Finding Home (Finding Series, Book 1)
Read Finding Home (Finding Series, Book 1) Online
Authors: Sloane Kennedy
Finding Home
Sloane Kennedy
Finding Home is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Sloane Kennedy
Published in the United States by Sloane Kennedy
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Images: ©Rob Lang, ©
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Acknowledgements
A big thank you to Stephanie for being such an amazing Beta Reader!
Table of Contents
Rhys Tellar stared at the iron arch above him and grimaced. A ranch in the heart of Bumfuck, Montana. This was where honesty and playing by the rules had gotten him – a dry, dusty piece of shit land that sat in the shadow of the Rocky Mountain range. He didn’t see any cows, but he sure as hell could smell them as the winds shifted and a hot, stifling gust blew more grit onto his sweat soaked skin. The guy he’d hitched a ride with had told him the ranch sat a mile up past the entrance and he hoped to God that the rusty piece of metal that hung above his head with the initials CB on it was a sign that a cold shower and hot meal were in his near future. Fuck, they didn’t even need to happen in that order.
He cursed his parole officer for the hundredth time as he began the long trek up the dirt road. Frank Pettit had sworn this place would be more receptive to hiring an ex-con without a lot of questions, though he wasn’t sure what that said about the man running the place. If the guy he’d hitched with was right, the owner of the CB Bar Ranch was a major prick who’d alienated most of the little town of Dare and would be as likely to greet a newcomer with a shotgun rather than a handshake.
But it wasn’t like Rhys had a lot of options. He’d blown through three jobs already in the six weeks since he’d been out of prison and it was only the fact that he and Frank had a previous personal relationship that had made it possible for him to even leave the state of Illinois to serve his parole. Being a former cop hadn’t done him any favors when it came to the Parole Board, but Frank’s reputation had been a game changer and the older man had called in every favor to get Rhys out of the state. Now if Rhys could just get his temper under control long enough to get a job in the exciting world of ranching, maybe he could start to get his life back on track. He just needed to get through six months in this hell hole and then he’d be in the free and clear and the first thing he’d do was get his ass back to Chicago and settle some old scores.
Rhys hefted his duffle bag over his shoulder, ignoring the way his jeans were starting to stick in all the wrong places. Hearing the sound of an engine behind him, he turned to see an old, beat up, 70’s era red pick-up truck bouncing its way up the road. He couldn’t make out the driver, but wanted to shout for joy as the truck meandered to a crawl and then finally stopped next to him. The passenger window was open - a sure sign that air conditioning was probably too much to ask for – so he leaned in and wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt.
“Hey-” he began, but then came to a stuttering halt when he saw the vision sitting in the driver’s seat. Tousled blonde hair streaked with darker strands of gold, blue eyes, firm lips – and young…way too fucking young.
“Hi,” said the young man, clearly unaware of how Rhys was internally drooling. “You need a lift up to the ranch?”
Rhys nodded, not quite trusting his tongue yet, especially since it had a mind of its own and wanted nothing more than to explore the lean, smooth column of the guy’s throat.
“Hop in,” he said with a smile. A good ole country boy. Rhys tossed his bag in the bed of the truck before climbing in next to the guy.
“I’m Finn,” the guy offered as he held out his hand.
Rhys took it and held it for a little longer than necessary, enjoying the sparks prickling where their skin met. Finn seemed to notice it too because his lips parted just slightly and a whisper of air escaped his lips before he pulled free.
“Rhys Tellar,” Rhys said, hiding a knowing smile. If the kid wasn’t gay, he was definitely curious and that had Rhys’ dick taking notice. He quickly amended his previous list about wanting food and a cold shower. Finn’s perfect mouth wrapped around Rhys’ cock jumped to the top of the list. Finn fiddled with putting the truck in gear and Rhys shifted to try to buy himself some more rooms in his jeans.
“What brings you to the CB Bar, Rhys?” Finn asked nervously as he pressed the gas and the truck lurched forward. God, the kid’s nerves turned Rhys on even more because he knew how receptive that would make the younger man.
“Job, hopefully,” Rhys answered, his eyes scanning Finn, taking in the cowboy shirt, faded, worn jeans and cowboy boots. There was even a fucking cowboy hat on the seat between them. A cliché, but a hot one that Rhys couldn’t wait to indulge in. “You work here?” Rhys asked.
Finn nodded and Rhys didn’t miss the look of pride pass over the other man’s features. “Going on six years now.”
That made the kid well above the age to consent, Rhys thought to himself happily. He stretched his arm out across the back of the seat bench and wondered if Finn’s hair was as soft as it looked. Would he cry out when Rhys held it as he fucked him from behind?
“So you’re a real live cowboy,” Rhys drawled.
Finn chuckled and said, “I guess so.”
“So you’re good at riding things.”
Finn actually laughed so hard he had to pull the truck to a stop. “Really?” he asked as he looked at Rhys. “That’s the best come-on a guy like you can come up with?”
It
had
been pretty lame and Rhys found himself smiling. “Guess so,” he said good-naturedly and then relaxed. At least he had the proof he needed that he and Finn shared at least one important detail in common.
Finn got the truck moving again. “You must be from the city,” the young man said as he looked Rhys up and down. God, it felt like a fucking caress.
“That obvious?”
Finn just smiled. “I’m guessing New York? Military? Cop?”
“Chicago and yes to both. Did two tours in Iraq, then joined the police academy. How’d you know?”
Shrugging, Finn replied, “You have that look in your eyes. The one men get when they’ve seen too much, too soon. You’re what, late twenties?”
Rhys nodded.
“Eyes of an old man, body of a young one and you flirt worse than Ronny Elks, the first boy I kissed when I was fourteen. A damn shame,” Finn said with a smile.
“How’d it work out for you and Ronny?”
“He married the captain of the cheerleading squad after he knocked her up junior year. He’s so deep in the closet, I doubt he’ll ever find his way out.”
Rhys fingered the cowboy hat between them. It was the first time he could remember where the conversation with another man was actually that – conversation.
“Was it a good kiss at least?”
Finn glanced at him with a shy smile and nodded.
“So I guess there’s hope for me yet,” Rhys said.
“Guess so,” Finn said with a grin. “We’re here.”
Rhys got out of the truck and looked around. Finn had parked in front of the barn rather than further up the hill where an old farmhouse sat. The small barn was weathered with faded red paint. To the left were a couple of small cottages that weren’t in much better shape than the rest of the place. Behind the barn was a large, round paddock and beyond that was a sizeable pasture where a couple of horses were peacefully grazing on the little bits of green grass that sprouted up among the dry brush. Rhys knew absolutely nothing about ranching, horses, or cows, but even he could tell this place was barely hanging on.
“I know it doesn’t look like much, but Cal’s slowly bringing it back,” Finn said defensively.
“Cal?”
“Callan Bale.”
Rhys remembered the initials above the ranch sign he’d passed under just a few short minutes ago. “Right, the owner.”
“Owner’s son. Carter Bale owns the place. Cal’s the foreman,” Finn said. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
They passed through the open door of the barn and Rhys was instantly assaulted by the smell of hay and manure. All the stalls were empty.
“I thought this was a cow ranch.”
“Don’t let Cal hear you call them cows. Cattle,” Finn said with a smirk. Rhys followed Finn out the back door of the barn to a small, circular arena where a dark brown horse stood in the center, a saddle cinched to its back. A man was doing something on the other side of the animal and Rhys could hear him murmuring to the horse in a soothing tone. He had no idea what the words were, but the husky tone was doing something to his insides.
“He’s breaking him,” Finn said, motioning to the man and horse.
Rhys must have looked confused because Finn smiled patiently. “Teaching him to accept the tack – the bridle and saddle – so he can be ridden. Cal found Astro at an auction last month. The previous owner couldn’t handle him – hadn’t even bothered to try and break him when he was younger. Just stuck him in a stall and ignored him.”
They watched as Callan came around the horse, his big hands stroking over the animal’s body. Rhys hadn’t gotten a good look at the front of the other man, but the back was proving to be an impressive view. The man was tall, at least 6’2 and had a heavy build. Even with the chambray work shirt, Rhys could see wide shoulders, trim waist, perfect ass encased in faded denim, and thick thighs. Black hair stuck out from beneath the brown cowboy hat.
Callan continued talking to the horse as he began to loosen the saddle. A few seconds later, he was holding the heavy looking piece of tack in one hand, the horse’s lead in the other. He turned and began walking towards them.
Rhys felt his body clench with need as gray-blue eyes met his. The man moved with easy, confident strength and when he reached the fence, he lifted the saddle onto it as if it weighed nothing. Thick, long fingers settled on the horse’s neck as he turned his attention on Finn.
“You get the wire?”
“Yeah, it’s in the truck.” Finn shifted slightly.
He was hiding something, but apparently his boss recognized the look because Callan said, “What?”
Finn seemed to have trouble meeting Callan’s gaze. Finally, he admitted, “I had to go to Hamilton to get it.”
“Son of a bitch!” Callan snarled as he turned and led the horse out of the arena.
“Hamilton?” Rhys asked.
“Next town over – about thirty miles away,” Finn said quietly.
Rhys knew there was more to the story, but decided to keep his mouth shut. Wasn’t any of his business anyway. He just needed to keep his nose clean for the next six months and the best way to do that was keep his thoughts to himself.
Callan stalked past them, the horse in tow. He stopped just outside the barn and tied the horse to a post and snatched up the hose nearby and started washing the animal.
“I told you this would happen, Cal,” Finn started.
“Don’t, Finn. Just don’t!” Callan replied angrily.
“I was talking to one of the ranch hands from that new place over in Corvallis. He says they’re looking for hands and since none of them know about me…” Finn began.
Callan dropped the hose and strode over to Finn and grabbed him by the arm. “This is your home and those small-minded, homophobic, piece of shit cowards from town are not going to drive you from it. You hear me?” Callan nearly shouted. Rhys didn’t miss the desire that flashed in Finn’s eyes at being in such close proximity to the bigger man. So, the guy had a thing for his boss. Finn just nodded and Callan released him and returned to washing down the horse.
“Cal, this is Rhys Tellar,” Finn finally said, as if just remembering Rhys’ presence.
“You’re Frank’s friend, right?” Callan asked.
Rhys was still trying to piece together the information he’d just gleaned from Finn and Callan’s conversation. Did Finn actually have to drive to another town to buy supplies because the people in the town of Dare refused to sell to a gay man? What the hell kind of backwoods place had Frank sent him to?
“Yeah,” Rhys managed to say when Callan finally looked at him, his annoyance at Rhys’ delay in answering clear.
“You ever worked around cattle before?”
“No,” Rhys responded.
“Horses?”
“Nope,” Rhys said as he steeled himself for the rejection that was about to come.
Callan untied the horse and began leading him into the barn. “Finn, show him around and get him started on the stalls, then come give me a hand with the fence.”