riding and Jude hopes to introduce Silas to a real bull rider. They’ve each lived a whole lifetime apart, and Jude and Rope aren’t sure how much they have in common anymore. So will they be drawn to each other when their paths cross again?

The books in this series are standalones and can be read in any order.

Buy the Book: Amazon~~Barnes & Noble~~iBooks~~Publisher~~Kobo~~Smashwords~~Universal eBook Links

Also in this series:

 

Chapter One 

 

“Can I get a hat?” 

“No, you don’t need a hat, buddy.” 

“Daddy! Everyone here has a cowboy hat on.” 

Ah, the familiar refrain of how life wasn’t fair. Jude shrugged. “I don’t.” 

Silas rolled his eyes. “Please?” 

“Not tonight, bud.” 

Jude could understand why Silas wanted a hat; what kid didn’t want to be a cowboy? At seven, Silas was right at that age where he was impressed with every kind of uniform. But growing up in New York, Silas had seen lots of cops and firefighters and construction workers. He hadn’t ever seen cowboys that weren’t on TV. 

It had been a long time since Jude had seen one too. In fact, he wasn’t all that comfortable being here tonight. But he and several colleagues were entertaining clients and their families to celebrate the closing of their latest deal and skipping out wasn’t an option. 

Usually the firm went for hockey or basketball games, but this client was a big investment firm based outside Houston, so the marketing team had given them the hospitality suite for night one of the annual bull riding event at Madison Square Garden. 

Bull riders. Yeah. That had been a lifetime ago. 

“See? They have hats too!” As they approached the suite, Silas pointed to a handful of kids with little plastic cowboy hats on. 

Now, that was a possibility. “You want one of those?” 

“Please, Daddy?” 

“Hey, Jude! We’re right in here.” 

The Beatles song played in his mind. Yes, even at thirty-four years old, he did it too. 

“Hey, David. Whoa, Silas! Look at all of this.” He led Silas inside and showed him the buffet, which was set up in front of a backdrop of a big red barn. At the end of the buffet was a stack of swag, including the plastic cowboy hats, pins, and T-shirts. 

“Hats!” Silas looked at him for permission, and he nodded. Free swag for the win. 

“Lord have mercy, this is a good spread.” One of the wives with cotton candy hair and smoky eyes smiled at him. “Seriously. This is wild—I came all the way from Texas to New York to see a bull riding.” 

Her husband had brought her here so he could sign what was probably the most lucrative deal of his career, but he wasn’t going to say that. Jack was a good client and a better person. “It’s a novelty here. Something we only get to see on TV. It’s popular though, they say it sells out every year. Have you been to New York before?” 

“No, strangely enough. I’ve been to Boston, DC, LA, but this is my first time here. It’s so fun. I’ve had a ball exploring.” When she bounced, her earrings and boobs bounced, but her hair didn’t move. 

He remembered this was work and didn’t stare, but that was fascinating. A cheer went up and he glanced toward the arena floor. Whoever that cowboy was must have made his eight. “I like that sound.” 

“Daddy! Daddy, that cow’s butt is dirty!” 

He glanced over in time to see a shit-covered bull backside up on the big screen. Yay. 

“Yep, that’s pretty gross.” He shook his head and grinned at Jack’s wife. She had a name. He’d been introduced, but he couldn’t remember. “Kids.” 

“Aren’t they amazing? I have five at home, so I totally feel you.” She winked at Silas. “At least it’s not smell-o-vision, right?” 

Silas wrinkled his nose. “Ew.” 

“Did you get a drink, Jude? Oh, hey, Camilla. Things are starting to heat up out there, I think Jack has a seat for you.” 

Camilla. He would never have remembered that. David to the rescue. 

David leaned over close. “Apparently between the sections, they’ll send cowboys up to make nice and sign things, so that will be exciting.” 

“Oh yeah? A bunch of Wrangler butts. Should be a good time.” And a little too close for comfort. “Probably not the celebrity types though, right?” 

“I haven’t the slightest idea. I’m just pleased that they are sending people up. It will go over well with the Texans, I think.” 

“Oh. For sure. Did you see Kevin’s email? He’s already gunning for more work with them.” David handed him a beer. “Thanks.” 

“I’m not sure bull riding is my thing. Most of these guys are just getting tossed.” 

“Sometimes it starts slow. It gets more exciting as the night goes on.” 

David raised a curious eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were a fan.” 

“I have…friends that ride. Had a friend. A while ago.” And it was time to shut his mouth. 

“Really? You? That’s—fascinating. Seriously. I wouldn’t have imagined.” David’s eyes went wide. 

“No, most people wouldn’t. It’s like you and your pre-grad school singing career.” He winked at David and held out his beer. “Cheers.” 

“Right. Cheers. That’s cool.” David rolled his eyes and looked out the window. “I’m going to go make sure everyone’s having a good time.” 

“Sounds good.” That worked like a charm. 

“Daddy, can we watch?” Silas had a huge hot dog in one hand and a Coke in the other. 

“Yes. Let me take that Coke.” He took it, and left it on the counter, trading it for a bottle of water instead and leading the way out to the leather-covered seats. “We’re watching in style, bud. Check it out.” 

“Whoa!” 

He let Silas choose where to sit and settled in next to him. 

“Have you ever been on a cow, Daddy? Do you think it hurts when they fall? How does the cow know what to do?” Silas was bright-eyed, watching everything from the gate pullers to the clown. 

“I haven’t been on one, but I can tell you that it definitely hurts when they fall.” He had no idea how the bulls knew what to do, but they definitely knew they had a job out there. 

He looked at the card that had been on his seat, which listed who was riding when, and scanned it, knowing he’d find the rider he was looking for. He didn’t know why he was so anxious about running into Rope Canutt again, because that was years ago. Another lifetime. But it had been less of a breakup and more of a fizzle, and he’d always felt badly for not ending it right. 

Apparently not badly enough to quit being a coward and pick up the phone, though. 

Rope was on the list, sure enough, in the fourth section of riders. Not at the end with the most famous guys, not at the beginning with the newbies, but in the middle. 

That wasn’t surprising; he knew Rope was retiring at the end of this season. Jude had been checking in over the years, watching him ride, following Rope’s career. Not like a hard-core fan, but with interest. At arm’s length. 

“Daddy!” A rider went down, the bullfighters doing their jobs, and Silas was out of his seat. 

He didn’t know that kid from a hole in the wall, but his heart started racing, and he gripped his fingers together to keep them from shaking. He made himself look away and just breathe, pretending to study the sheet on his lap, and after a few seconds he had everything under control. 

Okay. 

“All good, bud?” Jude picked up his beer and took a sip. 

“That was scary. Is he okay?” Silas glanced up at him, and he could see the hint of panic, just right there. 

Jude took Silas’s hand and pulled him back into his seat. “He’ll be fine. These cowboys are tough. They do this all the time. Did you get to see the bullfighters running that bull off? Pretty cool, huh?” He was the king of redirecting. 

“Yeah. Yeah, they’re brave, huh? Like you?” 

Well, that made him feel ten feet tall. “Even braver. Like you.” He put an arm around Silas’s shoulders and squeezed. Damn. It had been long enough that he hadn’t even thought about whether this would be hard for either of them. He decided that was mostly a good thing—there was a time when he’d thought about it constantly. 

Losing Nigel had been more than hard, closer to impossible, and he still wasn’t sure some days that he and Silas would be okay. 

They had to be, though. Especially Silas. “I heard there might be some cowboys coming up to do autographs, bud.” 

“Yeah? What will they sign?” 

“Anything you want. Maybe your program?” he suggested. 

“Can I get a picture too?” 

“Probably. I don’t see why not.” Silas wouldn’t be the only one wanting pictures. 

“That’s cool! A real cowboy, Daddy. We’re going to meet a real-life cowboy.” 

Okay, that smile was worth every second of this. “Awesome, right?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, awesome.” Silas grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “They’re going to go again. Are you ready?” 

Maybe? “Yes. Watch the gate.” He held on just as tight as the gate flew open and the bull leapt out. 

The cowboy flew off as soon as the bull cleared the gate. That was going to leave a bruise. 

“Oops.” He winced. 

“Ouch,” Silas said at the same time, and they looked at each other and laughed. 

“If it were easy everyone would do it, right?” 

“I guess so. I’d be scared, I think, to get up on one of those.” 

“I would too. That is definitely not a sport for me. Are you scared to watch too? We don’t have to if it’s not fun for you. It’s okay.” 

“No. I want to. I want to know how they do it.” That was his son—so interested in why and how things worked. 

“Okay.” He remembered watching Rope on event weekends, signing autographs. He complained about the adults sometimes, but never the kids. Maybe he could suck up his regret if… “Well, I think someone pretty cool is coming up in a bit. He’s a former champion, and he’s really good.” 

“Yeah? What’s his name? Do you know him? Is he nice?” Silas couldn’t figure out whether to look at him or the arena floor. 

“His name is Rope, and he is nice.” And fun and cocky and hot as hell. “I did know him a long time ago. Long before you and Dad, and even before I got my job.” He pointed to the floor. “Behind the gate, the rider is getting his rope all ready, the one that he holds onto. And the other guys are helping him get focused for his ride.” 

“So…he just holds onto the rope? He’s not tied in?” 

Silas was really thinking about this. It was kind of wonderful. “It’s wrapped really tight around a glove on his hand. He has to be able to let go so he can get off the bull. They can’t tie him in, right?” 

“No. No, that would be scary and dangerous, huh?” Look at those wide eyes. 

“That’s right. They do everything they can to make it less dangerous. You watch his head, and when you see him nod, the gate will open fast.” 

He remembered Rope, bragging in that way guys did at nineteen, telling him all about how everyone out there had a job to do. The guy pulling his rope, the guy holding his vest, the bullfighters, even the bull had a job. Eight seconds went by so fast everyone had to have their heads in the game. 

He got it a little bit, really. They’d broken up because they both had to have their heads in their respective games, and they couldn’t change that. 

Now that he was explaining things to Silas, he was starting to look forward to seeing Rope ride in person. 

“You’re going to have to have a cowboy explain all the spurring and the balance things… I don’t know much about how that’s done. I just know that the harder the ride, the higher the points.” 

“Don’t forget the bull is half the points. That’s real important.” 

Jude would know that voice anywhere. 

Anywhere. 

Rope Canutt stood there like a bent and broken angel, an ancient scar from a roping accident splitting the man’s lower lip. 

He stood and looked Rope over, finally meeting those green eyes that had fascinated him so long ago. He supposed he ought to see more age, but all he saw was the crooked smile and handsome face that he remembered. 

He had no idea what to say. 

And his mouth had gone dry anyway. 

He patted Silas’s shoulder. “Silas, this is Mister Canutt. He’s a bull rider.” 

Silas’s eyes grew wide. “For real?” 

“Yes, sir. For real. Rope, pleased to meet you, Silas. Are you enjoying the event?” Rope held his hand out to Silas, the smile warm. 

Jude had to smile back at the awed look on Silas’s face as his son shook hands with Rope. Silas nodded but didn’t say anything at all. 

“Silas is very curious about how it all works,” he offered, trying to help things along. 

“Well, you see them bulls? Stock contractors bring them up from all over the country. Buckin’ bulls are special types of livestock.” Rope kept jabbering, telling Silas how bull riding worked in that soft, lilting voice. 

Silas was riveted, listening to every word like it was so important. It was the first thing Silas had shown real interest in since they’d lost Nigel. 

“Can I see the bulls?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, bud. Rope is working, you know.” 

“Those beasts aren’t pets, but I might be able to introduce you to Harker’s horse, Jimbo, after the event.” 

“Really?” Silas’s eyes lit up. “Is that okay Daddy? Please? Can I?” 

He nodded. “If Rope can manage it, but you have to promise not to be upset if he can’t, okay?” Not that he really expected a seven-year-old to be able to keep a promise like that, but at least he could say he tried. 

“Okay! Thank you! Oh. I have to get a program so you can sign it!” Silas climbed right over the back of his seat and disappeared into the suite. 

“Harker won’t mind. He likes kids.” Rope held out his hand. “Jude.” 

“Rope.” He took the offered hand and shook it, grateful they’d had Silas as an ice breaker. “Thank you for all of that. It means more than you know.” 

“No problem. None at all. Good to see you, man.” He got this shit-eating grin. “You look fine.” 

“I was thinking the same about you.” He felt the tips of his ears heat up and he was surprised that Rope could still make him blush. “It’s nice to see you again. I’d ask how things are going, but I know. I’ve been keeping an eye on you.” 

“Fixin’ to retire. Having my final year. Good stuff.” Rope smiled down at Silas and took a Sharpie out of his pocket, signing the program. “Here you go, little man. If you come down after the event, we’ll see Jimbo.” 

“Thank you!” Silas was so excited. 

“We’ll be there.” He wasn’t ready for Rope to walk away yet, but he wasn’t sure why. “Good ride.” 

“Every one you walk away from, yessir.” Rope shook Silas’s hand and his. “Looking forward to seeing y’all later.” 

He watched Rope go, enjoying the view of Rope’s ass in his Wranglers, and wondered if Rope was hoping he was watching.

Title: Roped In
Published by: Tygerseye Publishing, LLC
ASIN: B09VD8LB9T
ISBN13: 978-1-951011-72-7

Mergers & Acquisitions

April 6, 2021 by
Contributors: Jodi Payne
Genre: , , , ,
Release Date: April 13, 2021
Pages: 212

New York attorney Teague Whitaker is so close to making equity partnership he can taste it. He’s spent two years cultivating a relationship with the Avenstone Group and he’s finally landed them, bringing in a big-money deal in a big-money industry.

Jason Kovacs is…from Jersey. He’s been a barista, a bike messenger, a third-shift stocker at D’Agostino. He tries out new jobs and quits them all the time, not because he hates them, but because he doesn’t love them. But that changes when he lands a job dancing at The Wiggle Room.

When Teague bellies up to the bar, Jason can tell he’s had a bad, bad day. Jason also knows money when he sees it, so he swoops in on the polished hottie, hoping to make bank. Stunned by the unexpected loss of his career-making deal, Teague is there to drink. He’s looking for a distraction, and chatting up the buff and pretty boy that just swiped the cherry from his whiskey sour is a damn good start.

Neither expects sparks to fly with one unplanned kiss, but that’s just the beginning of the unexpected for Teague and Jason. They’re from the same city, but they’re living in two different worlds. Their relationship may be unconventional, but if they can meet in the middle—halfway between Wall Street and Jersey—they just might make it work.

Buy the Book: Amazon~~Barnes & Noble~~iBooks~~Publisher~~Kobo~~Smashwords~~Universal eBook Links

 

EXCERPT:

Chapter One

 

Jason stood at the bottom of the stairwell at the 49th Street subway station, psyching himself up for a four-block slog in the pouring rain. Not north and south blocks, of course, but four long-ass avenue blocks. What the hell was going on? It hadn’t been raining this hard when he left Brooklyn.

Seriously? This was so gonna suck.

Finally accepting that the rain wasn’t going let up anytime soon, he pulled his hood tighter around his face, shrugged his backpack onto both shoulders, and took off at a jog. The deeper he went into Hell’s Kitchen, though, the more the wind blew the rain into his face until he found himself trudging along and leaning into it, forehead low, hands stuffed into his pockets for warmth.

He didn’t have the cash for the cab ride across the bridge and into the city, but maybe he could find someone who would be into sharing a ride back to Brooklyn once he had some tip money in his pocket.

Assuming he made some money tonight. This crappy weather might keep people away. Maybe not the tourists, but the locals would probably say to hell with it, stay home and watch porn instead. That was totally what he would do if he wasn’t working.

He crossed against the light at Ninth, sprinting the last few feet to get out of the way of a big black SUV with Jersey plates that was honking at him. The asshole was probably headed for the Lincoln Tunnel.

“Screw you, Jersey!” he shouted and flipped the driver off. Wasn’t likely they’d see it, but whatever. It made him feel better.

“Jason!”

That had to be Danny. Who else would be running in platform boots and a bright-yellow rain slicker? “Danny! You’re ruining those heels in this weather.”

“What, these? These are my rain boots, baby.” Danny laughed and took his arm.

Jason pulled Danny under the awning of a dry cleaner and smiled. “It’s Dallas, by the way.”

“Dallas? Are you going away?” Danny looked confused.

“No, my stage name. It’s Dallas.”

“Really?”

“Or maybe Austin? No, I think it was Dallas.” Texan, in any case.

“You’re gonna be a cowboy?”

He nodded. “That’s what Aaron said he wanted when he hired me.”

Danny leaned close, shivering a little even as he giggled. “Well, you’ve got the guns for it, sweetheart, that’s for sure.”

“Ha ha.” He did, though. The guns, the quads, the abs…he was proud of his body. His rent might be late, but he was always paid up at the gym.

“Let’s hear your accent.”

Jason laughed. “Okay. Can ah git you a draink, sugar?”

Danny wrinkled his nose. “Oh, baby. That’s…wow.”

Bad. He knew. “Shut up.” They both started laughing. What was he gonna do? The owner wanted a cowboy, and he wanted a job. He’d get better.

“Thanks for getting me the interview.” Maybe it wasn’t a classy job, but man, did he need the money. Plus, whatever gene it was that kept normal people from being completely shameless? He just wasn’t born with it. This could actually turn out to be the perfect job for him.

“I hope it works out for you, baby. I think you’re going to do great. Lord knows you can dance.”

“Let’s hope. We better get moving before we’re late.”

“Ugh.” Danny sighed dramatically. “This fucking weather is murder on my hair.” Danny’s long, dark hair, which he usually tamed and styled with product, had that beautiful, naturally wavy thing going on. But yeah, the humidity was hell on Jason’s short, dirty-blond curls, so he could only imagine the time it took Danny to compensate.

The two of them ran the last half block together arm in arm. They ran right past the main club entrance and stopped by a completely unmarked metal door with no handle on the outside.

Jason squinted up at the marquee through the raindrops. On top of it were the words “The Wiggle Room” in neon pink and green, surrounded by blue chasing lights. He shook his head at himself. Yep. This was for real. He was an entertainer now.

Danny banged on the door with the side of his fist, protecting his bright-yellow nail polish, and one of the biggest men Jason had ever seen opened the door for them. A barrel chest and tree-trunk arms filled the doorway, completely blocking the view of whatever was inside.

“Come on in, ladies.” The guy stepped out of their way.

Jason winked. “That’s ‘cowboy,’ actually.”

“Oh, yeah? Yeehaw, then.” The security guy didn’t even crack a smile.

“Oh, Jackson.” Danny gave the man a poke in the chest and looked at Jason. “He’s a big softie, baby, don’t let him fool you.”

“Yippee ki-yay.” Jason smiled at Jackson and tipped an imaginary hat. Still not one hint of a smile. Wow.

Jackson blinked at him slowly. He’d have bet the man was stoned. “Bruce Willis.”

“What?”

“That’s not cowboy, that’s Bruce Willis.”

“Oh. Right.” Shit, I’m too Brooklyn to be a fucking cowboy. “Thanks.”

Danny took his arm. “Come on, baby, let’s get you settled.”

“Later, cowboy. Welcome to the club.”

“Thank you, Jackson.” Jason laughed and followed Danny down a narrow hall. Just beyond the entryway was the dressing room he’d seen during his interview. It had rows of lighted mirrors along one wall and several garment racks along another, and men were in various stages of undress as they got ready for work.

“There you are.” Aaron’s deep voice vibrated in his ears as the club owner crossed the room to him. “Are you ready?”

Jason nodded. “Born ready.”

“Yeah?” Aaron seemed happy with that answer. “Guess we’ll see, won’t we? Come on.”

Danny gave Jason a kiss on the cheek. “See you out there, doll.”

Title: Mergers & Acquisitions
Published by: Tygerseye Publishing, LLC
ASIN: B08ZMDJZ9Z
ISBN13: 978-1-951011-15-4

Syncopation: A Collaborations Novel

December 4, 2018 by
Contributors: Jodi Payne, BA Tortuga
Series: Collaborations #2
Genre: , , ,
Release Date: January 6, 2020
Pages: 204

Colt Boudreaux was raised in the Louisiana bayou and is gifted with a talent steeped in the rich and soulful New Orleans blues tradition. He makes a living as a session musician, playing guitar for anyone who needs him. When his manager sends him to New York, the Cajun is as beguiled as he is baffled by the energy of the city—and just as charmed by Kyle Alexander.

Kyle is a successful classically trained ballet dancer, choreographer, and native New Yorker whose unbridled talent defies convention, and whose rebel spirit favors ink, shuns the orchestra, and is every bit as unique as Kyle himself.

They find a connection right away that inspires rhythm and movement, mood and music, both in and out of the bedroom. It’s not long before they’re as obsessed with each other as they are with their art, and they decide to work together on an improvisational piece for Kyle’s upcoming solo exhibition.

But Kyle is focused, and Colt is free-spirited. Colt’s work ebbs and flows with inspiration, and Kyle’s is rehearsed. Kyle is social and sophisticated, and Colt… isn’t. When their talents weave together, it’s magical, but will their differences destroy it all?

Buy the Book: Amazon~~Barnes & Noble~~iBooks~~Publisher~~Kobo~~Smashwords~~Universal eBook Links

Also in this series:

EXCERPT:

Chapter One

“OO-EEE!” OH praise Jesus, that felt like motherfucking heaven. Colt let the guitar rest, dangle from his fingers, the burning of the skin under his calluses promising to make tomorrow earned hell. It was worth it. Every fucking second of it. The music had poured through them all like they was all Robert Johnson hisself.

“Damn. Damn, that was fine, Boudreaux. You can play with us anytime, right boys?” Little Mel was sweating like a whore in church, her braids and mandolin dark with their good work. Hank Bennett and Mr. Bill were in the same boat. They’d laid down their tracks, wrote some, and then started jamming again. That last piece?

Lord, Lord.

Babies would be made under that song.

“I ’preciate it. For reals.” Colt didn’t know no one here, but he knew music, and he knew jamming, and he knew when it was right.

“You want to go get some food? You have to be starving, boy.” Mr. Bill grinned at him, gold tooth shining, and Colt nodded.

“Yessir. I got a hollow leg, me. I could eat.” He couldn’t believe he was here, not really. Not here starving, either, but here making music because someone wanted to pay his happy ass to do it.

Him.

“Come to New York, Colt. You’ll play some studio gigs, write some songs. It’ll be fun.”

What? He was gonna say no? What else did he do? He picked and played.

So here he was, ’til Nathan said to do something else. This place was like a dream, and he found himself going from little room to studio to little room, over and over. He’d traveled some—Dallas, New Orleans, Houston, San Antonio—but this place was… different. Cool and exciting, but he’d never felt so small.

He pulled his gimme cap on and put his guitar away with a smile. He’d reckon it. He’d managed fine so far, hadn’t he? Yessir. And he was loving all the different folks, all the different styles. All the music.

No wonder men sold their souls for this.

“Great work, guys!” The guy who worked the booth bebopped in, grinning like a gator. “The sound rocked.”

Little Mel grabbed the guy up in an embrace, and, damn, he sorta disappeared into her.

Whoa.

“Dang, Mellons. You gotta give a brother a chance to bail out before he suffocates in there.”

Little Mel laughed, the sound rich. “You’re on the wrong team, Timmy, honey. You’re the only one that complains.”

Timmy grinned at her and winked. “Hey, I totally got that whole last track even though you were just jamming. It was pretty sweet.” The guy started cleaning up, pulling mics and dressing cables.

“Boudreaux can find one hell of a hook.”

Colt bowed at her words, making a show of it. “La, it’s a good job.”

“Timothy Webb. Timmy.” Timmy stuck his hand out for a fist bump. “You can’t fake it and keep up with this crew. That was pretty boss, dude.”

“Colt. Pleased and thank you.” He didn’t have an ounce of fake in him. Just music and a little bit of wild child.

“Now, if you’re eating with them, you might find it harder to keep up. Especially with Mr. Bill. He can totally put it away.” Timmy packed the mics into a crate and put the cables on top. “You guys using this kit tomorrow, or should I break it down?”

“Can you jam tomorrow, Cajun?”

“Surely do. Just point and shoot my happy ass, Mr. Bill.” He didn’t have any other reason to be here, and no one had said he was going anywhere else.

“Right on. I’ll leave it, then. Just need the pickups.” Timmy crawled all over the drum kit, pulling the electrics to lock them up. “Colt, just leave your cables be. You want to lock up your instrument with everybody else’s babies, that’s okay by me. So you don’t have to carry it around? I keep the key, and I’m first in, last out of here.”

“Yeah?” He looked to Little Mel, because this one wasn’t his acoustic, but she was special. She was his, and she spoke to his heart. The acoustic spoke to his soul.

“It’s cool, man. Seriously. It’s safer here than sitting by your feet at a diner.”

“Right. Thanks, boo. I appreciate it for true.” He shot Timmy a grin. “You want food too?”

“You know it. I’ll join you guys in a few. Just gotta wrap up here. Hank, you want to show the newbie where you keep your toys on the way out?”

“Oh, I suppose I can handle that. C’mon, Colt, I’ll show you the locker.” Hank hauled his ass off the chair like he was made of stone. Had to be seventy if he was a day.

“I’ll catch up, dude. Shake Shack?”

Little Mel nodded. “I’m in, honey. We’ll see you there.”

He followed Hank, a melody tickling around behind his eyes, something happy and old, something his granny had sang to him, once upon a time.

“There’s some sweet stuff in here. Trust me, your guitar will be in good company.” Hank opened a door, which looked like any other door, but the door behind that one had a handle crank like a bank vault. The old man gave it a shove, and it swung open the rest of the way by itself, opening into a large, brightly lit room. There was a double row of guitar hangers on the far wall, and shelves with just about everything else imaginable on each side. Percussion instruments, strings, drum kits, a couple of leather jackets, a pair of cowboy boots. “This whole place could burn down and this thing would still be standing. I keep a bunch of my gear in here. I don’t know who half this shit belongs to, but Timmy does.”

“Merci, Vieux. This is sweet. Never seen nothing like this.” They weren’t near so fancy, back home.

“Welcome to the Big Apple, friend. Check out the pictures on the way out, get a little perspective. This isn’t exactly a small operation.”

“Big, small—whatever. I just want to pick.” The Big Apple. Why an apple? Huh.

Hank waited for him to hang up his guitar and then followed him out. “You will, if you keep up like you did today. Something you may or may not already know? Make friends with Timmy. He makes it easy, so it’s not like you have to try very hard. But he sits at that console every day whether you’re here or not. And if you’re not but someone that needs someone like you is? Timmy’s your best friend.”

They met up with the rest of the band in the lobby.

He filed that away. Friends he could do. Shit, he liked folks. He loved music. He loved folks that loved to play. All good, so far as he went.

The Shake Shack was crazy as all get-out. Loud and busy, burgers and dogs, and since this was Times Square, everyone was there. Suits, little kids, hipsters, uniforms, you name it. Sorta felt like New Orleans, but with less blues.

They’d only just sat down when Timmy arrived. He gave everyone a wave and got in line to order, head down and texting.

“So your manager sent you up here to us?” Hank asked, pulling at his cheese fries.

“Yessir. I come up from Houston, last, laying down gospel tracks. Good work, that.” It soothed the soul, even if they’d all spent the late nights so fucked-up on grain alcohol that he swore he was gonna go blind.

Hank nodded and looked at Little Mel. “He’s working for me. You?” Colt reckoned this was Mel’s band, best he could tell. And he was pretty clear that today’s session was an audition of sorts. That’s how things usually worked out.

“You know it. We can finish this album out, if you’re willing.”

“Yes, ma’am. As you want. I’m easy, me.”

“He’s easy, him.” Mr. Bill laughed, poked Colt with his elbow. “Just playin’ with you, son. You can pick with me any day.”

“Hank, you remember that dancer we did a mix for a couple of months ago?” Timmy worked his way into the table between Mel and Hank.

“The bad-boy ballet kid?”

“Yeah, dude. Him. Kyle? He just texted me. I cut him a couple more CDs from the master. He’s coming to pick them up.”

“He was a trip and a half. I guess it did okay?”

“I think he’s going to let us know.” Timmy picked up a hot dog covered in vegetables. Something about that didn’t make no sense. “I guess they’re keeping you, dude? If not, you’d have totally split by now. This crew is pretty straight shooting.”

“I guess so. I like being kept okay.” He was easy that way.

Hank laughed, elbowed Little Mel. “He’s just like Timmy, all laid-back and whatever, dude.”

“Hey! Timmy!” A guy in a big sweater and a mop of dark hair waved from the doorway.

“Kyle. Dude.” Timmy waved his friend over.

“Duuuude.” Kyle grinned, teasing. “Good to see you.” They exchanged some complicated handshake and ended with a bro hug. “What the hell are you eating?”

“It’s that veggie dog thing.”

“Really, Timmy? Go with a cheeseburger next time. Hey, Hank.” They shook hands.

“Kyle. This is Little Mel, Mr. Bill, and over there is our new picker, Colt Boudreaux.”

Kyle shook hands and grabbed for Colt’s last. “Pleasure.”

Strong and warm and Colt’s body tightened, the sudden rush of want surprising the shit out of him. Huh. Pretty. “Pleased.”

Sit, boo, and watch you. Folks is folks and no one might want to know you swing the rainbow way.

Then again, he kind of thought Kyle held his hand, and eyes, just a little too long.

“I got your CDs, man.” Timmy dug around in his messenger bag.

“Oh, great. Thanks.” Kyle gave his hand an extra squeeze before letting go and taking the CDs from Timmy.

He set to his french fries, letting the greasy saltiness soothe his belly.

“So, Timmy, I’ve got another project to talk to you about. Do you have some time?”

“Um. Well, I’m in the studio with these guys for at least the next few days. Why don’t you come by?”

“Yeah? Okay, cool.”

“What kind of project is it?”

“I need something simple. Like really simple. Maybe just a guitar even. I’ll tell you all about it, and you can help me decide.”

“Yeah, sure, dude. No sweat.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. Nice meeting you all. I’m headed to rehearsal. Gotta run.” Kyle kissed Timmy smack on the lips.

“Later, twinkle toes.”

“Oh! Timmy! Roulette. Tomorrow night, karaoke and crazy shit. You should come.”

“Sounds great, dude.”

Kyle disappeared onto the street.

Lord have mercy, that was hot. He knew a few places in the Crescent he could do that, but here? Good to know.

Timmy laughed. “That guy is insane, dude. ‘Karaoke and crazy shit’ could literally mean anything. Oh. Colt. I meant to ask—you good with a place to stay? I know the studio is putting you up for a couple of days in a hotel, but after that? I got a room if you need one.”

“Yeah? I—I gotta call Nathan and find out what happens, but I might could use a real place. Somewhere I can cook.” He could spend him a few days in a place not a hotel room.

“Sure. Offer stands, kitchen isn’t big, but it’s got all the… kitchen stuff. I don’t cook.”

Mr. Bill and Hank gave them all a shake. “I’m gonna get Hank into a cab and head home. We’ll catch y’all tomorrow morning, yeah?”

“I’ll be in by eight. Studio is yours whenever you show, bro.”

Little Mel was looking at her phone. “No later than nine, boys. I want the full day we’re paying for.”

He nodded, nibbling on his fries. “I’ll be there, ma’am. No worries.”

He didn’t want to go back to his room and sit.

Timmy patted the table. “How about a drink and a little New York style jazz, dude?”

“Yeah? I’m in, boo.” Oh, he liked this guy. He wanted to go and see, hear. Do.

“Birdland, Mellons. You coming?”

“Timothy, if you call me ‘Mellons’ again….”

“If the shoe fits, sister.”

Little Mel grinned at him. “Get out of here before I squash you flat.”

Timmy leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll see you at eight, I know. Come on, Colt. Mellons means business.”

“Timothy!”

Timmy laughed himself silly all the way to the sidewalk.

He followed along, bebopping to the music that seemed to be everywhere. “Thanks for the invite, boo.”

“Oh, yeah. Dude, I’m up for music any night, and you don’t want to hang out in a stale hotel room when you have this city at your feet, right? Oh, and by the way? Don’t change a thing, but up here when someone says boo, they mean honey. Like ‘that’s my boo.’” Timmy grinned at him.

“Yeah? ’Kay. Good to know.” He knew that it would pop out anyway. He was all about the habits, from chewing toothpicks to falling asleep to Abbey Road.

“So I saw the CV Nathan sent, dude. You get around, huh?” Timmy turned a corner, and they headed down a long block.

“I go where the music takes me.” It was the best life. His daddy would be damn proud. Prob’ly was looking down and grinning right now.

“You’ve got sick fingers, dude. I’m glad it brought you around here. You play anything else?”

“Anything you can pick, boo.”

He could see the flag that hung outside the club down the block, and the neon in the window drew his eye a second later. There was a line—not a long one; he’d seen worse—but still a line.

“This isn’t too bad. We should be golden, dude. Hey, stand with the neon; I’ll get a picture for you.” Timmy pulled out a phone.

He went to stand, posing like the littlest Cajun dork in history, hooting as he boogied and Timmy laughed.

“That’s rad. You got AirDrop? I’ll… send it… huh.” Timmy glanced up at him and then back at the screen.

“What? My hair weird?”

“No, dude. Kyle is asking about you.” Timmy laughed. “He thinks the whole world wants him.” Timmy started texting.

“The pretty one?” For true? He liked the thought of that, yes he did.

Timmy glanced up at him again and nodded. “The super pretty one. I was about to…. It’s cool, I wasn’t trying to freak you out, dude. I can tell him to simmer down… unless…?”

“You into him? I ain’t no poacher.”

“Aw.” Timmy laughed, a little embarrassed. “No. I thought maybe I was at first a while back, but no. He’s a lot of fun, but he’s a buddy, that’s all.”

“Bon amis are good, yeah? Better than lovers sometimes.” He got that. Your friends didn’t fall out of your life near as much.

“A lot of times, dude. Totally. So, what do you want me to say? You want me to tell him to chill, or are you interested?”

“I could be interested.” His cheeks burned some, but that was okay. A guy needed a little fun in between gigs.

Timmy elbowed him and grinned. “Yeeeeah, dude. That’s the way to be. He’s a party and a half.” He watched Timmy text and speak everything out loud. “Colt… is totally… into hanging out, dude. Yeah? That work?”

When he nodded, Timmy hit Send and waited for a reply.

“Kyle says, ‘Great. Bring him to karaoke tomorrow night.’” Timmy looked at him. “Cool? This karaoke thing he does? It’s more like open mic night. It’s all theater peeps, and it’s total talent.”

He nodded. Open mic night he understood. He’d spent most his life picking for anyone who would listen. He sang, wrote, played—if it was music, he was there.

“I’m telling him you’re in.” Timmy texted, grinned at something that popped up on the screen, and put the phone away. “You have a date, boo.” Timmy winked at him.

“Lookit me!” He gave a holler, and all the folks stared.

Timmy gave him a fist bump and took his arm, steering him into the club.

Title: Syncopation
Published by: Tygerseye Publishing, LLC
ASIN: B083L9X81S

Find Jodi's full catalog with links to all your favorite formats at Queeromance Ink!

Tending Tyler

April 11, 2021 by
Contributors: Jodi Payne, BA Tortuga
Series: On the Ranch Series #1
Genre: , , , , , ,
Release Date: May 18, 2021

Bartender, Tyler McKeehan, feels like his whole life is on hold. All he does is work and sleep, because he just doesn’t know how to move on with his day to day after the shocking loss of his best friend. When he meets Matt at Les’s Bar where he works in New York, though, he thinks he might have found someone who can nudge him out of his rut. The cowboy seems to live on fast forward, but at the same time, this kind, generous man makes Tyler feel wanted and safe.

 

Ranch owner, Matthew Whitehead, is just in New York for a visit. But when he runs into Tyler at Les’s Bar, he can tell right away that Tyler is special. Matt’s family thinks he makes snap decisions, and they worry about him, but he knows what he wants, and even after just a few days, he’s willing to fight to keep Tyler in his life. When Matt has to head back to Texas, he tells Tyler to come visit him and meet his kids. Soon.

 

Tyler doesn’t know if he can just pick up and go to Texas, but he misses Matt’s affection and calming presence, so when life gets too overwhelming, he makes the call. Between Matt’s huge, boisterous family, his children, his busy ranch, and the vast differences between New York City and Texas, Tyler wonders if he should go back to his old life every day. Matt is determined to keep Tyler right where he is, but can they overcome the odds against them and make a new life together?

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Chapter One 

 

Four to closing was a long shift at the bar, especially on a weekend, but Tyler didn’t mind it. He was busy all night long, and he usually went home with good tip money in his pocket and just exhausted enough that he could actually sleep. Sometimes he slept so long he’d get up, shower, and go right back to the bar for his next shift. 

Busy was good. The busier the better. 

He was on with Peter tonight, and they had it handled. They’d been working together so long they didn’t have to think, so they moved around each other easily and got the job done. 

“Need ice!” Peter called out before disappearing through the swinging door next to the bar. 

He gave Peter a nod and kept making drinks like it was the only thing left in the world. Which it kind of was. 

Margarita. Bloody Mary. Cosmo. Three daiquiris—peach, strawberry mango. Five beers. 

He caught sight of a cowboy hat and pulled Dex a Coke. Dex was the boss’s best friend’s guy, and the man tipped like a dream. It served him well to keep the guy happy. 

Tyler ran it over, shocked as hell to come face-to-face with a silver fox that was, unquestioningly Not Dex. 

It threw him, and it took him a second to snap out of it. He set the Coke down on the bar, blinking at the stranger. “Hey.” Friend of Dex’s maybe? Not too many cowboy hats walked in here. “Sorry. What can I get you?” 

“Coors and a shot of Cuervo, please, sir.” The voice was low, gravelly, and pure southern. God, that was strangely ominous. 

“Gold or Silver?” 

“Silver, please.” He got a smile, a nod, the man holding his gaze. 

“You got it.” Ominous, but polite. Kind smile. Taller than Dex. 

Tyler danced around Peter who was dumping ice from two big buckets into the freezer. Coors was on tap, and he got that started, then reached for the Cuervo. They were going through the tequila tonight for sure. Probably the warm weather. 

Well, not this guy. This guy just looked like a tequila guy. He poured the shot generously. 

“Coors and Cuervo.” He set them down on the bar. “Running a tab?” 

“Yessir.” A card was handed over, easy as you please. “Y’all are busy as a one-legged man at a butt-kicking competition.” 

That made him grin. “I like that. Yes, we are. Fridays are our busiest night usually.” He glanced at the card out of habit, clipped it to a bill and wrote ‘Coors/Cuervo (Sil)’ on it. “Where are you from?” Matthew. The card said the man’s name was Matthew. Could be Matt or Matty, maybe. 

“Central Texas—between Austin and Houston. I got me a ranch there.” One huge, square hand was offered to him. “Matthew Whitehead. Pleased.” 

“Tyler McKeehan. Also pleased.” He shook, the hand solid and strong in his. “Welcome to New York.” 

“Can we get—” The guy sitting next to Matthew tapped his glass. 

“Sure, no problem.” He poured a couple of refills. He was about to ask Matthew what brought him to the city, typical bartender small-talk type stuff, when one of them stopped him. 

“Aren’t you Tyler?” 

“I…yes?” He thought they looked familiar too, but he couldn’t remember where he’d met them. 

“We thought so, we kept saying we thought you were… Uh. Yeah. Sorry about Will. We were so shocked.” 

Will. 

Tyler’s stomach twisted, and his heart started to pound. He tried to put their drinks down on the bar with shaking hands and missed, one of them dumping back toward him, but the other tipped toward Matthew. 

Matthew caught it, but the glass stem shattered in the man’s big hand. He handed Tyler the top part of the glass with blood already starting to drip. “Point me toward the washroom, if you would.” 

“Shit. Shit, I’m sorry. Fuck.” He stared at the broken glass and then at the blood in Matthew’s hand. God. Not more blood. 

“Whoa. Ty?” Peter stepped around him with a towel and handed it to Matthew. “You okay, sir? How bad is it?” 

“It’s fine, y’all. No worries. I’ll wash it off, and we’ll be good as gold.” Dark gray eyes landed on him, so quiet, so calm. “You okay, honey?” 

“Yeah.” No. He looked away; those eyes were strangely comforting but they also wanted honesty. “All good. I’m so sorry.” 

“Men’s room is around to the left.” Peter pointed in that direction and cleaned up the bar. 

“Sorry. I’ll get you guys new drinks. I’m sorry.” 

Peter stopped him. “It’s okay. I’ve got it, Ty.” 

“Oh. Yeah, okay.” He stood there for a second, dumbly, not sure what to do with himself. 

“Go make sure the cowboy is okay, man. Antibiotic cream, bandage.” Peter offered him a super quick hug. “Breathe. Go.” 

“Right. I’m good. Got it.” Because that wasn’t embarrassing or anything. He stopped by the office First Aid kit and pulled out a couple of Band-Aids, some gauze, and a tube of Neosporin, then headed for the men’s room. 

Matthew was in there, a chunk of glass on the counter, paper towels jammed in his palm. He looked up as Tyler walked in. “Hey, there. I don’t suppose y’all have a tube of superglue?” 

“Superglue.” Tyler dropped everything he’d brought on the counter and blinked at Matthew again. Did he hear that right? “Superglue? I don’t know. I can check the office. Do you need stitches? I can call…” 

“I don’t, no. I just need a little glue, honey, to push the edges together, and I’ll be right as rain.” 

“Okay… I’ll be right back.” Superglue. Seriously? Tyler jogged to the office and dug through the boss’s desk. Les’s drawers were neatly organized and he was making a mess—he’d apologize later—but he found a brand-new tube in a little cubby in the top drawer. 

Wow. Right on. He rushed back to the men’s room with it. “Superglue. I can’t believe it.” 

“Good deal. I got my smart hand, so I’ll need you to open the glue for me, okay?” 

“Oh. Sorry. Sure.” Wake up, Ty, the man needs some help here. He used the little tricky cap to open the tube. “You got this?” His hands had stopped shaking, but he wasn’t sure anybody should be trusting him with anything right now. 

“I got this, thank you, sir.” Matthew gave him a grin. “Don’t beat yourself up, huh? It was my bad.” 

“No. No, that was definitely my fault.” He covered the bloody shard of glass with a paper towel and threw it out, willing his hands not to start shaking again, then cleaned up the counter. “Shaky hands. Totally on me.” He just hadn’t heard Will’s name in a while. Every time he thought he’d put that awful image out of his mind, someone would say something, remind him, and he was staring at a bloody bathtub again. 

“Sounds like someone gave you a fright.” Matthew cleaned the blood off and dripped the glue into the meat of his hand then pushed the flap down. Sweat popped out on the man’s cheeks, and a low sound escaped. 

“Sort of.” Matthew had obviously done this a few times, but that glue had to burn. “How about I get you another shot?” 

“I think that would be a fine idea, yes. If you don’t mind.” He got another of those strange, wonderful smiles. 

“I’m on it.” He dashed out of the bathroom, but stopped and ducked his head back in. “Anyone ever tell you that you have a great smile?” 

It wasn’t until he’d left again that he realized Matthew might think he was flirting, and that just made this whole evening even more fucking awkward. 

“Is he okay?” Peter asked as Tyler pulled the tequila off the shelf. “Are you?” 

“He superglued his hand. Superglue. He glued the cut together.” Tyler shook his head. “Craziest thing ever.” He avoided the question about himself, he just didn’t know. He still felt anxious. 

“Is that for him?” 

“Yeah, on me.” The whole night would be on him. 

“Good man. Here he comes. Breathe.” 

Matthew seemed to take up the entire room, somehow, sucking the air out of it. Jeans, a white button-down, huge silver buckle. And that hat. It was like a costume, except you could tell it wasn’t. 

How was he supposed to breathe? 

“I made it a double.” He sat the glass down on the bar carefully, sliding it toward the cowboy. 

“Thank you, sir.” Matthew lifted his shot in salute, then knocked it back, humming deep in his chest. 

“Not one of my better nights. I’m sure that’s not the kind of souvenir you wanted to bring back from New York.” 

The couple that had asked about Will was gone…could this night get any worse? Les would probably hear about that. 

Matthew winked at him, and he got to see that smile again. “No worries, honey. Seriously. It’s a little cut. I don’t suppose I could get me a Coke? If I don’t slow down, y’all will have to roll me out of here at last call.” 

Matthew kept calling him “honey”. And it didn’t feel weird. Which was…well, weird. 

“You mean a Coke-Coke or like a Dr Pepper or something-Coke?” Thank you, Dex. That little bit of regional knowledge had upped his bartender game with some out-of-towners. 

Jesus, that smile just got warmer. “Y’all have Dr Pepper? Because I’d love that.” 

That felt good, it made up for ruining the guy’s night a little. “We do. Sit tight.” They kept it in cans because it wasn’t hugely popular, but Dex drank it like it was going out of style so there was always some cold in the fridge. 

He grabbed a can, having a look around the bar to see if Peter needed help. It must be late because it had cleared out some and there were a number of empty seats at the bar. Peter was actually doing some restocking. 

“One Dr Pepper.” He opened it for Matthew and poured it over a few ice cubes in a tall glass. He seemed to have relaxed enough not to spill this too. 

“You rock. Thank you. I need to be able to find my hotel room again, so I have to pace myself some.” 

“Oh, we’re experts around here at getting people rides back to their hotels. No worries.” He winked at Matthew. “So what brings you here? Not here, like the bar…men don’t usually wander into the bar for no reason…but here. To the city.” 

Well, that was articulate. Jesus, maybe he needed a drink. He glanced at the clock. Nope, not close enough to closing yet. 

“You got to promise not to laugh.” 

Oh, that was intriguing. 

“I’ll guess. You do a drag show in Daisy Dukes.” Tyler grinned and leaned on the bar. “No?” 

“I am not the drag type, unfortunately. It stains the beard. I have been made up, but it’s not why I’m here.” Matthew chuckled softly, and he thought that was a blush. “I am a big reader, believe it or not, and I came to BookExpo America. It’s what I do for vacation every year. I get enough books for me, my girls, and the little library van that goes from ranch to ranch.” 

Oh, wow. That was so…sweet. And kind. And it was so wholesome it hurt. “Books. I was definitely not expecting that.” He wasn’t expecting the blush either. He smiled back. “Not exactly the rough and tumble cowboy image.” 

“No, I know, right? Still, it is what it is, and I shipped my first two boxes this afternoon.” Matthew sipped his drink, licked his mustache. “So, are you a reader?” 

“Well, I read. I don’t know what makes a reader.” 

“I guess if you like it? I mean, I know lots of folks that never read a book.” Matthew chuckled softly, the look suddenly wicked. “I’m not sure my brother knows how to read.” 

Tyler laughed. “I like to read. I’m slow. I tend to read in chunks, but I read. I like those detective books about serial killers, and mysteries. And I like books about people and how they…get through things. Like rowers at the World War Two Olympics. Stuff like that.” 

“I get that. I love thrillers, histories, spy novels, westerns—hell, I like a good racy romance, too. I live on three thousand acres, so I read at night a lot, while the TV is on.” He got a wink. “My daddy tried to convince me to whittle instead, but I never could make anything fancier than a square.” 

“Three thousand acres? I don’t even have three thousand feet.” He laughed. “I’m not sure I have three hundred. Wow.” 

“Yeah, I have a decent-sized ranch—I raise Beefmasters and Herefords, along with cutting horses. We got goats and chickens too, but they’re not money-makers.” 

“We…?” Tyler was a bartender; he paid attention. Matthew wasn’t wearing a ring. “Oh, you said you had girls, right?” 

“I do. I have two—eight and ten. My wife died six years ago.” Matthew didn’t look away from him, at all. “And yeah. I know this is a gay bar. I swing both ways.” 

He nodded, returning the look. “I’m sorry about your wife. Technically I swing too, but my pendulum’s been stuck on one side for the last few years.” Six years ago. Damn. Those girls had been little. 

“I understand that. I dated Deb in high school, a glorious young man in college, and then when I went home to work the ranch, Deb was there.” Matthew chuckled softly. “And before the end of the summer, she’d caught pregnant, so…” 

“Women have a way of doing that if you’re not careful.” He nodded sagely. He wasn’t going to ask what happened to her, he’d learned the hard way how difficult that question could be to answer. “If you’re looking for company, most people have good luck on our dance floor.” 

“I found someone friendly to chat with, honey. That’s way more important than a hookup.” 

“A friendly klutz.” He smiled though; something about Matthew soothed him deep down and let him hang out in the moment for the first time in a while. “That’s supposed to be working.” Though Peter wasn’t busy and hadn’t even given him a look yet. 

“I can wait if you have to wander. I don’t mind.” 

“Thanks. I’ll have to at some point, but it’s slow right now.” He did take the time to start cleaning up, staying where he could still talk. “Tell me about your girls. Who’s with them while you’re here?” 

“They’re at my folks’. They have a place down the road and a new in-ground swimming pool. My girls were so ready for a week in the water. I’m going to have to consider getting one too, now that they’re old enough to not worry so much.” 

“That’s a chunk of change from what I’ve heard.” 

Matthew nodded. “I know a few guys who I can trade straws for it. My bulls go for fifteen a straw.” 

A straw? Dex did this occasionally too, said something that only someone who had reason to know would know. “I have no idea what a straw is. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s a glass straw of bull semen. That’s where my money is.” 

He blinked at Matthew again, who at this point must think he didn’t have a brain cell in his head. But that was the second time tonight that Matthew had said something he was not expecting. “I…had no idea.” He chuckled, grinning, embarrassed. 

“That you got bulls’ spunk in glass straws or that you could sell it?” There didn’t seem to be any evil in Matthew, just this easiness, this warmth. 

“Well, I guess I’m trying to imagine how you get semen into a straw…and I have a really bad imagination.” He bit his lip to keep from laughing, but it only kind of worked. 

“Believe it or not, I have artificial vaginas and a set of cowboys whose entire jobs are to get the bull’s cock into the AV. That flows into a vial and then it’s tested and frozen in glass straws.” Did Matthew just say all that with a straight face? 

“I am not drunk enough for this conversation.” Not even close. He tried to picture that whole operation in his head. “Artificial vaginas. I’ve heard some stories but that’s…wow.” He looked at Matthew seriously. “I mean, I’m not making fun I just…said like that it sounds so absurd.” And it was hard to believe that made Matthew swimming pool type money. 

“Right? I grew up doing it—not at the level I am now. I lucked out, bred a couple of amazing buckers and three or four big show bulls, but it’s a going operation. Hell, I just had to fire this one son of a bitch for trying to steal bull spunk. No shit.” 

“That’s cool. Totally out of my range of experience, but very cool.” 

“Yes, well, I am on my sixth year of coming up, and I only learned how to use the subway last year.” 

Tyler laughed. “Oh, the subway is probably way scarier than a bull.” 

“Absolutely. You got to remember, my closest town has ninety folks in it.” 

“God, that sounds nice. Quiet. It’s…not quiet here.” Tyler was tired. He didn’t sleep much, but that had nothing to do with the noise. 

“No. No, it’s not. It’s neat, but quiet? No.” Matthew sounded like he knew, like he understood somehow, but how could he? “Are you from here?” 

He nodded. “Yeah. I was born here. Went to city schools. I was taking the subway to school with my friends by third grade. I had a lot more than ninety people around me.” 

“That’s fascinating. Do you like it?” No one looked at him like that, like he was fascinating. 

Did he like it? It was home, it was all he knew. He’d never thought about whether he liked it. “I guess?” There was nothing fascinating about trying to make a living in New York. 

“I swore when I headed to Austin for my degree that I was moving away, but that didn’t happen. By the time I graduated, I was building the house on the weekends and aching to get home.” 

Tourists thought it had to be cool to live in the city. “I really don’t know where else I’d go. I don’t have any reason to move. I’ve never really been anywhere.” Not anywhere he’d live. He used to do a winter vacation somewhere warm with friends before—he hadn’t gone this past winter. 

“I get that. I mean, I like to go. I run down to the beach a couple times a year, out to Angel Fire to ski, here, but I’m always ready to go home.” 

He shrugged, uncomfortable with the conversation, and took a beer order from a couple of newcomers. “I guess I’d have to get away for a while to figure out if I’d miss it. Excuse me a second?” 

He made his way down the bar to pull the two beers and put in an order for nachos. 

Matthew nursed his Dr Pepper, eyes on his phone, the light casting amazing shadows on the strong features. 

“Flirting with the cowboy?” Peter got him with an elbow. 

“No. He’s freaking me out a little actually, the way he looks at me…like he knows me. Nice guy though. Kind, friendly.” 

Peter nodded. “Ah. But you’re not interested.” 

“Shut up.” Did it matter? The guy was from Texas. 

“Okay. Okay, sure. You want me to wait on him? I will, tell him you’re busy.” 

“No. No, did I say that? I got it.” He picked up the beers. “Yell if you need help.” 

He could almost hear Peter shaking his head behind him. 

Tyler handed off the beers and took a card for a tab from the new guys, then stepped back over to Matthew. “You need a refill?” 

“Please, thank you.” Matthew met his eyes, smiled, but he thought the look was a little sad. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. My apologies.” 

He held Matthew’s eyes for a second. That wasn’t fair; the cowboy wasn’t being anything but nice. “It’s not…it’s just been a while since I had a real conversation with anyone. So…maybe I needed a little disturbing. I like talking to you, you’ve been—You’re very warm. And I’m kind of in a cold place.” 

Jesus. Maybe he needed that therapist Les offered him after all. 

“Well, I’m enjoying chatting with you. I like to talk—I’m sure you’ve noticed, so if you want to conversate, I’m willing.” 

Conversate. 

“I’m in. Let me get you that refill. Oh…on the Cuervo, the Dr Pepper, or both?” 

“Just the Dr Pepper. I don’t need to be liquored up to chat with you.” 

Damn, if he did want to flirt, this would be the guy to do it with. Matthew was saying all the right things. 

Oh. Oh shit, was Matthew flirting? Saying all the right things was flirting, right? Oh. Shit. 

He grabbed another can of Dr Pepper and a new glass of ice and poured out the can into the glass. “How long are you in town? Is the convention all weekend?” He’d never heard of Book-thing. World? Expo? Something. 

“I am. I’m here until Tuesday. The Expo is over Saturday, but I like a day to explore and a day to just chill out.” 

“Nice. What have you planned to see?” Because he was an excellent tour guide. Not that he had any time off. Well, he was technically off Monday, but he usually came in to help with inventory. 

“I haven’t! Like I said, up until last year? I just stayed close, took the Expo transportation. Then I decided to be brave. I picked a hotel that looked amazing and fun. There was an advertisement in the lobby for this place.” Matthew’s eyes lit up. “So I’ve got the Expo tomorrow to get some books, then I’m golden. Would it be creepy if I came back in to talk to you again? Maybe invite you to a meal?” 

“Creepy? No. Everybody’s gotta eat, right?” He smiled despite shocking himself by so easily agreeing to a…to a what? A meal? A date? Brunch or something. “That sounds great.” 

“Excellent. You let me know when is good for you, and I’ll be there with bells on.” 

“Well, I’m on shift here at four tomorrow and Sunday, and I’m off on Monday.” 

Whoa. 

He just handed out his schedule. 

How long had it been? He barely remembered the part of him that was interested in anything at all much less…whatever this was. He felt like he should be more freaked out than he was. 

“How about noon tomorrow? We could have a lazy lunch before you work?” 

He nodded before he could chicken out. “Sure. Just tell me…oh, or maybe I should tell you where.” Tyler laughed. 

“I’ll meet you wherever. Let me give you my number, and you can text me.” Matthew chuckled softly, the sound sliding over his nerves and soothing them. “And we can both try to figure out whether we’re brave or a little crazy.” 

“It’s lunch.” They didn’t have to be brave or crazy to have lunch. He put Matthew’s digits into his phone, and then texted the number so Matthew had his. It was just lunch. 

“It is. No stress, no strings.” Matthew took a long swig of his drink. “I appreciate you letting me visit with you, man. I spend all day talking to someone—kids, cowboys, family. I was beginning to worry that people were going to think I was a nutjob, muttering to myself.” 

“Oh, no. That’s totally common here. I bet you wouldn’t even get a second look. Someone might hand you a sandwich though.” Tyler laughed. That sounded like Matthew was heading out. He reached for the card Matthew had given him, handed it back, and tore up the bill. “I’m really sorry about your hand.” 

“Oh, wow. Are you sure, honey? I’ll pay for my drinks.” Matthew stood, and it happened again. It was like Matthew filled the space. 

This time, though, he managed a breath and stuck his hand out first. “The least I can do is buy your drinks. It was nice to meet you.” 

Matthew took his hand, and he swore electricity shot up his arm. “It was my pleasure. You let me know where to meet you tomorrow, okay?” 

“I…yeah.” He smiled, bewildered. “Yes. I’ll text you. Take care of that hand.” 

“I will.” Matthew stroked his wrist before letting him go to put two twenties in the tip jar. “Y’all have a good one.” 

Tyler watched Matthew go, eyes following until the door closed behind him. Then he looked down and ran his fingers over that spot on his wrist. He didn’t know what he was doing, and he didn’t know why either. But something in him that had been sleeping seemed to be waking up. 

There was just something strange and wondrous about that cowboy.

Title: Tending Tyler
Published by: Tygerseye Publishing, LLC
ASIN: B093TSQV9D
ISBN13: 978-1-951011-46-8

Land of Enchantment

May 26, 2019 by
Contributors: Jodi Payne and BA Tortuga
Series:
Genre: , , , , ,
Release Date: September 24, 2019
Pages: 330

Land of Enchantment

An East Meets Western M/M Romance

East meets west. City meets country. Though there’s no denying opposites attract, can a college kid from New Jersey and a New Mexican cowboy learn to speak the same language, let alone trust each other?

When Mason Wild heads west to escape his past, he doesn’t have a plan or a penny to his name. Luckily he finds a job with a roofing company run by a rodeo cowboy who’s kind, easy to work for, and even with his jaw wired shut, hotter than July in the high desert.

Bull rider Levi Yost knows what it’s like to be down on his luck. He’s not much older than Mason, but he’s been around the block a few times, or at least around the rodeo arena. He takes a chance on the kid, giving him a job and a place to live on his ranch. The two of them discover a surprising amount of common ground, but trouble has a way of finding each of them. Mason has to learn to be fully honest with Levi, who in turn has to realize he’s not just riding out for himself anymore. 

 

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Chapter One

MASON WILD’S first stop after leaving New Jersey was a rest area west of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, where he met a truck driver in the men’s room who was headed down Interstate 81 toward Roanoke. It was the farthest away from home he’d ever been.

He had a little money on him but not much, and he had to stretch it pretty far because it was slow going finding rides after that until he’d passed through Knoxville and Nashville and landed in Jackson, Tennessee. By then he was a kind of hungry he’d never been in his whole life. He asked around, found some day work, and stayed there two days, keeping his head down and moving rocks around. It was shit money, but it was better than nothing, and nobody cared what his name was.

From Jackson he hitched a ride to Memphis. He was doing his best to be a good passenger, be polite like his mom taught him and just keep his stupid mouth shut. That was hard. He usually liked people and could talk about whatever when he wanted to, but right now he didn’t want to be too memorable.

Outside Memphis, he finally found a truck driver who was on a long haul. The guy was headed all the way to El Paso, and Mason figured what the hell, that was pretty damn far away, right? On the way, while the driver talked on and on for hours, he looked out the window as everything he understood disappeared in the rearview mirror and the world around him got flatter and drier. It felt like he spent weeks in that truck.

When he got to El Paso, he lucked into a stretch of work gutting some houses in town, but man, that was a long week. It was hot out and not only did the guys he was working with all seem to know each other, but they all knew what they were doing too. He knew some Spanish—you didn’t grow up in North Jersey and not know some Spanish—but apparently only enough local slang to figure out when he was being made fun of. Still, he was pretty much the biggest guy on the job, and he managed to hold his own even if they didn’t like his sneakers.

Mason hated them lately too. Everybody he knew wore sneakers at home, but out here, not only did he stand out as a city kid, but they were totally useless. He demolished a kitchen with a couple of guys one morning and stepped on a screw sticking up out of a cabinet door. It went right through his sole but luckily not into his foot. After that he spent half his time making sure he didn’t step on anything else or drop anything on his toes either. He couldn’t afford to do the hospital thing.

He was pretty sure he had enough money for some decent boots now, though, and he decided he’d buy some at his next stop—not that he knew where that was yet. But he was running out of real estate and he’d better figure something out soon. He couldn’t travel much farther away than he already had.

From El Paso the interstate only went north. He found a guy headed up 25 through Albuquerque, and hitched a ride, hoping he could bail somewhere near civilization.

It was an amazing drive—the grays and the tans and pinks seemed to be everywhere, the mountains and mesas like a whole foreign landscape.

“You know where you’re headed, kid?” The old cowboy didn’t look the slightest bit worried about picking him up. In fact, “Almon Ryder from right outside Dallas, pleased to meetcha, I do have my conceal carry permit,” looked like he might enjoy a bit of a fight.

“No.” Mason glanced over at him, wondering how polite the old guy expected him to be. He wasn’t planning on fighting anyone again. Ever. “Uh… no, sir. I’m just looking for work. You know.” Not too friendly, keep it to small talk. He’d gotten pretty good at riding in the passenger side of a semi and mostly pretending he wasn’t there, but a pickup was closer quarters.

“I do. There’s always work for guys that are willing. I’m going to see my son at UNM. He plays baseball there.”

Mason had no idea where that was. Baseball was awesome, though. “Yeah? That’s cool. Is he on a scholarship?”

“Yeah. He’s a good kid. My youngest. I have eight.”

“Sons?”

“Children. Seven of them are girls.”

“Holy crap!” He winced. “Uh. I mean, wow. That’s great. You’re totally outnumbered. And lucky. You’re very lucky.” He rolled his eyes. He should be keeping his stupid mouth shut. “Sorry.”

“I am totally outnumbered, kid. I lost my wife to breast cancer five years ago, with three still in school. Thank God for the oldest girls or the youngest might have starved.” The huge laugh boomed out, filling the cab.

Whoa. Small world. “I’m sorry, man. I lost my mom two years ago, same thing.” What a horrible time that had been. His whole senior year. “What was your wife’s name?”

“Sueann. She was a good woman. I’m sorry about your momma. It ain’t right.”

“Sueann. That’s a pretty name.” Nope. It wasn’t right. He used to think there was a bigger plan, but he wasn’t so sure anymore. He was just glad he didn’t have to break Mom’s heart when he left home. “So your youngest is in college. Where’s your oldest?”

“Married with four babies in Dallas. She’s an ER nurse. Her husband does something on the computer for work. He’s good to her and loves those babies, so I suppose I won’t have to kill him.”

“Uh. Well, that’s good, I guess?” Jesus. Everything he’d ever heard about Texans was true. Other things were true too, like this guy was super friendly and kind, but the whole gun-toting, bigger-than-life, major-accent thing? Totally true. And awesome. He’d never met anyone from Texas before now. Or wait, one of the truck drivers? The guy who’d driven him from Harrisburg to Roanoke… no wait, he was from Georgia.

His stomach growled. Loud. He looked out the window and pretended like he didn’t notice.

Almon grinned over at him. “You too, huh? There’s a McD’s up here. I’ll buy you a burger. You ain’t a vegetabletarian, right?”

He cheeks got hot. He hated handouts, but he wasn’t exactly flush at the moment. “Not me. If it’s food, I’ll eat it. That’s really nice of you. Thanks.” Vegetabletarian. Awesome.

“I hate eating alone, and I been down on my luck once or twice.”

“I’ll figure it out. I can work. I don’t know how to do much, but I’m big enough and I learn fast.” He had no choice, right? Thank God he didn’t have eight kids to feed. Whoa.

“Then you’ll be fine.” Almon pulled off and parked. “Let’s go in. Christ, my ass is too old to make this drive for a ball game.”

He got out of the truck. Almon was paying; he’d eat wherever the guy wanted to. He stretched, still a little sore from the last day of work and all the heavy lifting the smaller, older guys seemed happy to let him do. “Did you drive all the way from Dallas?”

“No, sir. I had been in Austin, seeing my four girls there; then I headed this direction.” He loved the way Almon said, “die-rection.”

“That’s a long drive. Geez. For a baseball game? He must be really good.” He followed Almon inside, getting blasted by the cool air as he held the door. The smell of the burgers and fries made his stomach growl again and his mouth water.

“Well, I haven’t seen my boy in a few months. What’s your poison?”

“Uh. The Buttermilk Crispy Chicken thing. Sandwich. Please.” And a ton of fries and a vanilla milkshake, but he wasn’t going to get greedy. Son in college in New Mexico, daughter in Dallas, four girls in Austin… he was missing one.

“Where’s your other daughter?” he asked as they headed over to a table with their food. He knew he probably shouldn’t be so chatty, but it felt good to have a real conversation with someone after almost a month of mostly keeping to himself. No one back home would believe he managed to keep quiet for this long.

“Two others.” Almon laughed happily. “Missy is in nursing school in Arlington, and Bessa’s in a band on the road. Last time I talked to her, she was in Oklahoma City, but I think she’s heading to Kansas City next. She’s hard to keep track of, that girl.”

“Two! Geez, that’s right. I’m glad you can keep track of them all.” He laughed. He’d have left one somewhere by mistake.

They sat, and the table got quiet as Mason sucked down his chicken. God, he could eat four of these things, easy. His sister had just… well, before he left, Izzy had told him she thought maybe he was still growing. He figured he just had a big appetite.

“They gave me an extra set of fries by mistake, kid. You want?”

“You don’t want ’em? Sure. Thanks.” Almon slid them over his direction, and he snarfed those down too. He had a feeling they weren’t there by mistake. He’d lucked out big-time on his ride. Back East he’d be wondering what the guy wanted from him, but Almon seemed like the legit dad type. Mason liked him.

“No problem. Doc doesn’t want me having too many, you know? I ain’t getting any younger.”

He nodded and grinned at Almon. “Better listen to the doc. If you need help with the rest of those, just ask.”

“Fair enough. I tell you what, this getting old shit is for the birds.”

“You’re not old, man. You just did a ton of driving today. Gotta be eight or nine hours to Austin maybe?”

“Thirteen by the time we get to the Duke City. We’re right outside of T or C right now.”

What? “I have no idea what you just said.” He laughed pretty hard. “I don’t know if it was the words or the accent. Sometimes I feel like I’m on another planet out here.”

“Albuquerque is the Duke City. T or C? That’s the town out here. Good camping.” Almon winked. “You’ll figure it out. New Mexico is a lot like Texas light.”

Like that was helpful. The only thing he knew about Texas was that it was huge, took forever and ever to drive across, and he didn’t really want to go back to El Paso.

“So you know where to find work in the city? If not, you might try starting down near the farms in Corrales. My son and his roommates do some odd jobs for beer money, and they always talk about driving up the hill to Rio Rancho, Bernalillo, Corrales. That direction. I will holler at him and ask, if you want.”

“Yeah? That would be awesome. I figured I was going to have to ask around, you know? But if they could maybe hook me up with a place to start, that would rock so hard.” He repeated the names in his head. Rio Rancho, Bernalillo, Corrales. He didn’t need beer money, and he wasn’t old enough to buy it yet anyway. But beer money could buy him some real food instead. He had enough in his pocket from El Paso for a couple of nights in a cheap place and a pair of decent boots. That was a start. If he could find work fast, he’d be golden.

“Can’t hurt to ask. Troy knows a shit-ton of folks.” Obviously Troy got that from his father.

“I really appreciate it, man. Thanks.” He hopped up. “Not rushing you, I just need to stretch my legs.” They were long—they got tired of being folded up under a dashboard after a while.

“Stretch away.” Almon pulled out his phone and started typing.

Mason looked at Almon’s phone, feeling kind of jealous. He missed his phone. He missed texting his crew and his sister, and Snapchat and iTunes. He even missed that stupid foulmouthed weather app. Not that he needed a weather app out here. The weather was the same every day. Hot.

He shook his legs out and scanned the other booths. People even looked different out here. More relaxed maybe. Tan too. There was an awful lot of good-looking skin out here.

The wind was blowing when he went outside, the black clouds covering the mountains like a blanket. Did black clouds mean rain? Down here or just up there? He knew he’d have a lot to learn out here, but he hadn’t expected understanding the weather to be on that list.

Mason stuck his hands in his pockets and breathed in the air. It did seem a little cooler. Sticky. And it was definitely cleaner than the city. He didn’t recognize the scent on the breeze at first, but it finally hit him about a half second before the wall of water started moving across the parking lot.

Jesus. Jesus, look at that.

He stepped back under the awning by the door and watched it march toward him. Where the hell had that come from? He got a little spray as the rain hit the sidewalk and drenched the building, but not enough to drive him back inside. This was way too cool.

The rain came down in waves, the parking lot turning to standing water in seconds. This was a deluge, and it had hit so fast.

If he were home, he’d be snapping pictures. Instead he just tried to memorize the way the water dumped from the sky and how he could just barely make out Almon’s truck at the end of the parking lot, so maybe he could tell Izzy about it one day.

“Look at that, huh? I ain’t never seen rain come down so fast and hard like here.” Almon grinned from the open door. “It won’t last.”

“I’ve never seen anything like this at all. I looked up and it was just coming at me. Like this crazy wall just cruising across the parking lot.” He shook his head. “Insane.”

“Rain in the desert. Talked to Troy, and he says he’ll make up a list of places that have steady work.”

“No way, really? That’s… wow. Thank you so much. Tell Troy I owe him a solid.” Steady work. Maybe this could be his last stop for a while. He could handle that. It was beautiful out here even if was hot and poured buckets sometimes.

“He’s a good kid. I think I’ll….” Just like that, the rain stopped like someone turning off a faucet.

He stuck a hand out from under the awning, then stepped out as well and looked up at the sky. “Huh. That’s it?” The clouds just rolled away the way they’d rolled in.

“That’s it. You ready to go?”

“Yeah. Sure.” He stared at the sky as he headed over to the truck, though, like maybe it might change its mind and start pouring again. He hopped up into the passenger side and stretched his neck as he pulled on his seat belt, feeling a little stiff and headachey. Probably that storm rolling through so fast. His mom used to get weather headaches. Or maybe like a blood sugar thing. “Thanks again for the food, man.” He was going to have to buy some Advil or something wherever Almon dropped him off.

“No problem. Thanks for the company.”

He leaned his head back on the headrest and stretched his legs out as far as he could manage, which wasn’t really far enough. “What do you do for work?”

“I own a cattle ranch, raise cuttin’ horses, and I run futurity bulls. Little bit of everything, I guess.”

Language barrier again. Some days he felt dumber and dumber by the minute out here. “You lost me again. What’s a futurity bull?”

“It’s a baby bucking bull, for all intents and purposes. You know, for the rodeo?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard of a rodeo. Guys have to ride crazy bulls and they win all kinds of money if they stay on long enough.” Why anybody would do that, he had no idea. He’d never seen anyone ride, but he kind of thought the guys were crazier than the bulls.

“If they’re on the big show, yeah. The steadier money is in the ropers.”

As they drove on, Mason had a bunch of questions, and Almon answered them patiently and told him about all the different rodeo events. It passed the time for one thing, but he kind of thought Almon enjoyed teaching him.

The mountains just kept getting bigger and closer. There weren’t any trees, really, just these huge rocky things. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to so much open space.

Things got quiet, and Almon turned on the radio. He closed his eyes after a while, not feeling all that great. Carsick maybe. It didn’t feel like a lot of time had passed, but when he opened his eyes again, it was almost dark out. He must have fallen asleep.

“Grab you some water, kid. You look green.” Almon pulled into the city, the trails of light flashing madly.

“Huh? I’m good.” He wasn’t good. The streetlights made him squint, and his brain was trying to escape out the top of his head. He’d sell his soul for some Advil. He reached over the seat and grabbed a bottle of water. “Is this Albuquerque? You can let me off anywhere, man. I really appreciate everything. I know you have people to see.”

“This is Albuquerque. Do you have somewhere to go?”

He shrugged. “I’ll find something.” All he needed was that list. He could find somewhere to crash for tonight, head right out in the morning to get work, and then—oh, shit. “You’re gonna want to pull over, man.” Seriously? He was gonna hurl.

Almon didn’t say a thing. The truck just swerved right off to the curb and Mason jumped out and brought up his lunch. After that, his head really started to pound. He rinsed his mouth and spat, then leaned back against the side of the truck with a groan. “Fuckin’ A.”

“Water, kid. Pound water. You got altitude sickness.” Almon handed him another bottle.

He took the bottle and swallowed back a huge gulp, but it didn’t sit right in his stomach. “I’ve got what?” He wasn’t sure that water wasn’t going to come back up too, but he kept drinking. Almon seemed to know what he was talking about. “There’s a little alien in my head, and the bastard is going to town with a jackhammer, I swear to God.”

“Water will fix it. Keep it down, and then we’ll try Tylenol. Do you have somewhere to go?”

“Not yet. I’ll find some… something. Shit.” He turned around and braced a hand on the truck, sure he was going to puke again, but he didn’t quite. His guts just felt punky.

“No. I’ll get you a room at the Motel 6. Just for a night until Troy can get you some information. Drink your water.”

He leaned on the truck again and finished off the bottle in his hand. “Thanks. It would be great if you could drop me at the Motel 6. I can get myself a room.” He felt like he was dying. He needed a room tonight; he’d figure it out. He could let his boots wait another week.

“I’ve got a room too. No stress.” Almon grinned, the look a little wry. “Troy’s got five roommates. Male ones. I’m not staying there.”

He snorted. He tried for some sort of grin but wasn’t sure he managed it. “Oh. Gross. I hear that. Can I get another water?”

“Absolutely. Keep drinking, have a nap and a shower. You’ll be okay.”

He climbed back into the truck and pulled out another bottle of water. “I guess you’re used to this altitude thing?” He sipped the water and sank back into the seat.

“Not everyone has a problem. I have a daughter that just has to fight it with all she is.” Almon gave him a half grin. “You ready for me to move again?”

“I guess I can relate to her, huh? Yeah, I’m good. Just gonna keep my eyes closed.” He’d like to look around, get his bearings, but that was going to have to wait for tomorrow.

“We ain’t got far.”

Almon was telling the truth—they pulled into a Motel 6 a minute later, and then Almon handed him a key card for a room, just like that. “I got to go grab my boy and take him to supper. You get some rest, and if you want, I’ll introduce y’all in the morning over breakfast.”

He looked at the key card and then back at Almon, trying hard to just accept help gracefully. It wasn’t easy. “Thanks. I owe you. Have a good dinner. I’d love to meet Troy tomorrow.” Hopefully he’d feel better by morning. Right now, he was going to fight back the frustration he was feeling and try to be grateful, crawl into bed, and die for a while.

“Drink your water. It will help, huh? Even if it makes you feel like your back teeth are floating.”

“Totally, man. I’m on it.” He stuck out his hand to shake, looking Almon right in the eye like Mom taught him to. She said nobody trusted a man that couldn’t look them in the eye. “Thanks again.

“You’re welcome. Get some good rest, and I’ll knock in the morning, okay?”

“Will do. Night.” He gave Almon a nod, backed up a few steps, and then set off to find his room.

He sucked down the rest of his water as soon as he got inside. He wanted to shower. He knew he should. He probably smelled like a… huh. Like a homeless guy, which he pretty much was right now. But that bed was calling his name, and that’s as far as he got. He’d clean up in the morning.

Title: Land of Enchantment
Published by: Tygerseye Publishing, LLC
ASIN: B07XJHS2VW
ISBN13: 978-1-7330076-8-9

 

Deviations: Submission

April 11, 2017 by
Contributors: Jodi Payne and Chris Owen
Series: Deviations #1
Genre: , , , , ,
Release Date: December 30, 2019 (Third Edition)
Pages: 338

Tobias Vincent is a big animal vet, and also skilled and seasoned Dom. City beat cop, and sub Noah desperately needs to find a man to help him work through a block but has yet to find someone who can take him where he needs to go.

Through a series of encounters in the world of bondage and discipline, Noah reveals why he has trouble trusting, and why he needs such a firm, steady hand. Tobias is confident he can help Noah, but he has trouble letting himself love. Still, Tobias can't resist Noah's charms, and the two of them set about making a scene for themselves, one that works for them and their unique set of challenges.

They learn to love, but how will they stay together while they explore each other’s secrets, in an environment where all is laid bare and emotions run high?

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EXCERPT FROM SUBMISSION

There were many truths in this life, Tobias decided as he knotted his tie for the evening. Death comes to all, taxes must be paid, and fortieth birthdays were a reason for one's friends to buy nice wine, make lavish cakes, and throw dinner parties. Forty-first birthdays, on the other hand, went unremarked upon by all but one's nearest and dearest. As he had cards from a few friends and a message from Phan, he thought he'd just about exhausted the expected well wishes.

But turning forty-one did not mean he was dead or unable to make his own fun. He'd made his arrangements for the evening, planning with as much detail as he could—which, admittedly, wasn't much. He knew what to wear for his mood; he knew where he'd go and what he'd eat; he knew what he wanted. But there were an amazing number of variables at play, more than he usually allowed.

He was thinking about that as he straightened his dinner jacket and pocketed his keys. It was a highly planned evening of spontaneity that lay ahead of him, the novelty of which made him smile. Perhaps letting the fates blow once in a while was a good thing. In any case, he'd find out shortly; the worst he could do was have an evening of fine dining and a bottle of wine. The best would be far, far better, but it was rare to find exactly what he sought.

Tobias ran a comb through his hair one last time as he waited for his car, the light in the entry to his condo making the few stray silver hairs shine among the darker brown. Forty-one wasn't too old, he decided. It was a fine age to be, the height of his success and skill. He lacked for nothing, really.

Only someone to share his birthday with.

The phone rang and he pushed the thought away, startled to realize it wasn't the house phone signaling his car, but his landline. ''Dr. Vincent,'' he said as he answered. God, he hoped it wasn't an emergency—he really wasn't dressed to have a lamb be born, or to nurse a horse through colic.

''Good evening, Doctor, I'm sorry to call like this. I'm sure you have plans,'' came the smooth and cheerful voice of his elderly housekeeper.

''Oh, Mrs. Miller, hello. I do, yes—I'm just on my way out, but I have a few minutes.'' He smiled to himself ruefully; he would talk for as long as the lady decided, and he knew it. No matter how successful he got or how many birthdays he had, there would always be Mrs. Miller to defer to.

''I'm merely calling to wish you a happy birthday,'' she said, ''and to ask if you'll be out to the farm this weekend.''

Tobias’ smile grew. ''Thank you, Mrs. Miller, that's really very kind of you. And yes, I'm planning to drive out tomorrow afternoon until Monday.''

''Should I tell Peter not to come then, or would you like him to exercise the horses?''

''No, I'll do it,'' he decided. It was one of the best things about going to the country, and he wouldn't happily pay someone to do it for him when he was there. The house phone buzzed at him, two shorts. ''Thank you again, Mrs. Miller.''

''I'll see you tomorrow, Doctor,'' she said, and he could picture her grinning. ''Enjoy your evening.''

''I hope to,'' he said with a smile. He hung up, buzzed the front desk, and headed to his club.

* * *

The car pulled up in front of the building and Tobias lowered his window for the security guard. ''Good evening, Tobias,'' the man said with a smile that was entirely professional, despite his use of Tobias' first name. It was a club rule that all members were to be treated equally until there was an agreement in place between individuals, and as last names were not used at all in order to preserve anonymity, given names were expected.

''Timothy,'' Tobias said with a warm smile. ''When did you start out here?'' The last time Tobias had been to the club Timothy had been inside.

''About five months ago. I like it, though I'm called back inside if needed.'' Timothy made a note of the number on Tobias' membership card and smiled at him again. ''Have a nice evening, Tobias. And welcome back.''

The car moved slowly ahead and stopped at the wide front steps; by the time Tobias had opened his door the driver was there, and the front door was opening.

''Tobias! Timothy said you were here.''

Tobias shook his head and smiled again. ''I trust you don't mind me appearing again after all this time?'' he asked Bradford.

Bradford met him on the steps and shook his hand. Tobias' friendship with Bradford went back far too many years to count anymore, and even after Tobias’ long absence from the club, the man’s firm handshake felt as familiar and comforting as a favorite sweater. ''The day we turn you from here, my friend,'' Bradford told him with a warm smile, ''is the day I close the old place up. Now, come in! Eat. Enjoy your birthday. I have a room reserved for you, as you requested. You're not meeting anyone are you?''

The club had a small, exclusive membership made up of carefully screened Dominant and submissive men. These men had been screened not just for their level of training but also style and personality, thereby keeping the membership diverse and varied. It wasn’t a BDSM club in the common sense; it was more a place for men to meet, socialize and fulfill each others’ needs and fantasies in a safe and monitored environment. Bradford had taken over management of the club a number of years ago, and eventually assumed ownership as well when his mentor, a smooth, confident Dom who had also been a mentor of Tobias’, was ready to retire. Bradford was a natural host; he knew his membership well, and he had a knack for making everyone feel right at home.

Tobias shook his head again and allowed himself to be led inside. The solid doors closed behind him and he took a deep breath, immediately relaxing. There was just something about the dark interior, the plush fabrics and deep wingback chairs that called to him. Or perhaps it was the crossed whips decorating the walls.

''I don't have a guest, if that's what you mean,'' he told Bradford as they made their way to the small bar. ''But I'm open to possibilities.''

''I was hoping you would say that.'' Bradford suddenly looked speculative. ''In which case...''

''Wait,'' Tobias said, laughing. ''I'm not saying I want you to find me a date. I'm just saying I want to have a pleasant evening—a nice meal, people I like around me—''

''And it's been eight months since you've been here, Tobias. I know you spend your weekends on the farm and your weeknights in town. I'd certainly have heard if you had someone new.'' He shook his head sadly, making Tobias grin. ''No, my friend, you deserve to play. And I might just have the right someone for you.''

Tobias tilted his head and considered his friend. Bradford had been running the club for a number of years, had been an integral part of Tobias' own training. There was perhaps no one more capable of knowing the type of partner Tobias needed, liked... desired.

''Tell me,'' Tobias invited, accepting a glass of ice water from the bartender.

Bradford beamed at him, delighted. ''I can, and will do you one better. Come.''

Tobias had little choice but to follow as Bradford crossed the room with purpose to a small table. Tobias, being behind, could see little other than a man sitting alone. He rose quickly as Bradford made a direct path to him.

''Tobias,'' Bradford said grandly, ''I would like you to meet Noah. Noah, this is Tobias. It is my opinion that the two of you are well suited. Of course, you may decide otherwise, but I encourage you to at least discuss the matter.'' He then bowed his head and stepped back, wishing them good evening with a knowing grin before turning and walking away, leaving Tobias to face this stranger alone, knowing no more than his name.

Title: Submission
Published by: Tygerseye Publishing, LLC
ASIN: B083BKLWDJ
ISBN13: 978-1-951011-17-8

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Top of the World

September 9, 2022 by
Contributors: Jodi Payne
Series: Sapphic #1
Genre: , , , ,
Release Date: October 11, 2022

A Summit Springs shared-world Novel.

Top of the World is a second chances Sapphic (lesbian) romance set in the fictional town of Summit Springs, CO, featuring an ice queen artist and her mountain biker, rough and tumble ex.

Frankie Hoffman is excited about her new job with Marmot and Moose Outfitters, developing their mountain biking adventure program. Riding is her passion, and she loves every adrenaline fueled moment of her sport. Sure, she could have gotten a similar seasonal job back in Vermont, but Frankie chose Summit Springs for a reason, and her name is Aspen Young.

Aspen left Vermont after college graduation to pursue her dream of running an art gallery. She’s also a potter and moved home to Summit Springs to surround herself with amazing artists, all of whom are trying to make a living with what they do. Keeping the gallery’s doors open and her co-op of resident artists in business keeps her busy enough that she never thinks about Frankie anymore, and she has completely buried her broken heart.

Aspen’s not impressed when she comes home to find Frankie standing in her kitchen, and she doesn’t mince words when it’s time for Frankie to go home, making it clear she doesn’t want to see Frankie again.

But Frankie has come a long way to win Aspen back and one rejection can’t shake her resolve. Can Frankie make amends and get through Aspen’s walls? And if she can, will it be the forever love she is hoping for or just a summer fling?

Buy the Book: Amazon~~Barnes & Noble~~iBooks~~Kobo~~Smashwords~~Universal eBook Links

Also in this series:

 

Chapter One 

 

Frankie braked to a stop in the parking lot at the bottom of the bike trail and shared a high five with the pair she’d joined up with at the top of the mountain. “Whoo! That was sweet.” She tugged her helmet off and ran her fingers over her blond braid, grinning with the adrenaline rush of a great ride. 

“Right? You kicked ass. That slalom bit toward the end is pretty gnarly, huh? You gotta watch that last bend…the one with the boulder on the outside.” Patrick and Heather were experienced and pretty hardcore on the trail. Frankie wasn’t sure if they were locals or just came up here a lot, but they were serious terrain riders and had shown her all the best places to trick or get some air along the way. They’d been good people to run into. 

“Totally.” She nodded, still breathing hard from the workout. “I’m glad you were in front of me, man. The only reason I didn’t bite it is because you almost did.” 

They all laughed. Frankie went for her water bottle and took a big swig, washing the dust from the last bit of trail out of her mouth. 

“Are you from around here?” Heather got off her bike and started stretching. 

“No. I’m a seasonal hire up at Marmot and Moose.” She was pretty stoked about it too.  

“The outfitters? Oh, dude. Awesome. Are you a guide? I didn’t know they were into biking.” 

“They are this year.” She gave Heather a wink. “They hired me to set up the program and run it as a trial thing for the summer.” And if it worked out, she’d find a way to be useful over the winter too. It paid well, better than anything she’d done before, and she loved biking. “We’ll see how it goes.” 

“Well, I hope it goes well.” 

“Thanks.” Frankie did too. The job had been hard to land—she’d had two interviews with Liz and Lupe and still hadn’t been officially hired until she’d made it out here and they’d met her in person. She got it, they were putting a lot of trust in her. Mountain biking was a new venture for the M&M this summer, and she knew they wanted to do it right.  

All she had to do now was not fuck it up. That wasn’t an option. She needed the job, sure, and it was a good one, but she hadn’t actually come all the way out here for the work.  

She’d come out here for Aspen. 

Aspen Young—her Penny. 

Named for the tree, not the town. 

Patrick opened the back of a black pickup and started loading their gear. Heather pulled out her phone. “Take my number in case you’re looking for someone to ride with. Riding alone up here’s not a great idea; you were smart to wait for someone to hook up with.” 

She knew. She’d made that mistake once; she wasn’t going to make it again. “Thank you. That would be awesome.” She handed Heather her phone and Heather put in her info. “Heather Booth. Got it.” 

“Booth for now. Patrick’s last name is Young. We got married a month ago, and I still haven’t decided yet if I’m taking his name or keeping my own. It’s making him crazy.” 

“Patrick Young?” Holy shit. It couldn’t be. She wasn’t ever that lucky. “And you all are local?” 

“Patrick has a house just outside of town. We love it. I’m a teacher and Patrick does ski patrol. He’s got family here too, so there’s even more reason to stay.” 

“Oh…very cool.”  

No fucking way.  

Patrick turned around, and suddenly Frankie could see the resemblance. She’d missed it when he was wearing his helmet. Patrick and Penny had the same dark eyes, the same wide smile. He had to be the little brother she’d talked about.  

Whoa. 

“You got Heather’s number, right? Let’s do this again. We can hook you up with some other riders too.” Patrick stuck out his hand and she shook it. 

“Thanks. It was great to meet you both.” 

Say hi to your sister for me. 

Yeah, no. Not yet. 

Heather put her bike on the rack, and it looked like they were all packed up. “Good luck with M and M; they’re great people.” 

“Thank you. Fingers crossed.” Frankie got out of the way so Patrick could pull his truck out, and gave them a wave as they drove away. 

Okay, that was totally wild.  

Not only had she just had an awesome ride, but of all people, she’d actually run into Penny’s brother on the trail. For a second, she’d considered telling Patrick she knew Penny, but she didn’t want Penny to hear she was in town from anyone but her.  

She didn’t think it was going to go over so well. 

She walked her bike to her Forester and set it on the rack, then tossed all her gear onto the back seat. Waiting for her on the passenger seat was a Luna Bar and a bottle of water, and she opened both. She was hungry after that ride. Maybe she’d head into town to scope out some food. Or maybe she’d see if she could figure out where Penny had landed when she moved home again. 

But as soon as the Luna Bar hit her stomach, she realized there was no way she was going to make it into town today. She was still adjusting to the altitude, and it was hitting her hard after that ride. Burlington was a whopping two hundred feet above sea level. Mount Mansfield was as high as she’d ever been until now at forty-three hundred feet, and she’d only spent a few hours at a time up there. This was her second day in Summit Springs at nearly six thousand feet flat, and she was feeling it.  

Like, whoa.  

She’d taken ibuprofen this morning but her headache was returning fast, and this time she was feeling pretty nauseated too. She’d obviously pushed too hard too soon. What she needed now was more water and some rest, or she was going to regret that ride. 

She wanted to explore, but that was just not happening. Maybe tomorrow. For now, it was back to the bunkhouse for a nap.

Title: Top of the World
Published by: Tygerseye Publishing, LLC
ASIN: B0B5JWQP5F

The Barn: Zeke and Wesley

May 12, 2025 by
Contributors: Jodi Payne, BA Tortuga
Series: The Barn #1
Genre: , , , , , ,
Release Date: May 20, 2025
Pages: 270

Zeke and Wesley is an opposites attract romance set in Alaska at a resort for queer men. It features a professional songwriter who is haunted by a past relationship and a fundraiser/event planner who is looking for an adventure.

Wesley Dugan raises money for other people for a living, has finally decided he needs to spend a little on himself for a change. He wants an adventure, somewhere that he can indulge his appetites without making promises to anyone. The Barn is an exclusive Alaskan resort that is highly regarded in the scene and promises kinky delights, assuming Wesley can brave his fear of flying to get there.

Zeke Burrell is about to celebrate a major anniversary. At nearly a thousand days, he imagines he’s spent more time at the Barn than anyone but the owners. To Zeke, the resort is his home and his sanctuary, where he can write music and find peace in his routine.

When they meet, Zeke is surprised to be so curious about the resort’s newest guest. Wesley doesn’t expect to become so infatuated on the first day of his vacation. While their desires brought them to the resort for the same reasons, the rest of their lives couldn’t be any different. Zeke prefers quiet and solitude, while Wesley enjoys the company of others and a good party. Zeke has a complicated history, but Wesley’s couldn’t be more straightforward.

Is it possible for them to find the balance they crave both in-scene and out?

Buy the Book: Amazon

Chapter 1

 

Wesley was still feeling wobbly when he stepped off the plane. The Xanax he’d taken before he left Sacramento ought to have worn off long ago, so he assumed what he was feeling now was the gin.

He hoisted his backpack higher up on his shoulder and took a few more steps, following the signs for the baggage claim. He didn’t remember taking off, or the stop in Seattle where he fortunately didn’t have to get off the plane. He did remember ordering a drink, though he couldn’t say whether it had been his first, and he remembered the incredible scenery as they approached Juneau.

He’d never seen anything like it. Huge blue and white glaciers lined with black sediment cutting through rocky, snow-capped mountains and spilling into smooth, green water. And all within clear view of the airport.

He was relieved to be on the ground, though, and the unfamiliar surroundings, the strange airport, and what was left of his buzz reminded him that he was finally on vacation in a place where he could be himself, away from the eyes that judged his every move.

“Mr. Dugan, sir?” A blond man in a canvas field coat and hiking boots gave him a wave. “Are you Mr. Dugan?”

He nodded, realizing that this must be the driver he was promised. “I am.”

“Was your flight okay? How are you feeling?”

“I don’t remember much of it to be honest, and I'm still a little…” Drunk, most likely.

“Not to worry; we have an hour or so to go.”

“Let’s hope that does it.” And if not, he’d check in and take a nap.

“No stress, Sir. No one will expect you to be on as soon as you check in. This is a wild trip to Juneau. Everyone needs time to adjust.” He got a warm smile. “I’m Caleb, by the way, and I’m happy to help you out.”

“Thank you, Caleb. I appreciate the help, especially at the moment.” It had been rude of him not to ask the young man’s name, but he’d put his issues with flying in his personal statement, and Caleb seemed to understand that he wasn’t at his best.

He pointed out his suitcase, and Caleb retrieved it, then led him out into the beautiful, cool spring day. There was a luxury Jeep waiting for them, and he was already feeling like he might live.

No stodgy black car, no city traffic to wade through, and when Caleb called him “sir” it wasn’t because Caleb didn’t know his name or because he was the boy's employer. It wasn't even because he had money. Caleb was deferring to his status as a Dominant. Just like his reference to “boy” was about Caleb clearly being a sub.

So fucking refreshing.

He climbed into the front seat and pulled out his phone, intending to check his texts now that he’d landed, but instead, he thought better of it and shut the thing off.

He wasn’t that man here. Not entirely anyway. He took a deep breath to shake off the remaining cobwebs, glanced at the sub in the driver’s seat and smiled. “I am so ready for this.”

“Yes, Sir. I can tell you the Barn is a lovely place to unwind.”

“So, do you work for the management as a driver, or were you instructed to pick me up today? I have to admit, I’m not clear on all the details. I’m here on a recommendation from a friend.”

“I work for management, and I asked to come. I love driving, and it’s a glorious day. There are a couple of other boys who pick up guests, but one has the day off, and I won at Roshambo.”

He gave Caleb a nod and a smile. “Congratulations. And I think you made the right choice. It’s a perfect day to be out in all of this scenery. The view from the plane was stunning.” Even if it had made him anxious. He’d left his window slightly open for the fresh air, though, and was just about clearheaded now. “Thank you for the ride.”

“It’s absolutely my pleasure. Is there any place you’d like to stop in town before we head up into the resort?”

He went with his first instinct. While it was true that he’d slept most of the trip, he was still pretty beat. “I don’t know anything about Juneau, but I assume I’ll have the opportunity to come back and explore at some point. I think I’d like to go get settled in.”

“Yes, Sir. Just lean back and relax. It’s about an hour and a half out, maybe less.”

“Thank you.” As long as they were on solid ground, he didn’t care how long the drive was. He was in fucking Alaska. Everything his eyes landed on was something he’d never seen before.

Title: Zeke & Wesley
Published by: Tygerseye Publishing, LLC
ASIN: B0F7N1TRY3

Breaking the Rules

August 23, 2020 by
Contributors: Jodi Payne and BA Tortuga
Series: Triskelion Series #1
Genre: , , , , ,
Release Date: September 22, 2020
Pages: 450

Breaking the Rules: The Triskelion Series, Book One

Saul Reynolds manages a busy bicycle shop in downtown Boulder, Colorado. A recent CU graduate, he’s also a Dom, and has many friends his age in the scene. Saul’s an old soul, and even at twenty-five, he’s had enough experience to understand his own desires. He’s had plenty of lovers and he’s played the role of part-time Dom, but he’s never found the perfect combination of lover and sub in one man.

Troy Finch lost his lover in a rodeo accident twenty years ago, moved to Boulder, and has worked as a line cook in his friend Carter’s diner ever since. He’s attended many parties at Carter’s home with couples in the BDSM lifestyle and feels comfortable in a submissive role, but without a Dom of his own, Troy hasn’t explored what that really means to him. He has needs he doesn’t entirely understand and finds his only outlet at the hands of Carter’s husband, Geoff, a tattoo artist who has used Troy’s skin as a canvas for as long as they’ve known each other, covering Troy in colorful, intricate triskelia.

Troy doesn’t know what he was thinking accepting a dinner invitation from a kid half his age, but everything feels right about their evening together, including Saul’s Dominant side. The rules for a twenty-five year old gay cowboy from years ago, though, are totally different than for a twenty-five year old college grad in Boulder now, and despite Saul’s confidence, Troy isn’t sure whether they can make it work.

Saul and Troy manage to bend a good many rules in the name of caring and compromise, but in the name of love, there are some rules they’re just going to have to break.

Buy the Book: Amazon~~Barnes & Noble~~iBooks~~Publisher~~Kobo~~Smashwords~~Universal eBook Links

Also in this series:

 

Chapter One

 

Saul held the mountain bike like a lover, like it was something precious, babying the new paint job and shiny chrome as he loaded it into the back of the pick-up truck. He wrapped it in a blanket so it would stay spotless on the drive and checked the tires for the third time.

Then he hopped out of the bed and shut the tailgate. All good. That bike was some of his best work. Thank goodness for Emma, he wanted to deliver this one personally and he didn’t have wheels of his own.

You got this.

It was another perfect spring day and downtown Boulder was busy. He drove up Canyon Boulevard and parked near the east end of the Pearl Street Mall, then reversed the process with the bicycle, gingerly lowering it to the ground. He got on it and took a lap of the parking lot, fucking with the gears and brakes. Damn, this was a sweet rebuild.

He walked the bike to Carter Lee’s diner, which of course he’d forgotten the name of, but he knew the one, he’d been there a bunch of times. Best cup of coffee in town, crazy good French toast. Small world, colliding with the man who owned that place.

He’d rebuilt the whole front end, put on new tires, a new chain, a new gear shift, replaced the scuffed-up pedals and the twisted handlebars, and had given the thing a new paint job. It sparkled like new, which was pretty much the least he could do after almost knocking out Carter’s front teeth.

He pulled up outside the diner and peered through the window, trying to see if he could catch Carter’s eye, but the place was hopping, and everyone was busy. He sighed and locked the bike up, making sure it was as far away from other bikes as possible, and headed inside.

“Just one?” The hostess grabbed a menu.

“Oh, I’m just… I was looking for…”

“This way, please.”

He blinked, totally off-guard, and followed her to a small table. “I’m actually just here to see Carter.”

“I’ll let him know you’re looking for him. Coffee?”

“Oh I, uh.” She peered at him expectantly. “Sure. Sounds good.”

“You take cream?” She handed him a menu, sighing as a group of mountain bikers showed up. “Ah, to-go orders. I’ll be right back with your coffee.”

“Yes,” he called after her. He glanced over at the bikers, but he didn’t know any of them. Must not be local. He knew a lot of the real enthusiasts in town from his shop.

He glanced at his watch. It was eleven-thirty and he’d been putting the finishing touches on the bike all morning. He supposed he could eat, but he really didn’t need the menu. He wanted that French toast with the berries and the vanilla-maple syrup. He could almost taste it.

“Troy! Troy, I need seven more turkey sandwiches to go. All chips.”

“On it, honey,” a rough drawl answered her, the John Deere ball cap the only thing visible through the pass-through.

That was one of his favorite things, the way Carter’s cook worked—steady, calm, fast and obviously damn good at his job.

He tried to think how long the guy had been working back there. Had to be forever, and in all that time he’d never heard the cook get ruffled. Just “On it,” or “Yes, ma’am” with that deep tone. He liked the voice, and he was pretty sure he’d have recognized it anywhere.

“Hey, man, how goes it?” Carter came and sat, offering him a smile. “Run anyone over this week?”

He grinned and felt his cheeks burn, totally embarrassed. “Nope. I’m finding you a tough act to follow. I think I’ve hit a dry spell. You?”

“Busy as a one-armed paperhanger.” Carter smiled for him, and, okay, he was totally glad he hadn’t knocked those teeth out.

“I see that. I have to say I’m sorry again. Hopefully your bike will make up for the bruises. It’s all done, I parked it outside. If you have any problems, you just let me know, I’ll get it right for you.” He smiled back, going for charming but not flirty. Carter was a handsome but married man.

“You rock, man. I mean it. Let me grab you a cup of coffee and…you’re the French toast, right?”

“My favorite. Thanks so much.” Carter was the coolest cat on the planet. He wasn’t sure if he could be that chill if someone barreled into his path out of nowhere, sent him flying and mangled his handlebars. He’d like to think he could, he tried to be level-headed, and shit happens, right?

“Right on.” Carter stood and went to pour his coffee. “Troy, I need a French toast with berries and a side of bacon on the fly.”

“On it, boss.”

On it, boss. Saul smiled and leaned back in his chair. That drawl was something. He thanked Carter again for the coffee and his stomach growled as he picked it up to take a sip. Yeah, he could eat.

He drank his coffee and checked his phone while he waited. He answered an email from Emma about the supply order he’d placed the day before. Thank goodness Emma was as much of a workaholic as he was. The shop was demanding and busy.

He also made a cocktail hour appointment with Khloe, who said she needed a hand. He wasn’t her Dom, but she didn’t have one at the moment and she was a friend. If she needed him, he’d be there.

“Excuse me. You’re the French toast?” Shocking green eyes stared at him. They seemed huge when paired with that bald head.

He stared right back and smiled, stunned by the handsome face that went with the drawl. “Actually, I’m Saul. But I’m having the French toast.”

“Good deal.” He got a smile, a nod as the plate was put in front of him. “Enjoy your breakfast, sir.”

“I always do. You make amazing French toast.” He boldly reached out and touched a triskelion tattoo on the cook’s wrist with curious fingers, keeping the man there another second. “Great ink. What’s your name?”

“Finch. Troy Finch. Pleased to meet you.”

As his gaze traveled up, he discovered the triskelions climbing up Troy Finch’s arm, some delicate and lacy, some violent and sharp-edged. It was fascinating, and he had all kinds of questions.

“I think the pleasure is really mine, Troy.” As much as he wanted to keep this lovely man talking, he lifted his fingers away. “I know you’re busy back there. Thank you for taking the time to run this out to me.”

“You’re welcome, sir. Boss is bad about letting his orders die in the window.”

“Get your ass in the kitchen. I hear you, telling lies about me.” Carter was barely holding his laughter back.

Troy snorted, but dropped him a wink. “Yes, sir. No smoke break for me?”

“Nope. Kitchen.”

“Thanks again, Troy.” Saul watched the guy take a few strolling steps toward the kitchen and then head back to work. He glanced up at Carter. “Interesting guy. Lots of pretty specific ink. Nice work.” He picked up the little glass jug of syrup and covered his plate in it.

“It is. My husband, Geoff? He did all the work.”

“Yeah? He must be pretty creative.” Who knew there were so many different ways to draw a triskelion? He’d seen at least ten or twelve and he figured there had to be more going up that arm. He started in on his French toast. “Mm. So good.” Like foodgasm good.

“Enjoy, huh? It’s on the house.” Carter grinned at him, dark eyes wrinkling with the power of his smile. “The bike looks great, man. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re happy with it. I thought it came out pretty sweet.” Yeah, he could maybe be more humble. But he knew what his strengths were, and custom bikes was one of them. He was good at what he did. He smiled right back at Carter. “Try not to get in my way again, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah. Pay attention, and I’ll do my best.” The wink he got was pure mischief.

He laughed. “You’re on. Listen, what are you doing Sunday? You want to ride? We could have a rematch.”

“Sure. Sunday’s my day off. Let me check with Geoff, but he’ll be asleep. He works late on Saturdays.”

“Perfect.” He swallowed the big bite he had in his mouth. “Don’t let me keep you, I get that it’s busy. Thank you so much for the lunch.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll text you.” Then poof, Carter was off and running, greeting customers and bussing tables.

He knew Carter was going to like how he’d fixed up the bike. He knew it. Just like he was sure Troy’s stunning green eyes had gotten a good look at his ring, the one bearing the symbol that matched the carpet of amazing ink on the cook’s arm.

He finished his food and left a great big tip. Then he pulled out one of his business cards from the shop, flipped it over and wrote a quick note on the back before handing it to the hostess.

“Excuse me. Troy might need to reach me, so can you make sure he gets this?” He held the card out to her.

“Yeah, sure. Have a good day.”

“Thanks much. You too.” As he was leaving, he heard her calling back to Troy for more sandwiches to go.

 

 

Title: Breaking the Rules, The Triskelion Series, Book One
Published by: Tygerseye Publishing, LLC
ASIN: B08HL47PTT
ISBN13: 978-1-7330076-2-7

 

 

Find Jodi's full catalog with links to all your favorite formats at Queeromance Ink!

Christmas Bizarre

December 9, 2022 by
Contributors: Jodi Payne, BA Tortuga
Series: Sapphic #1
Genre: , , , , , ,
Release Date: December 20, 2022

A Summit Springs shared-world Novel.

Christmas Bizarre is a small town, opposites attract, lesbian romance set in fictional Summit Springs, Colorado.

Charlotte Miller is tired of feeling like a failure. She may have gotten herself fired, her love life has imploded…so when she gets the call that the annual Summit Springs Christmas Bazaar, which helps support her family’s farm, is in trouble, she heads home to try to save the day. Maybe her luck will change and she will be happier for the holidays. Too bad her car decides to break down on the way.

Naomi “Lars” Beckett is too busy with the tree farm she runs and Christmastime to worry about a stranded hottie like Charlotte, but when they get snowed in together at an old cabin, she figures that’s what she gets for trying to help. On the surface these two seem to have nothing in common, but opposites do attract, especially with the magic of the season, and they find they have more in common than they think.

Once they’re back in the crazy mix of family, well-meaning town folk, and trying to make things just right for Christmas though, will they be able to make something together that lasts longer than old wrapping paper and holiday leftovers?

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Chapter 1 

I’ve got this. I’ve totally got this. 

“What the—” 

Charlotte Miller frowned at the dashboard of her rented mid-size sedan and wondered what the hell she was thinking. The drive from Denver to her hometown of Summit Springs shouldn’t take more than ninety minutes, maybe two hours if she stopped at the Sunset Diner before she hit the mountain pass, but she’d been on the road that long already. 

She should have gotten the hint when she discovered the diner was closed. Not only did she leave hungry, but she left stupid too, without checking the weather to see if the snow got worse up the hill. 

The snow always got worse up the hill. 

It was barely a week after Thanksgiving, and she should have known better. This pass didn’t usually close, but it could be a hairy drive in bad weather. She should have paid the extra money to rent something with four-wheel drive. Or waited two days. Or have been better at her job so she didn’t need to escape Denver under cover of a family emergency. 

A few more snowflakes, and she would be the family emergency. Wouldn’t that be completely in character? 

“What? Shit. No. Wait…” The orange idiot light blinking on the dashboard was a “check engine” warning. Check engine? Okay fine, so she didn’t get the four-wheel drive, but the car wasn’t a total POS. She was cheap but not that cheap. Was this a joke? She was about to crest the mountain in a near-blizzard, but instead of sliding off the road into snowy oblivion—as one did—she was going to break down instead? 

She kept her foot on the gas, begging the gods of ugly four-door sedans to be kind. “Fuck. Don’t you die on me, you little fucker. Um. Please-thanks?” 

Charlotte was not going to cry. Not at all. She was sophisticated. Suave. Not single because her fiancée had dumped her for some pediatrician in Seattle. Not in huge trouble at work because she’d called the marketing director of their biggest client a bigot. She totally had this. 

Fuck her life. 

For a second it seemed like it was going to be okay. The light stayed on, but the car was moving along. It even seemed like the snow might be letting up. She took a breath and puffed it out, willing her shoulders to relax. 

And then the second was gone. 

The engine sputtered and made this horrible noise. It felt like the car bucked underneath her and then it was over. She rolled to a stop with a dead engine. 

Goddamn it. 

“Goddamn it!” she shouted, pounding on the steering wheel. When she tried to turn the engine over again the car made an evil screeching sound as if Satan himself were in there playing the electric guitar. 

So, fuck yeah. She lost it. 

“Fuck you, you stupid piece-of-shit-grandpa-mobile!” She pounded on the steering wheel, the window, the dashboard. “Fuck you!” 

Then the tears did come—those fucking tears that she’d held at bay since yesterday morning when her twin brother had called. 

“Lottie, I fell off the barn and broke my arm.” 

“Lottie, Dad had a heart attack and he’s in Grand Junction.” 

“Lottie, Gram and Aunt Deenie aren’t capable of pulling off the Summit Springs Bazaar.” 

“Lottie, I need you. We’re going to lose the farm.” 

That last sentence had been the straw that broke her knock-off Louboutins. 

She would do anything for Jacob, and together, they’d burn the world down for the family farm. But first she had to get off this fucking road and not freeze her tits off. They were perky and she was proud of them. Rosalie had even said how much she’d miss them before she’d taken back her diamond ring and walked out the door. 

Bitch. 

She took a deep breath and tried to calm down. She shouldn’t waste all that hydration on tears if she was going to be stuck here, right? Did it even work like that? Whatever, her drama llama act wasn’t helping. She swiped at her eyes, then tried the engine again, but Satan must have won out because the fucking thing was silent. Dead and silent. 

Fine. No problem. She had a cell phone. 

But who to call? Aunt Deenie was adorable but useless in an emergency, Jacob was, oh god…probably in a big cast or something. She should have asked him about that, huh? Hm. And she was still in denial about Dad, period. He was going to be fine. Just fine. 

Fine, damn it. 

So, who did that leave? AAA? The police? Mountain rescue? Oh! Maybe Gerry March was still on that team. Gerry was butchy-beautiful and being rescued by her would make all of this so worth it. 

She pulled out her phone, beaming at the light pouring, all her favorite apps reminding her why she loved Denver. Summit Springs didn’t even have a big box store. She needed Target and… 

Why the hell wasn’t her Safari working? 

Maybe because it’s a fucking snowstorm, and you have no bars, idiot. 

Charlotte hated that goddamn voice—the one that talked to her like she was a moron. Talked to herself. Whatever. The ugly one that convinced her she was the reason her almost-marriage didn’t happen, and that she couldn’t do that job she was about to get fired from anyway. The one that was telling her that she should have rented a four-wheel-drive car. The one that was right about having no bars. 

“Fuck this.” No more tears. That was for people who wanted to deal with their shit. She wanted to bury hers in a deep, deep fucking hole. She put on her hazards—that was something anyway—and got out of the car. 

Jesus, it was cold, and windy, and this was like January bullshit weather not the first week of December. What the hell? At least she had the right coat on and a pair of boots. She never got to wear these fuzzy ones in Denver, and she was happy to be in them now. 

She opened the trunk, ducking under the hatch for cover, and pulled out a bottle of red wine. 

She wasn’t driving. She wasn’t even walking in this crap; she’d freeze. Nope. She was going to drink. 

Assuming she had a corkscrew in the glove compartment, of course. 

Title: Christmas Bizarre
Published by: Tygerseye Publishing, LLC
ASIN: B0B5K7FV9R