The knock comes at Jensen’s door just as he is removing the feathers from his wig, smoothing the fawn-colored strands and approving his reflection in the mirror. In Jensen’s experience, the kinds of men willing to share his bed prefer the full illusion—luxurious wig, curve-creating dress, stained lips and flushed cheeks. Those riders, ropers, and carousers aren’t looking to get frisky with another man. The more feminine Jensen appears, the better he’s treated. Not that Jensen minds, but he’s grown weary of partners who only desire what’s on the surface.

Maybe tonight will be different.

Jensen opens the door and smiles. “I see you read my note,” he says, beckoning Jared into the lavish hotel room. “Have you taken supper or should I send for a hot meal?”

“I ate, thank you.” Jared needs to remove his hat to make it through the door. This hotel certainly wasn’t built with men like him in mind; it’s too refined, concerned with extravagant details that don’t matter to the wild n’ wooly type. Jensen figures Jared would be more comfortable on the trail with nothing more than a bedroll beneath him and a fire at his back. It’s hard to say what’s more bothersome: that Jared doesn’t suit the hotel room, or that all this finery doesn’t fit the gunslinger one bit.

“You missed the celebration,” Jared says, hanging his hat. He’s presumptuous enough to remove his duster and gunbelt as well. Not that Jensen minds. “Had a whole saloon full of people lining up to buy me a drink.”

Jensen sashays to the credenza where he’d placed a bottle of his own good whiskey and two glasses (crystal, the hotel attendant assured him). Given the show he put on this afternoon, Jared was probably the most sought after man in town.

“I’m sorry for stealing you away. You’re welcome to go back and—”

Jared only needs two great strides to erase the distance between them. “Not a chance,” he says. “Truth is I couldn’t wait to leave. Your note…”

Words fail the gunslinger. Jensen doesn’t get the chance to encourage him before Jared whips him up with all the force of a dust storm, laying his rough lips on Jensen’s painted ones. Resisting isn’t an option. Even if Jensen were unsure, the scrape of Jared’s sun-chapped lips against his own would sway him into compliance.

Jared holds Jensen’s cheek in his right palm, skin thick with calluses from years of gunplay. His left hand follows the boning in Jensen’s corset all the way down to his hip, shaping his body through the expensive fabric. Their mouths are perfectly matched, an even give and take of eager tongues and gentle teeth. Jensen lays his fingers hesitantly over Jared’s shoulders to draw him closer, ready to feel the gunslinger’s strength from head to toe. Some men don’t like Jensen to touch them, more interested in getting their dick wet than encouraging intimacy, but not Jared. He steps into Jensen’s embrace, rough pants catching on Jensen’s silks.

The kiss begins to lose some of its vigor now that permission has been asked for and received. Jared’s lips skim across Jensen’s one more time before he tilts his head to the side, eyeing the whiskey.

“Is that for me?”

“I thought you might be thirsty.”

Jared licks his lips. Over the years, Jensen’s learned how to put on a show, but seduction comes naturally to Jared. That one simple motion has Jensen’s knees knocking together like a colt’s.

“I am now.”

Jensen turns and pours them each a glass, smiling when he feels Jared’s fingers twist around a ruffle of his skirt. Like he’s making sure Jensen isn’t planning to run off.

“Cheers to your impressive victory,” Jensen says, handing off one of the tumblers. Jared takes it carefully as if his hardened touch might shatter the crystal. He’s slow to drink, but once he tastes what Jensen’s offering, he closes his eyes and savors.

“Sure beats the rot-gut they’re serving across the street.” When he opens his eyes, Jensen sees they’re the same color as the pricey spirit in his glass, and just as intoxicating. “Company’s better, too.”

Gazes roam freely as they sip their whiskey. Now’s not the time to act coy; if Jared is aware of how desperately Jensen desires him, fine. The look Jared’s fixing him with in return is hardly innocent. Rather, his gaze is thorough and heavy. Men tend to come at Jensen with rough hands and foul breath whether he’s ready or not, but Jared waits, takes another sip and waits some more. Finishes his drink without much hurry, turning Jensen’s stomach upside down from the nerves, because all he can do is watch. It’s a heady thing, the way Jared is staring, straight into his eyes, appraising, not looking any lower at Jensen’s cushioned bosom or cinched waist.

Jensen must have him. This instant if possible.

“I’m still waiting on that prize,” Jared says, the warm molasses tone causing Jensen to swoon right into his arms.

“Don’t worry, cowboy. I’m good for it.”

“Ain’t no cowboy,” Jared growls, one arm seizing Jensen around his waist. Only through luck does Jensen manage to set his glass down before Jared spins him away. Jared flings his own over his shoulder; Jensen hears it hit the bed and roll off with a thunk, but he’s too ruffled to care whether or not the crystal survived the drop.

Jared’s fingers weave through his wig and lock around the back of his head. A wonderful sensation, but Jensen wishes he could feel that desperate tug and pull against his scalp without the wig in between.

Jensen’s spirit rises (along with another part of his anatomy) like bubbles in the champagne J.D. buys each Christmas. Jared awakens passions within him that he’s never experienced before, and he’s no longer able to wait.

“Get comfortable,” Jensen says, nudging Jared towards the pair of upholstered chairs near the empty fireplace. With the heat they’re giving off, there’s no need for flames tonight.

Once Jared sits, Jensen wastes no time pulling off those hard-knockin’ boots of his and setting them beside the chair. Without Jared’s gunbelt in the way, it’s easier for Jensen’s fingers to swoop in and begin unbuttoning the front of Jared’s trousers, picking up hints of his shape underneath.

“I can’t wait to see all of you,” Jensen admits under his breath. Some men ask him to talk while they’re together, stimulated by filthy words and exaggerated descriptions of their manhood. With Jared, the words tumble out on their own, straight from his conscience to his lips. “I wanted you from the moment I walked into the saloon and saw these long legs of yours.” He works his palms over Jared’s thighs, fingertips digging into the hard muscle formed by years on horseback. So much power—Jensen wonders if he’s ready for it.

“You were teasing me from the get-go.”

“Just making sure you were interested.”

Jared pins Jensen’s hands with his own. “You know I was.”

And he still is from what Jensen sees distorting the flat button-front of his trousers. “Let me go, and we both get our prize,” Jensen says, fluttering his lashes.

Last night when he was alone, Jensen treated himself to a fantasy in which he’d fallen to his knees before Jared just like he is now, only Jared wasn’t trying to slow things down. The way things went in Jensen’s mind, Jared couldn’t stop himself from taking what Jensen was offering. In Jensen’s experience, few men can.

“Jared?” There’s more concern in Jensen’s voice. He’s sure he didn’t misread Jared’s interest, but some men just can’t do the deed when the time comes.

But Jared lifts his hands before Jensen is able to lean away and give him space. He’s grinning, but there’s a new light in Jared’s eyes that’s not coming from the oil lamps on the dresser or the candle Jensen set on the nightstand. Jensen’s never seen its like before tonight.

“Don’t let me stop you, Jen.”

Jensen could sit and ponder the strange look, but he’s distracted by the swelling flesh between Jared’s legs. Opening the front of Jared’s trousers—trying his best not to let his fingers tremble too much—Jensen receives his first surprise of the night.

No undergarments.

“Went to the bathhouse after the saloon,” Jared explains, eyes turned away. Given the sudden flush on his cheeks, he’s embarrassed. “Figured since I was clean and all, I shouldn’t put dirty clothes back on.”

Jensen’s pleased, because that’s one less layer keeping him from his reward. Even unbuttoned, Jared’s trousers barely contain him. With eager fingers, Jensen pushes the flaps aside, freeing Jared’s cock.

He’s seen men of all shapes and sizes, and while Jensen’s fond of his own cock, he’s always found them quite ridiculous-looking when he’s with another man. But it’s a different feeling altogether with Jared. His cock is gorgeous, sculpted like those marble statues he’s seen in J.D.’s illustrated books on art and history. It’s as perfect as an artist’s rendering: raised veins creating smooth valleys along which Jensen could run his fingers if he wants to pleasure Jared with his hands. A tapered tip the color of a desert rose that looks absolutely delicious if Jensen decides to use his lips and tongue instead.

Jensen wants everything.

He manages to work Jared’s boots off followed quickly by clean socks, and he’s scrabbling to pull Jared’s trousers down when he feels the touch on his shoulder. At first he thinks Jared is encouraging him, but the grip is solid, unmoving. Jensen glances up, meeting Jared’s soft yet serious stare.

“Something wrong?” Jensen asks, heart in his throat. If he’s somehow been found wanting…

Jared sighs, leans forward. His trousers are stripped halfway down his legs, cock out and angled temptingly over his bare thigh, yet Jensen can look nowhere but straight into his eyes.

“Just isn’t how I pictured this going,” Jared says, setting Jensen’s panic ablaze.

Has he been too forward? Perhaps Jared does want the full illusion after all—a lover who’s demure and reserved, one who allows Jared to take the reins. Jensen can do all of that if Jared lets him start over.

“Tell me what you want,” he pleads, but Jared shushes him.

“Speak up if I’m doing this wrong,” Jared says, reaching out. Jensen is confused until Jared slips his hand behind Jensen’s head searching for the base of the wig with careful fingers.

Jensen is stunned and unable to move as Jared removes his prized wig, only coming out of his stupor when he feels warm air across the back of his neck, the weight of the false tresses gone completely. Trembling, he takes the wig from Jared’s hands, eyes stinging with the pressure of unshed tears.

“I don’t understand,” Jensen whispers. “You’ll be able to see who—what I really am.”

Jared stands and helps Jensen to his feet. It would all look rather silly if Jensen could focus on anything else: him in his corset and skirts, but without his wig, and Jared with his trousers around his ankles.

“This is the man I want,” Jared stresses, cupping Jensen’s face in one of his massive hands. The conviction in his voice is more terrifying than a firing squad. He drags his thumb over Jensen’s lips where most of the color has been kissed away. “I may not deserve it…”

Jensen finds his voice. “Jared—”

“But make no mistake,” he continues tenderly, “I ain’t immune to all this. You caught my eye faster than a hawk after a rabbit, but I just want you tonight.”

“Me?”

“You, Jen.” He hesitates. “Wait, is Jen your real name, or—”

“It’s Jensen, and I really am from Texas in case you were wondering,” Jensen babbles.

“Right…the Texas Rose.” Jared grins. “Good, ‘cause there’s nothing better than meeting a true Texas boy.”

“I can think of one thing that’s better,” Jensen teases, feeling his confidence return as well. He tips forward and finds Jared’s lips intending to deliver a kiss that the gunslinger won’t soon forget, but he can’t ignore the hard length pressed between their bodies.

“Reckon I can lose the rest of these clothes?” Jared asks, unashamed by the evidence of his attraction.

“Please,” Jensen responds, releasing the last of his anxiety with a long exhale.

He sets the wig on one of the chairs and turns back to see that Jared’s already stepped out of his trousers, shirt unbuttoned and hanging off his shoulders. Jensen all but leaps into his arms sending them wheeling backwards onto the bed.

Lying beside one another, Jared traces Jensen’s shape through the corset. “This is pretty,” he says, “but I want to see you.”

He’ll get no argument from Jensen. Propped up on one elbow, Jared patiently takes in the show as Jensen undoes each button down the front. The gunslinger offers to help, but Jensen knows those hands would be more of a hindrance. Besides, letting Jared watch only serves to fan Jensen’s desire; it’s no secret he enjoys the attention.

Jared’s eyes appear darker, sharper, with each new stretch of pale skin that’s revealed. Intense, the way a starving man looks at a meal. He does hold Jensen’s skirts to make slipping out of them easier, sweeping his fingers up the inside of a creamy thigh once they’re off.

Finally Jensen’s left in nothing but his knickers and black stockings, ribbon woven through the tops and tied with delicate bows behind his knees.

“Like what you see, cowboy?” Jensen taunts. In his brief experience, it’s the fastest way to goad Jared into action.

He isn’t disappointed; Jared reacts quicker than a shot fired from his revolver. With a coarse sound that rushes down Jensen’s spine, Jared yanks him onto the bed, both of them kneeling. Everything seems new to Jensen—he feels vibrant, his body light. A freedom he’s never experienced before. No man has treated Jensen the way Jared has, and though he’s nervous, he loves the sensation. Under Jared’s hands, Jensen doesn’t feel weak or delicate; there’s a force between them that empowers, enriches, and inspires.

Still entwined, Jared lowers Jensen onto his back, their kiss becoming more heated as emotions rise to the surface. They’re well matched, tongues sliding back and forth. Jensen’s lips are more forceful—he knows what he wants from Jared’s mouth—while Jared provides warmth and depth. He could drink from Jared’s lips all night long, learn the true measure of the man using nothing more than his senses, but he’s aware that the night is not endless.

Jensen pushes the shirt off Jared’s shoulders leaving him naked—a magnificent sight. Jared’s hair, thoroughly mussed from Jensen’s hands, falls short of his nape exposing shoulders that have been shaped by years of living on the trail and providing for himself. His torso looks like it’s been whittled out of strong wood with swells and valleys running all the way down to his cock. But his chosen profession has taken its toll. Scattered across his chest are the raised souvenirs from more than one gun battle. The fact that Jared’s standing before him means that his aim was truer than that of his adversaries. Means Jared is better; he’s a survivor.

Jensen wants to worship Jared’s triumphs. Wants to hear about every man that’s ever called him out, every showdown at high noon. But those thoughts are too heavy for a night like this. Instead, Jensen combs his fingers through the fine hair on Jared’s chest, follows the soft trail around his navel, and smiles when Jared squirms under the feather-touch.

That’s the second surprise; Jared is ticklish.

Jensen’s cock is straining the limits of his knickers, crown peeking out above the satin. Jared appears fascinated by the sight.

“Never found a man beautiful before,” Jared confesses, “but you’re something else, Jensen.”

Heat surges from deep within Jensen’s chest. It may not be poetry, but Jared’s words are taking him apart. He nearly faints when Jared touches his cock through the silken fabric, fingers outlining the head. With iron in his gaze, Jared slips the undergarment down Jensen’s hips and off, taking a deep breath when he lays eyes on Jensen’s uncovered cock for the first time.

“Can I?”

Jensen’s brow drops. “What?”

Jared’s mouth is drawn into a shape Jensen’s not familiar with. His stare never wavers, but Jensen watches various emotions flash behind his eyes.

“Jared, what do you want?”

“Can I use my mouth on you?”

“Oh stars,” Jensen gasps, throwing his head back onto the quilt. He has to stare at the ceiling for a few seconds, because if he looks at Jared right now, his tenuous hold will snap, and he’s not willing to embarrass himself this soon. “You don’t have to ask.”

“You may not like it.”

“I will, Jared—I promise.” Jensen’s tongue feels loose; he has trouble getting the words out. “But only if you want to.”

“I do,” Jared says, “but I’ve never done this.”

One. Two. Three. Jensen measures his breaths. Jared is trying to kill him with his stubborn brand of inexperience.

“Then I’m a lucky man.” Those words have Jared smiling again. “I won’t let you take too much,” he promises breathlessly. “I want you to enjoy it as much as I do—that’s the point.”

Jared begins by playfully stroking Jensen’s legs, skirting around the dainty bows at the back of his stockings.

As his arousal spikes, Jared loses more of his reserve. “I don’t mind if you keep these on,” he says, hand traipsing further up Jensen’s thigh.

Jensen’s legs fall open as Jared gets closer, skin tingling as if he’s been running through a lightning storm. He’s gotten used to quick n’ dirty romps, and he’ll admit that those were easier. With casual lovers, Jensen could hold something back; he wasn’t vulnerable the way he is now. But those men didn’t deserve his secrets, his true cravings.

“Put your mouth on me, Jared,” Jensen pleads, raising his lower back off the bed. “I need you.”

Jared leans down without another moment’s thought, those whiskey-stained lips laying an open kiss on the shaft. More blood rushes into his cock—Jensen’s full length revealed. Jared watches it fill, his breath hitting Jensen’s flushed skin, before trying again, this time leading his tongue to the crown.

“Taste me,” he says, and Jared obliges, sealing his mouth over the tip and sampling the flavor.

“Something I could get used to,” Jared mutters, directing his gaze up Jensen’s body. “But I ain’t done yet.”

Luck is truly favoring Jensen tonight, because he would’ve wept if Jared wanted to stop there. But Jared continues to explore, the tip of his nose dragging over the hairless skin around Jensen’s cock, using every one of his senses to discover what Jensen enjoys.

“Never seen a man shaved smooth like this.”

“Like it?” Jensen asks.

A low moan is the only answer he gets as Jared licks a wide path over his hipbone, swirling his tongue back around the base of his cock. Shaving can be a hassle, but Jensen appreciates the effects of always feeling clean, smooth, and fresh. Thankfully he’s not a hairy man to begin with, or the effort might not be worth the time it consumes. Jared is certainly enjoying the results, leaving the skin around Jensen’s cock shiny and cool.

Finally Jared envelops the head in his mouth, heat shooting straight up Jensen’s spine. Testing the waters, Jensen slips one hand into Jared’s thick hair, keeping the pressure light. To his surprise, Jared leans into the touch, accepting Jensen’s guidance. Jared can’t take him very deep, but it hardly matters. The warmth and wetness surrounding him, combined with the soft, curious flicks of Jared’s tongue are enough to keep his passion burning.

Jensen does nothing but encourage him; it’s a rare pleasure to be able to lie back and luxuriate in pure carnality. Whenever J.D. gets after Jensen like this, he’s usually sloppy from having too much to drink, but Jared is dedicated, intense. When he slips his mouth lower, Jensen keens into the pillow lest he wake the entire hotel with his screams.

Jared pops off, his mouth wide and red. “Guess I’m doin’ something right.”

“More than something,” Jensen mutters, fanning himself with his hand. “Want me to…”

“Nah, I ain’t giving up my prize yet.”

Jensen can only take so much before his belly starts quaking with the effort of holding back. The hammer’s cocked; he’s ready to shoot. Jared’s tongue glides around the width of his shaft, lips pulling and tightening as he sucks Jensen as deep as he can. Jensen’s hands are no longer guiding. Fingertips digging into Jared’s scalp, he’s simply hanging on for the ride.

But it’s too good, and Jensen has no intention of letting things end here.

“Jared, wait—” His hand slips down to Jared’s jaw, leading him up and away from his cock. “There’s a jar on the dresser. Can you grab it?”

Jared drops his forehead onto Jensen’s stomach and pants, sweaty strands of hair brushing Jensen’s overly sensitive skin. When his breathing is even, he looks up. “You sure?”

“Trust me.”

Jared’s warmth is only absent for a moment before he returns with the unlabeled jar, his stunning cock bobbing proudly in front of him. Evidently satisfying Jensen with his mouth hasn’t caused his desire to wane one bit. Jared holds the jar out for Jensen, but he shakes his head.

“That’s for you.”

“What is it?”

Jensen draws his knees up creating a canyon wide enough for Jared’s shoulders. His cock is a lurid shade of red, desperate for more of Jared’s attention.

“I think you can figure it out.”

Jensen has hooked himself a mighty bright gunslinger, because Jared needs no time to puzzle it out. His mouth is searing when he kisses Jensen, wild and ravenous. As wonderful as his lips felt around Jensen’s cock, he’s surprised to discover he already misses the simple pleasure kissing Jared brings.

“I’m guessing you’re familiar with this part,” Jensen says as he watches Jared open the mixture in his hand. The ointment has been a godsend for Jensen, a thin, colorless jelly perfumed with roses that Danneel was familiar with from the brothel in Baton Rouge. She insisted that the boys in the house swore by it, and when Jensen used it for the first time, he vowed to never travel without a jar. Fortunately J.D. has the means to supply it for him.

“Or I could do it myself,” Jensen offers, suddenly unsure, “and let you watch.”

Jared nips at Jensen’s plush lower lip before shifting lower. “Not a chance, Texas Rose,” he says, sharing a grin with Jensen. His stage name doesn’t sound half-bad coming from Jared’s mouth.

Jared tests the slickness of the mixture on two of his fingers, rubbing them together to warm the small dollop before spreading the ointment around Jensen’s rim.

“You don’t have to take your time.”

“I don’t mind,” Jared tells him, pressing with a single finger until Jensen’s body opens for him. It’s been a few weeks since Jensen’s allowed anyone to take him, but Jared eases the brief flare of discomfort by swooping down over his cock once more.

Jensen’s mind goes white. This is something he’s never experienced before: one man pleasuring him in two ways. Fingers teasing his ass while his mouth keeps the fire burning in his gut. Jensen doesn’t know what to do with his hands; he can only clutch frenziedly at the quilt beneath, writhing under Jared’s attention.

“More,” he begs, eager to feel Jared’s cock inside him. He hasn’t gotten to enjoy it at all. “Jared…”

Thinking Jared’s going to tease him further, he’s startled when Jared begins stretching him with two fingers, pushing more of the friction-warmed ointment past his rim. Jensen tenses, tempers his brief muscle seizure with a deep breath.

“Gonna need to take more than that, Jensen.”

“Don’t worry,” Jensen sighs, “I’m just getting used to it.”

“Been a while?”

Jensen frowns. “Maybe.”

For some reason, that makes Jared smile. But Jensen has no time to ponder—Jared is ferocious now, scooping another finger-full of Jensen’s mixture and working it into Jensen’s body while, at the same time, running his mouth down the length of Jensen’s shaft and dipping low to lay open kisses on his balls.

Aroused beyond his wildest imaginings, it’s nothing for Jensen to take three of Jared’s fingers. Jared lifts his mouth off Jensen’s cock so that he can watch as his fingers glide in and out—Jensen can only imagine the sight he’s being treated to, but it feels miraculous.

Jared reaches for the jar again, but Jensen musters the strength to swipe it first. “My turn,” he says. His limbs feel like willow branches, but he hauls himself up onto his knees as Jared does the same. Nothing’s going to stop him from getting his hands around Jared’s cock. “I’ve waited long enough.”

If he possessed the patience, Jensen would worship every inch of Jared’s body, but that would take all night. Just holding his cock is enough (plenty of inches there, too). He covers the length with ointment until Jared’s thrusting easily through Jensen’s fist. The bell end is flushed and dark like the skin of an unripe plum, velvety under Jensen’s fingers.

Jared kisses along the length of Jensen’s perfumed throat, teeth flirting across his collarbone but never biting down. All the while, his fingers frolic around Jensen’s loose rim and slip inside. Not about to be outdone, Jensen strokes faster, adding a twist of his wrist to wring a moan from Jared’s throat.

“You’re pretty good at this.”

Jensen’s hand falters, but he doesn’t think Jared notices. He’s heard those words before—cruel reminders of the life he lives—but Jared speaks them without callousness. Reverence tempers his words; he means to praise and flatter. Jensen tilts his head and lays a kiss on Jared’s temple, a silent thank you the gunslinger will never know of.

“Gotta have you,” Jared pants against his shoulder. “I can’t wait anymore.”

Jensen couldn’t agree more. He notices Jared’s brow furrowing as he folds down onto his hands, knees pulled under his hips.

“It’ll be easier for both of us this time,” he says, winking. “We can get creative later.”

Instead of pressing straight in the way Jensen expects, Jared trails his fingers up the back of Jensen’s thighs, spreads his full palm over Jensen’s hindquarters. Kneads in, presses down. Admiring.

“You can look all you want when you’re fucking me,” Jensen tells him, an edge to his voice, “but I need you right now.”

Penetration is an act Jensen both loves and hates. He looks forward to it each time he takes a new lover to his bed, anticipation quickening his blood, but he’s suffered a long line of disappointments. Men who didn’t prepare him enough and men who didn’t bother at all.

Not Jared.

Jensen knows Jared won’t treat him the way men have in the past, but he’s unprepared for the windstorm of sensation that hits him when Jared starts pushing his cock inside. There’s a moment when Jensen feels nothing at all—his mind refusing to process anything until it knows what it’s supposed to be feeling—and then it hits him at once. Spine on fire, thighs quaking as he tries not to collapse, stomach full of lead. He’s overwhelmed, and only Jared’s hand reaching around to settle on his chest reminds him to breathe.

One deep breath changes everything. Fire turns to warmth; the tingle moves up from his thighs and into his cock, which surges with renewed interest. His shoulders drop, head hanging between his arms, as the wave crests over him.

“Don’t think anything’s ever felt this good,” Jared is saying, words garbled in Jensen’s ears. But he smiles.

Seated as deep as he can be within Jensen’s body, Jared hasn’t moved yet. Jensen raises one shaky hand and places it over Jared’s on his chest.

“Anytime, cowboy. I’m good.”

“I’d tell you not to call me that,” Jared mutters, “but seein’ as I’m about to ride you…”

They both laugh at the same time.

“Stop talking and start fucking me,” Jensen says, spurring Jared into action by rocking himself back onto Jared, making sure he’s taken every inch of that cock.

Jared groans and brings both hands back to Jensen’s flank. He’s so large that his palms span from the far curve of Jensen’s rear to his lower back, guiding his thrusts as he slaps forward.

Head down, Jensen gazes back along his torso to watch the muscles in Jared’s thighs thicken and release, his furred legs contrasting with Jensen’s milky, shaved skin. Jensen’s cock sways and stirs the air; his balls feel heavier each time Jared drives into his body.

He clutches the quilt searching for leverage to push back, but finds no purchase. Jared’s rhythm forces them further and further up the bed until Jensen has to grasp the headboard to avoid cracking his head against the wood. The solid oak creaks in protest. Knees braced wide apart, Jensen tries to hold this new position, but the angle is uncomfortable and his stockings, damp with his own sweat, slip on the bedding. He nearly ends up belly-down with his face in a feather pillow, if not for Jared holding him up with arms of iron.

Jared hauls them upright, his chest heaving against Jensen’s back. Jensen’s hole feels cool and exposed without Jared’s cock to fill it.

“My turn to ride,” Jensen says. They’re too busy catching their breath to laugh, although Jared’s wearing a full grin as Jensen guides him to lie with his back against the carved headboard.

“Never tried it like this.”

“You’re learning all kinds of things tonight, aren’t you?”

Jared kisses the sass straight off Jensen’s lips. Jensen straddles his thighs and sinks into his embrace, their mouths refusing to stray all the while. He reaches behind and grasps Jared’s cock, giving it a few strokes before slipping the head against his rim and sinking down.

Wide open and slick, Jensen throws his head back and truly rides. His thighs burn with the exertion, but his blood is racing so fast, he barely feels the sting. Most men in Jared’s position would lie there and let Jensen do all the work, but his lover never stops moving. He bucks under Jensen like a galloping stallion, throwing his hips up at the same time Jensen drops down, forcing himself as deep as he can go.

Jensen relishes the control he has in this position, but he also adores the way Jared won’t stop touching him. Mouthing at his chest, that clever tongue leaving a cool trail between his nipples. Combing the thinned wax out of Jensen’s hair with his hands. Dragging his thumbs across Jensen’s collarbones hard enough to leave bruises.

He’s never been handled this way; he’s pulling Jared in through his skin. There’s an abundance of friction where Jensen’s cock is trapped between their bellies, and he dances with his hips to excite the hardness within him.

But that’s too much for Jared to take. With a mighty roar, he throws Jensen onto his back and fucks him deep, deeper, seeing stars. Jensen laughs merrily, far beyond bliss, until the sounds are stolen from his lungs. Jared’s cock hits what few men have ever managed to find and the pinpoints of light begin to spin and flash. Jensen cries out, beyond words now, as Jared flings one of Jensen’s legs over his shoulder as if it weighs no more than a feather.

Primal instinct overcomes both of them. Jared loses control of his hips and Jensen lets himself go loose in order to withstand the pounding. Thanks to Jared directing his thrusts, Jensen’s cock remains rigid, and he pulls one hand from the bedding to stroke himself as Jared begins to break.

The entire night has gone beyond Jensen’s wildest imaginings, and his body has responded in kind. His pleasure is so close to the surface, fierce and raw, that it doesn’t take many pulls until he’s coming. The strength of his orgasm shocks him, leaves him breathless and dazed as Jared tosses his head back and groans. Though he’s spent himself already, Jensen writhes around Jared’s pulsing cock, stealing every last second of gratification before Jared collapses on his side next to Jensen.

Too scrambled to find the words, Jensen sighs into the sex-thick air. Jared doesn’t smother him with body heat, but he turns his head and kisses the top of Jensen’s shoulder—a small, tender gesture that has Jensen blushing all over again.

When he can finally turn his head, Jensen notices that his candles have melted down, one already out. The only light in the room comes from the lamp on the dresser, and even its flame has waned. But Jensen doesn’t care. He’s only interested in the man at his side—the man who looks as exhausted as Jensen feels.

“Falling asleep on me?”

“There a rule against that?” Jared asks with a lazy smile. His eyelids hang low over those glassy, hazel irises.

“I wouldn’t blame you,” Jensen says, “this bed is mighty comfortable.”

“So are you,” Jared mutters against his arm, whining when Jensen pulls away and tries to sit up. It takes more than one attempt.

Jensen performs his nightly ablutions with a giddy smile on his face, splashing his cheeks with cool water from the pitcher. He doesn’t realize he’s left his stockings on until he’s sitting on the bed. Jared climbs on from the opposite side, the sweat washed from his temples and throat. He leans affectionately into the curve between Jensen’s neck and shoulder, arms winding around his waist.

“Will I get a goodbye kiss?” Jensen asks, staring at the door.

Jared pulls him around with a gentle hand on his elbow. “Are you asking me to leave?”

“No, I—I like the company.”

“Then you don’t mind if I doze off for a bit?”

“Only if you don’t mind me waking you up for another go…” Jensen trails off, earning a laugh. He’s about to move away, give Jared space to stretch out and sleep, when Jared takes his hand.

And that is the final surprise: Jared pulling Jensen down onto the pillows and holding him close as he begins to nod off, that big body providing all the comfort and safety Jensen never realized he desired.

~~~

Jensen wakes up to the sound of heavy–heeled boots stomping past his room. The first thing he’s aware of besides the single shaft of morning light escaping through a gap in the brocaded curtains and hitting him right in the eye is the fact that he’s alone in the hotel room.

His entire body goes numb, fear robbing him of the warmth he felt when he fell asleep. It’s impossible to rein in the disappointment—but no, it’s more than that. What Jensen’s feeling can only be called sadness. For a short time, he believed things could be different, that Jared would be here when Jensen woke up. His heart is too jaded to break completely, but Jensen’s chest feels dry and brittle like a leaf beginning to wither after summer’s flourish.

Throwing aside the quilt, Jensen stumbles out of bed and tugs the curtains closed, clutching the heavy fabric to his chest as he struggles to breathe in, breathe out. Weak in the knees, his grip on the curtains is the only thing that keeps him from wilting to the floor.

Another pair of boots—without the clang-spin-clang of metal spurs—makes its way along the hall. Jensen doesn’t notice the steps have stopped until the door to his room creaks open quietly, as if the man on the other side is trying to sneak in with the utmost care.

“Jensen?”

Jared’s voice—Jensen can hardly believe it until he lifts his chin and sees his gunslinger hurrying to set the tray he’s carrying down on the dresser.

“What’re you doing?” Jared asks, crossing quickly and leaning down to look Jensen in the eyes. “I thought you’d still be asleep,” he says softly.

“I—” Feeling utterly foolish, Jensen is unable to admit the truth. “The, um, curtains—they were letting in too much light.”

Jared’s expression is gentle when he touches Jensen’s shoulder, stroking down his arm as if he’s soothing a spooked horse. “I’ll fix them. Why don’t you go back to bed?”

“Why?”

“’Cause if you insist on parading around the room in nothing but your skin, our breakfast is gonna go cold.”

That’s the moment Jensen realizes he’s buck naked, continuing to clutch the curtains to his bare chest. He lets go and falls back into Jared’s arms, as strong and comforting now as they were the night before. Unlike him, Jared is dressed again, the same trousers and shirt he’d worn when he showed up at Jensen’s door.

“You brought breakfast?”

“I was gonna have them send up some coffee, maybe a couple of biscuits. But your friend—the woman with the auburn hair?”

“That’s Danneel,” Jensen tells him, beginning to frown. He steps away from Jared’s hold and moves to his trunks, pulling a roll of black silk out of the largest one. “What did she do?”

“I…she—”

It’s Jared’s turn to stutter as he watches Jensen slip into the short robe and belt it around his waist. The robe was a present from Danneel to celebrate his last birthday; Jensen has never worn it in front of a lover, but he understands Jared’s sudden inability to speak. The slick, black fabric stops just below his privates, and though Jared’s seen everything Jensen has to offer, he clearly finds the sight arousing.

“Jared?”

He clears his throat. “Right, um…Danneel. She asked if I was there to get breakfast for you. She didn’t even wait ‘til I said yes before she was ordering more, telling me she’d add it to her tab.”

“She definitely knows what I like.” Now that Jensen can smell the food, he’s starving. Danneel sent Jared back with two plates of eggs, split and buttered biscuits, and a pair of sausages sliced down the middle. Behind the plates are two china mugs and a matching pot filled with steaming coffee.

Jensen pours coffee while Jared retrieves the tray and sets it on the bed. They each tuck in with gusto. Jensen is used to eating breakfast like this when he stays at a hotel, but he wonders what Jared would have done if he hadn’t spent the night. Maybe he would have filled his belly with strong coffee and ridden out of town before the sun made it over the horizon, or taken a simple breakfast at the boarding house.

Jensen has met plenty of men who call themselves wanderers, those who drift from town to town, savoring the open spaces in between. Can’t put four walls up around them—they always feel the urge to leave like an itch under their skin. In Jensen’s experience, men like that are running from something. Could be the law, could be their past—whatever the reason, pain’s almost always at the center of it.

Watching Jared enjoy a full meal, Jensen wonders what kind of ghosts are chasing his gunslinger.

The eggs are the first thing to disappear from Jared’s plate. He looks at Jensen through his eyelashes.

“Don’t have fresh eggs that often.”

Without a word, Jensen takes Jared’s plate and scoops the remainder of his own eggs onto it. “I was finished with them anyway,” he says, handing the plate back. Jared opens his mouth, but says nothing. Instead, he spears the second half of his sausage and offers it to Jensen.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Jensen eats it straight off the fork and licks his lips. After the intimacies they shared last night, Jensen finds it adorable that he can still coax a blush onto his gunslinger’s cheeks.

“I could spend all day in bed,” Jensen says once they’ve devoured their breakfasts. He lies back and stretches, the hem of his robe slipping indecently up his thighs.

“Are you allowed to?” Jared asks, gaze draw to luminous skin.

Reclining against the pillow, Jensen curves his lower body towards Jared, welcoming the touch of a sure hand on his knee.

“The events begin at noon—roping and riding. Danni will be looking for me soon.”

“How soon?”

“We’ve still got some time,” Jensen assures, “unless you’re thinking about running off on me.”

“I’m only paid up at the boarding house ‘til today.”

Jared flirts with the bottom of Jensen’s robe, silk slipping through his fingers. Jensen ought to be getting ready—his red and black corset already set out on one of the chairs—but he can’t pry himself away from Jared’s caress.

“Stay here tonight,” he says. “We don’t leave until the morning.”

Considering the offer, Jared raises himself over Jensen’s body. Jensen notices that the top buttons on Jared’s shirt are undone baring a triangle of inviting skin.

“Pillows are better over here,” Jared says conversationally, as if he’s not aligning their hips and baiting Jensen with his lips. “Coffee’s decent, too.”

“You’re welcome to the coffee”—Jensen nips at Jared’s chin—“and the pillows”—sucks the fold of his bottom lip—“and anything else this hotel can provide during your stay.”

“Sounds like I’d be crazy to refuse.”

Kissing Jared this morning feels just as good as it did last night, perhaps even better now that they’ve shared so much of themselves. Jensen knows this mouth, knows its strengths and weaknesses. The way it bends to his without submitting; the way it takes from his without demanding.

Though kissing is a pleasure Jensen could happily lose the rest of his morning to, he intends to put his mouth to a different use. Jared gladly strips out of his trousers when Jensen starts tugging at the button front. He tears off his shirt, too, as if the garment somehow offended him. The prelude to their morning play, though brief, has already begun to show in Jared’s cock, and Jensen takes the thickening flesh in his mouth to finish the job.

Jensen’s done this many times, but he’s never felt so carefree during the act. Jared happily lies on his back, propped up on his elbows for a better view, as Jensen demonstrates his skills. He’s not interested in teasing Jared—although that sounds appealing, too—so he sucks his cock deep into the back of his mouth, much farther than Jared managed to take him.

Experience has its advantages.

“Damn, Jensen,” Jared moans, “you’re putting me to shame.” His hips arch involuntarily, forcing his cock even deeper, but Jensen’s ready for the surge. He swallows and breathes through his nose, delighting in every sound Jared makes. “Knew you had a pretty mouth—wanted it from the get-go—but I had no idea you could make a man feel this good.”

Jensen would smile if he could, but the flesh stretching his lips makes that rather difficult. He gets his hands on Jared’s hips to hold him down, and Jared makes no fuss about being restrained. As erotic as it is to have Jared plain using his mouth, Jensen wants the control even more.

His fingers dig into the muscle beneath his palms, even more aroused at the strength he can feel. His thumb finds a smooth circle of raised skin on the outside of Jared’s left thigh: another scar where a gunman’s bullet has marked him. The reminder of another fight Jared survived.

“Jensen, Jen…” Jared’s been reduced to breathy repetitions of Jensen’s name, chest rising and falling. Smug, Jensen savors each long pull, tongue searching out sensitive spots beneath the crown and teasing until Jared can’t manage any words at all. Jensen will remember the shape and heft of Jared’s cock for the rest of his life, the taste of his seed as the thin fluid leaks onto his tongue.

Desperation wreaks havoc on Jensen’s desires; men like Jared don’t cross his path too often. Fearing he’s never going to feel this kind of passion again, Jensen takes more than he ever has, writing himself into Jared’s history. At least that’s what it feels like he’s trying to do, all but choking himself on Jared’s cock.

“Whoa, whoa…” Jared runs a soothing hand down the side of Jensen’s face, under his jaw. “Easy, Jensen. You tryin’ to kill me?” he asks, tone light.

Mouth gaping and sore, Jensen stares up the length of Jared’s body and meets caring eyes, the shifting colors within them reminding Jensen of a fresh spring stream.

“Just trying to liven up your morning.” Jensen’s voice is shot to hell.

“Job well done,” Jared says, moving his hands to Jensen’s chest and pulling him up the bed.

“The job’s not finished,” Jensen corrects just before Jared lifts his head and kisses him.

“Damn near was, but there’s something else I wanna try.”

Something else turns out to be Jared’s hand wrapped around both their cocks, stroking them with purpose. Kissing Jensen all the while, treating his tired mouth to a soft dance of tongues. Crouched low on his knees, Jensen fucks forward into Jared’s grip, his cock gliding against Jared’s. His silk robe has worked itself open, black ties pooling on Jared’s belly.

Jared comes first—no surprise given the way Jensen thoroughly worked him over—but the sight of his lover shuddering beneath him, pink lips wide around a silent cry, tousled hair spread across the pillow, brings Jensen to completion.

Jensen’s stomach rumbles as he rolls off to the side, Jared’s arm ready to catch and hold him close.

“Guess you’ve already worked off breakfast,” Jared laughs. “I’m sure I can get you another plate if—”

The knock on the door startles them.

“Are you boys decent in there?”

It’s Danneel, her sing-song tone leaving no doubt that she knows exactly what Jared and Jensen have been up to. Knowing her, she’s been eavesdropping from the hall.

Jensen reties his robe—he has nothing Danneel hasn’t seen before—but Jared redresses in haste, still buttoning his pants when Danneel finally grows impatient and opens the door with a key she quickly slips back into her pocket. She stands beside the door in an ivory and blue dress with a smirk barely hiding in the corner of her lips.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” she says, which is obviously a lie, “but J.D.’s been looking for you.”

“Tell him I’ll be ready—”

Danneel holds her hand up. “Not you, sugar. Your very satisfied-looking gunslinger.”

Jared looks between them. “Me?”

“Did he tell you why?” Jensen asks, stepping forward.

She shakes her head, auburn waves brushed soft and shining. “He’ll be at the livery before the competition, Jared.”

“He probably just wants to give you your money in person,” Jensen says, suddenly remembering that Jared won himself a hefty purse yesterday. So much has happened since then…

“I’d better get going then,” Jared tells them, collecting the rest of his belongings from where they’re spread around the room: his hat and duster from the chair, gunbelt from the dresser, boots from beside the door. “Money from the last bounty I brought in has just about dried up.”

Jensen wants to stop him—he’s not sure what happens now, or where he’ll see Jared next. Jared must read the questions off his face, because he steps up next to him and tilts his chin for one more kiss. Danneel averts her eyes.

“I’ll find you during the races.”

Jensen smiles. “I’ll be waiting.”

Danneel rolls her eyes once the door closes behind Jared. “Y’all are so sweet, I might lose my breakfast.”

~~~

The crowds are livelier this afternoon than they were yesterday. Jensen is swept up in the commotion as soon as he steps outside. He didn’t think this town could hold many more people, but he sees wagons sitting in the open spaces just outside town, and someone’s added more hitching posts outside the livery.

For the final day of festivities, Jensen chose to wear his most luxurious corset. Made from the finest materials, it was a gift from J.D. on Jensen’s birthday. Buttery black velvet swirled over a red silk damask bodice, small onyx buttons running down the front. No frills or bows along the top, just simple black silk brushing over Jensen’s chest. His skirts are black, the hem just short of decent. Paired with his softest boots and smoothest stockings, Jensen feels beautiful and confident. Sweeping his hair over one shoulder, Jensen turns heads when he promenades through the gathered crowds, swaying his hips and smiling all the while.

Good sex does wonders for his disposition.

Eventually Jensen finds his way to where Sheppard and his men are collecting entry fees, catching coins flipped by young men and women aiming to hear their names in the day’s retelling.

“We’ve missed you at camp, love,” Sheppard greets him dryly, “but rumor has it you landed yourself quite a suitor. So which is it? Deep pockets or a deep di—”

“None of your business.” Jensen misses Misha and Ty, and the ease of being around his traveling family, but he doesn’t miss the loose tongues and barbed humor they all share. “Where’s Morgan?”

Sheppard flashes him a crooked smile, ignoring the line of hopefuls waiting to sign up. “Not in the mood for conversation? Pity. I was so looking forward to hearing about the creature comforts in your hotel. Tell me, how did the bed hold up while you were entertaining last night?”

He’s too familiar with Sheppard’s goading to take the bait. “Jealous it wasn’t you?”

“Couldn’t afford you even if I was, lovely.”

They’ve repeated the same lines, traded the same insults for months. Jensen actually enjoys the charade and Sheppard’s unapologetically ornery manner. Pleasant can be so dull at times.

“I haven’t seen Morgan since he told me he was going to the livery to see about selling two of Misha’s mares,” Sheppard tells him, leaning towards Jensen. “Should be back soon—the fun’s about to start.”

“The gunman from yesterday, the winner,” Jensen broaches, “have you paid him yet?”

Sheppard narrows his eyes. “I had the purse ready—nice take for the boy, I must say. One of the largest I’ve ever had the displeasure of paying out. He really got the crowd wagering.” Jensen allows himself a brief surge of pride. “But Morgan said he’d take care of it.”

“What?”

“Said he wanted to speak to the boy. Didn’t give me a reason, and I wasn’t about to ask.”

Jensen’s curiosity morphs into anxiousness. Sheppard always handles the money; J.D.’s too busy to bother with a task like handing out winnings.

What does his boss want with Jared?

The question buzzes around his head like a persistent horsefly for the rest of the afternoon. He uses the exhibition as a distraction, weaving through the crowd—Cain always within his line of sight since Ty is keeping an eye on Sheppard and the cash they’re bringing in—and making sure folks are willing to wager. This is a performance he knows by heart: talking up Stephen and his riders, doling out a few winks and coy smiles partially hidden behind his feathered fan.

Jensen spots J.D. across the street with Robbie—he’s not hard to find in his dove-colored suit and matching bowler hat—but Jared isn’t with him, and Jensen is too far away to catch his boss’s attention. He’s no closer to figuring out why Morgan summoned Jared himself. The two of them have been rolling together for so many years, Jensen thought he knew all the ways in which J.D. operated. Apparently he was wrong.

Strolling away from the noise and activity of the roping competition, Jensen steps into the shade in front of Bradbury’s General Mercantile, parched and weary and wishing he could retire to his room for a few hours. Peeking through the open door, Jensen looks around for Charlie, but there’s no sign of the charming young woman inside the store. He’s tempted to slip inside for another peek at the turquoise bracelet, but the deeper shade cast by a soft, sweeping willow growing next to the store is calling to him.

“Thirsty?”

Jared’s standing by the corner of the building, hat slung down his back and his hair combed away from his forehead. He’s not wearing his duster, but his gunbelt angles low and heavy around his hips, each slot filled with a shiny new bullet. Most notably he’s holding two glasses of lemonade.

“Is that ice?” he asks, a shiver racing down his spine as he imagines Jared’s undoubtedly cool fingers trailing along the back of his neck. He shakes himself out of it before Jared sees just how undone he is now that he’s in the gunslinger’s presence again.

Jared ducks into the shade as well, handing Jensen a glass. “The hotel just got a block of it,” he explains with a carefree smile. “Cost me an extra penny, but it’s worth it.”

Jensen agrees. He takes off his gloves so the glass won’t slip through his fingers. A shiver courses up his arms when he touches the cool condensation. The first sip is the best thing Jensen’s felt all day with the exception of Jared’s kiss in his hotel room.

“Just sour enough,” Jensen says, puckering his lips. Jared hasn’t moved, eyes fixated on Jensen’s mouth. It’s reassuring to know that he continues to have an effect on Jared even through such an innocent gesture. “Better drink up before it melts.”

“Did your friend hassle you after I left this morning?” Jared asks after enjoying half of his lemonade. Behind him, folks bustle along the street staking out good seats from which to watch the races. But with Jared’s broad shoulders between Jensen and the bystanders, they have at least the illusion of privacy.

“Danneel? She knows better than to rile me up.” Not that she didn’t try, Jensen recalls. “She found one of the crystal tumblers under our bed,” he adds with a smirk, “then she wanted to hear everything about last night.”

Jared looks at Jensen over the rim of his glass.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her.”

“Kinda got the feeling she already knew,” Jared says.

Certainly possible, Jensen thinks, drinking more of the sweetly sour treat Jared bought. A small favor, but it does more to warm Jensen’s heart than any of the lavish gifts and tokens he’s ever received. Jared, unlike most men, possesses a wealth of sincerity that makes him richer than many.

“What did Morgan want to see you about?” Jensen poses the question with care, schooling the interest out of his voice.

Jared slides his fingers up and down the glass collecting fat drops of water, hesitation slipping into his expression for only a heartbeat before it disappears. “Wanted to give me my winnings just like you said.”

“That’s all?”

“He congratulated me, wanted to know where I learned to shoot.” Jared’s smile wanes. “Told him nothing was better than practical experience.” His attitude brightens quickly. “The purse is more money than I’ve ever had. As you can see, I couldn’t help spending a bit already.” Jared indicates his gunbelt, pulling Jensen’s attention to his hips. The sight brings with it the vivid memory of what’s between Jared’s legs.

Now Jensen wishes he could retire early for an entirely different reason. He clears his throat, but it’s obvious from Jared’s smirk that he knows where Jensen’s thoughts were headed.

“I thought bounty hunting was a lucrative profession.”

“It is,” Jared says, “if you’re willing to go after the big pay-days.”

“And you don’t?”

“Never intended on this being a profession,” Jared tells him. “I’ll bring a bounty in if he crosses my path, or help a Marshall track down an outlaw if he’s willing to split the money.”

“Have you ever thought about settling in one place?” Jensen asks.

Jared’s quick to shoot back. “Have you?”

There’s no answer for Jensen to give. The lemonade is a sweet distraction. Jared’s still grinning, and after a few moments, Jensen relaxes back into their easy companionship.

“I’ve got to get back for the races,” Jensen says after savoring the last bit of his icy drink. “You planning on watching?”

“Thought about it,” Jared tells him. “Your boss gonna mind if I stick around?”

Jensen’s cheeks feel warm, and not because of the heat of the day. Jared offers to take their glasses back to the hotel, assuring Jensen that he’ll meet him near the finish line where J.D. and Sheppard will be overseeing the action. Jensen catches sight of Danneel holding court with her admirers outside one of the saloons, ivory satin ribbons woven through her hair and draped over her shoulder.

The rest of the afternoon is full of surprises.

As usual, the races provide entertainment for everyone. A handful of Morgan’s riders dressed in elaborate, multicolored costumes parade down the street before the competition. Riding among them, Misha tosses sweets to the children he sees while the other riders wave banners and execute stunts from horseback.

Jared reappears as the applause dies down and Morgan steps out to announce the first race. J.D. nods when he sees Jared, but other than that there’s no interaction between the two men, allaying Jensen’s uncertainties.

Jensen mingles as he’s expected to, but he keeps winding his way back to Jared between races. Their hands touch—casual gestures to the outside observer—fingers caressing a wrist or trailing behind an elbow. A harmless seduction that leaves Jensen’s heart pounding. The connection he has with Jared astounds him; it’s something Jensen never could have imagined for himself. Not even his fantasies brought him a man who could ignite his senses with a simple touch, who already comes so close to soothing the broken places within him.

And having sex with Jared isn’t an event—it’s been an awakening.

The exhibition can’t conclude soon enough.

Stephen has no trouble making it to the final race; the surprise is who he’s riding against. Jensen’s been distracted by his personal concerns until now, but there’s something curious about the slightly built rider who steps up next to Stephen. The challenger’s garments might fool most of the spectators, but Jensen’s been an expert on dressing as the opposite sex for years—he recognizes the disguise with little trouble.

It’s Charlie. Her hair is rolled up and tucked beneath a faded hat, but a few red strands have escaped, curling around her ears. Her slim figure is obscured by loose clothing, but the smile on her face is brilliant. Jensen wants to stand and cheer for the young woman, but he holds his tongue still to keep her secret. Morgan would never bar a woman from competing in his events, but even he never knows how the crowd will react if they succeed.

Jensen does whisper all this to Jared, however.

“The girl from the emporium?” Jared asks, leaning forward to keep their conversation private. “I met her when I first hit town. Kind…and lively,” he recalls, mouth quirked. “Wanted to know my life’s story.”

Jensen turns. “I’m betting she didn’t get it.”

Jared hangs his head. “Not a tale fit for most folks’ ears.”

“I’d listen,” Jensen offers without hesitating. “If you’re ever looking for someone to tell it to.”

Whatever Jared might say is cut off by the boom of Morgan’s voice announcing the race. Jensen catches Charlie’s gaze when she searches the crowd and he gives her an encouraging wave. In all of their travels, he has yet to see someone even come close to beating Stephen, but he’s rooting for her.

They watch the race with new interest; Jared cheers along for Charlie and her black gelding. She wasn’t lying when she bragged about her skills; her gelding has a long, fluid stride, and Charlie is light in the saddle. At the barrel turn, Stephen’s only ahead by a nose. The last stretch is thrilling, the roar and applause deafening as the two riders gallop down the street.

Charlie’s horse and Stephen’s cross the finish line at the same time. The race is too close to call, even for Morgan who has the final say. Townsfolk surge at the finish line, and from what Jensen’s able to see and hear, the crowd is insisting on a second race. After a rapid conversation with Sheppard, Morgan obliges.

As folks press forward for a better view, Jared steps closer, his chest flush against Jensen’s shoulder blades. He shields Jensen from the raucous people around them, but from the way his hand flirts with the curve of Jensen’s waist, his fingers fluttering over the ties of Jensen’s corset, the move isn’t completely chivalrous.

On the second go ‘round, Stephen’s mustang wins by half a stride, but the crowd cheers for both riders. Jensen has a feeling he’s not the only person who recognized Charlie in the saddle. Locals tend to rally behind their own when they’re competing against one of Morgan’s finest.

“What now?” Jared asks. Around them, people are beginning to move out of the street, making for one of the saloons to continue the festivities or heading back to their homesteads with their families.

“Things won’t settle for a while yet,” Jensen says. “I should see if Morgan needs my help with anything, but I’ll be back after that. Most of the troupe will be in town tonight relaxing and celebrating.”

“Dinner?”

“Definitely in the cards,” Jensen says. “I haven’t eaten since our breakfast. Why?”

Jared ducks his chin, grinning. “I reserved a table at the hotel. Under your name, ‘cause they couldn’t give two shakes about me.”

“For us?”

“Figured if you were staying in town…”

“What time?” Jensen asks quickly.

Jared’s eyes mirror the afternoon sun, rich golds and faceted greens reflected in his irises. “Five o’clock.”

Nerves aflutter, Jensen nods. After all the excitement, a quiet supper sounds marvelous. As they walk, Jared mentions a few chores of his own that need doing before they meet for the evening meal: seeing to his horse in the livery, gathering his belongings from the boarding house.

“Before Ms. Irene decides to sell ‘em off,” he jokes.

“Do you mind if I wear this?” Jensen asks before they part ways. He’s not ready to change—used to maintaining the illusion until the troupe leaves town—but he would accommodate Jared if he wanted to be seen dining casually with a friend instead of a funny man playing at being a courtesan.

Jared stops walking and encircles Jensen’s waist, nearly sweeping him off his feet right there in the middle of the street. Laughter bubbles out; Jensen can’t help himself. Jared knows exactly what to do to assuage his fears.

“I don’t care what you’re wearing,” Jared whispers, lips skirting over the whorls of Jensen’s ear. “Won’t matter to me, I’ll still be thinking about getting you naked.”

With that he lets Jensen go and strides away, no finer sight in the world than those long, muscular legs filling out every inch of those pants, and for a moment Jensen can’t decide if he wants to chase after him. Hard to say whether it’d be to kiss him or slap him upside the head for provoking him like that. Jared looks back over his shoulder as if he knows exactly what he’s gone and done.

“You’re gonna regret that,” Jensen mutters to himself, spinning towards the hotel where he’ll no doubt find J.D. and Danneel waiting for him, mind already working out how best to repay his lover.



part three.