After a seven-year absence, only a catastrophic event could bring Trace Tilton home to Farley Gulch--like his father having a heart attack. Once Bud's on the mend, Trace plans to leave the Triple T Ranch again. He's certain his gruff father will never accept his...lifestyle.
Triple T foreman Nash Stokes thinks Farley Gulch is the ideal place for a man to live a simple life--and keep his sexual preference a secret. A hot roll in the hay with his boss's gorgeous son is the last thing he expected.
Before long, scorching passion and small-town rumor find both men taking a hard ride home.
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November 13, 2009
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Excerpt from Hard Ride Home by KyAnn Waters
"Ah, that's right. My handsome baby brother doesn't know about the beefcake Dad brought in to run the ranch." Donna smiled. "If I wasn't already married to Bob..." She hummed in her throat. "Mmm, mmm, mmm, I'd have to get a piece of his ass. Wait until you see him. Instant arousal, guaranteed."
Trace coughed. "That good?"
"Doesn't matter. I'm not staying long enough to make pals. You're the only one around here who knows I'm gay and I'd like to keep it that way. Bunch of bigoted fucks, which is why I left in the first place. Once Mom was gone there wasn't any point in staying."
Donna gripped his hand. "People come around, Trace."
"Not in this lifetime. Not in butt-fuck, back-road, middle-of-nowhere Montana."
"I thought you liked butt-fuck. Isn't that why you left town?"
He swatted her in the ass and she giggled. "We aren't discussing my sex life. And we certainly don't need to inquire whether Bobby Boy is treating you right. Christ, Donna, are you single-handedly repopulating Farley Gulch?"
"It's not like you're going to contribute."
"You've got me there. You go ahead and have the kids to make the old man happy. Nothing I ever do will."
"Wait until Dad sees the hot car in the driveway. He'll know what a success you've become in the big city."
"Yeah, I think I left part of the muffler on that trail y'all call a road."
"You can use Dad's truck while you're here. Doc Holman isn't going to let him out of bed for a while."
"Exactly how long do you expect me to stay?"
She shrugged. "We can talk about that later."
He followed her into the house. "We should talk about it now. I don't want to get blindsided. How long does Bud think I'm staying?"
The familiar scents of childhood overwhelmed him. Absent were the loving arms of his mother, who had intuitively understood that he wasn't like the other boys from around town. He liked horses, hay and ranching well enough, but teenage life in Farley Gulch encompassed more than the Triple T Ranch. And unfortunately, he didn't have any interest in getting drunk at the water tower and making it in the back of a pickup with Colette Peterson.
At seventeen, the getting drunk part had been fun but not now. Back then he'd pretended he was into girls, was even able to follow through a couple times with Colette. She thought the sex was great because she hadn't realized his stamina actually stemmed from not being able to come while buried in her body.
Imagining his cock slamming into Jack Smith's ass had helped him over the edge those few times with Colette. He wondered how the shortstop on the high school baseball team would feel knowing the group showers after the game were the only reason Trace had played. He smiled remembering the smell of athletic socks and musky male sweat, knowing even then he'd wanted to pitch for the other team.
Back then, Trace would've rather sucked guys off in gym class--young, virile men with tight asses and constantly hard dicks. Hell, he'd been one himself. Of course, he never told anyone. Fags got their asses kicked--not kissed--in Farley Gulch. Since then his tastes had changed. He preferred men, not boys. He rarely dated anyone under thirty-five.
Maybe he was looking for the right one--and that would never be a younger man who hadn't gained some life experiences. Part of him wanted to settle down, to be in a long-term, monogamous relationship. Trace was tired of the scene. He didn't want to fuck around anymore.
With the rush of memories, once again came the harsh acceptance. He was gay and, in his experience, rural Montana didn't offer the open life he wanted. "How long, Donna?" he repeated.
"Dad thinks you're home to stay." She quickly put up her hands. "I had to tell him something to lower his blood pressure! He had a heart attack. He's worried about the ranch."
"He has a foreman for that. What's his name again--beefcake?"
"His name is Nash Stokes." Donna wrapped her hands under her belly and took a deep breath. "Dad wants his son home." Her face scrunched.
"Shit." He wasn't about to put Donna under more pressure by riding her about the length of his stay. He'd figure it out. Hopefully Nash was capable of handling the responsibility of the ranch. Trace had a life back in Salt Lake City...at least he had.
Footfalls sounded on the steps. Trace turned toward the door--and life on the ranch suddenly took an interesting turn.