Hard Ride (Clean Slate Ranch) Read online

  “I went through a phase when Armageddon came out. I might have been a little bit in love with half the male cast of that movie.”

  “Dude, wouldn’t you have been about ten when that movie came out?”

  “When I first rented it, whatever. Actually, it might have been one of the movies I watched on repeat the summer I broke my leg.” Derrick looked down at his T-shirt. “Huh. Funny coincidence.”

  “Yeah. Funny.”

  “Ready to go?”

  “Definitely.”

  Derrick took the crutches and the paper bag with Slater’s prescriptions. Slater’s handler came over and dutifully wheeled him out to Derrick’s waiting car. He would have preferred riding up front but his ankle was throbbing again, and he really needed to elevate it. So he hobbled into the back seat and stretched out. Derrick got a blanket from his trunk and used it to prop Slater’s foot up. Because it was his right foot, Slater had to sit behind the driver’s seat so he didn’t risk his foot sliding off the seat, and it put him in the unfortunate position to smell Derrick’s cologne really well.

  And he liked it.

  “Do you need to stop anywhere on the way home?” Derrick asked. “Pharmacy?”

  “Nope, got everything filled at the hospital. To be honest, all I really want right now is to stretch out on something soft and watch anything besides basic cable.”

  “I can manage that. Before or after we drive to the ranch?”

  Shit, Slater had somehow forgotten that particular chore. And once he parked his ass, he didn’t want to move the rest of the day. Might as well get this over with. The guests would all be busy in the big corral, watching Reyes and whoever else do mounting and riding demos, so they wouldn’t interrupt anything. He was glad Reyes would be busy, because the poor guy acted like he owed Slater a blood debt or something, and he didn’t. Slater would have let go of anyone before pulling them down that mountain with him.

  “I guess after,” Slater said. “Unless you’ve got plans?”

  “Nope. Not a thing except getting you settled.”

  “Okay.”

  Derrick blasted an R & B station on the drive out to Garrett. Slater wasn’t used to this route in a car; he always took it on his motorcycle, and today he enjoyed the ability to listen (and occasionally sing along) to the music. Derrick had a surprisingly good voice and could mimic quite a few artists.

  As the car trundled closer to Garrett town limits and Derrick turned the volume down, Slater asked, “How come you aren’t a professional singer? You’re really good.”

  “Too shy, honestly. I did choir in school and in church, but never bothered auditioning for solos. Conrad used to needle me about auditioning for one of those reality singing shows, but I never had the stones. Singing is for fun, not a career.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “So what about you? What did you do before Clean Slate?”

  Slater considered his possible responses and in the end, went with the simplest truth. “I worked for a shipping company that specialized in large freight and animals. It was good work, a lot of time on the road, but I liked it. Did that for a few years until one job had me bringing an abused pony up to Arthur’s horse rescue. I fell in love with the work they do, and after some calls, Arthur gave me a job at the rescue. Eventually, I ended up at the ranch working with the guests and horses there.”

  “Cool.” Derrick navigated the country road that eventually revealed the two large boulders marking the entrance to Clean Slate Ranch. He drove slowly, avoiding the worst of the dirt road’s potholes and ruts, and Slater’s ankle thanked him for that.

  Their arrival only garnered a few curious looks from guests, who were at the corral as expected. Derrick helped Slater slide out and get situated on his crutches. Derrick had offered to drive right up to the cabin, but Slater needed to practice more on the crutches, and he’d been on his ass for almost a week.

  Before they’d gotten five feet from the car, Patrice swooped in and cupped her hands over Slater’s cheeks. “It is so good to see you again, hon,” Patrice said. “Your poor face.”

  Slater smiled. “My face will heal, but it feels incredible to be out of that hospital.” The warm sun against his skin was pure heaven, and he really hoped Derrick’s place had some kind of patio, or at least direct sunlight part of the day.

  “I won’t keep you. You don’t need to be on that ankle any longer than necessary.”

  “Thanks, Patrice. I’ll see you, okay?”

  “Bless you, hon.” She kissed his cheek before heading back to the guesthouse, and Slater’s heart panged. She was the ranch’s den mother and, in some ways, a mother figure to many of the men who worked here, Slater included. His own mother had vanished when he was a kid, and he’d gotten along with his stepmother just fine, but something about Patrice exuded warmth and hominess. Unconditional support.

  Love.

  Things he’d never returned in kind, always deflecting her gentle questions about his past, or even his current likes and dislikes. Refusing to get to know yet another person who’d only ever tried to include him.

  He and Derrick went down the worn path to cabin row, Slater taking his time so he didn’t stumble or trip over a divot of grass. His underarms ached by the time they reached his cabin, and he was grateful to slide into one of the sitting chairs.

  “What can I do?” Derrick asked.

  “Got a suitcase under my bed. The one on the left there. Dresser on the left is mine. Just toss shit into it.”

  Derrick did exactly that, emptying the dresser drawers and stuffing things into the large suitcase. Slater didn’t own a lot, because he mostly wore the same four pairs of jeans and his Clean Slate polos—which he directed Derrick to leave behind—and he told Derrick which of the toiletries were his. Slater wasn’t sure if he’d come back to this cabin when he returned to work, or if Hugo would get a new temporary roommate so he made sure Derrick packed everything personal.

  Including the box under his bed with his most private items, which Derrick thankfully didn’t nose into. He simply tucked it into the suitcase with everything else. As he zipped it up, it hit Slater how sad it was that his entire life fit into that single piece of luggage. A big piece of luggage, but still. Someone could easily toss that into a ditch on the side of the road, and Slater would be forgotten. Only a memory to the people he’d once worked with.

  Except his stuff wasn’t being tossed into a ditch. Slater was heading into a suburb of San Francisco to live with a guy he barely knew, but who he trusted on a deep-down, instinctive level. Derrick was a good guy who babysat newborns and took in broken cowboys, and he wouldn’t screw Slater over.

  The cabin door swung open and Hugo let out an excited squawk. “Oh, good, you’re still here. Ernie said he saw you guys headed this way.” He squatted in front of Slater. “I wanted to say goodbye before you headed out. And to say you’re a really sneaky roommate. I had no idea you and Derrick were close enough to be dating, much less moving in together.”

  Slater nearly choked on air. “We aren’t living together because we’re that serious, Jesus. It’s just...more convenient than me living all the way out here. And it’s temporary. Don’t get too comfy living alone, kid.”

  Hugo grinned. “Good. For an old guy, you’re actually pretty cool.”

  “Brat.” Slater gently swiped at the kid with his crutch, but Hugo dodged out of the way. “Take care of the horses while I’m gone.”

  “I will. Get well soon, yeah?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Slater swallowed against a thick lump in his throat as he followed Derrick out into the afternoon sunshine. May was just around the corner, and the weather was gorgeous. Warm but not too hot. The rainy season was behind them, and thank God for small favors. He’d kind of miss the upcoming summer tourist traffic, but this wasn’t forever. With any luck, he’d be back before the
end of the summer, his ankle back to normal, and no more weird memory glitches.

  A few of the hands stopped by the car while Slater was getting situated, and he rolled the rear window down to shake their hands and say goodbye-for-now to his friends. Reyes was busy, thank God, and after a couple minutes of idle chatter, Derrick drove away. Slater stared at his hands, unwilling to watch the ranch fade into the background, swallowed up by the dusty horizon. This ranch was home, and he was leaving his home, but he’d be back.

  Living with Derrick was temporary. A bump in the road.

  “You hungry for lunch?” Derrick asked once he was back on the interstate. “I know all the best places in town if you’ve got a craving for anything in particular.”

  Slater was kind of hungry after his “meh” breakfast of pancakes and applesauce. “You know what I could really go for right now? A fully loaded Italian sub.”

  “I’ve got an app for that. Here, take my phone.”

  He did and opened the app Derrick named.

  “Type in your order, and then go to saved favorites, and I’ll tell you what I want,” Derrick said. “Should be ready and waiting by the time I get us there.”

  “Awesome, thanks.” Slater had never looked into these sorts of phone apps, because he lived in the sticks. Garrett had exactly one restaurant and they didn’t deliver. He found their classic Italian sub and loaded it up with mayo, oil, banana peppers, hot peppers, oregano, onions, pickles and tomatoes. No lettuce because yuck. He didn’t like grass on his food.

  Derrick’s saved favorites were a hot meatball sub and a hot chicken carbonara sub that sounded really good. Maybe Slater would get that for himself next time. Derrick asked for the meatball sub and said to add a bag of spicy corn chips. Nice. They both liked hot food. On a whim—and because he’d almost fucking died last week—Slater added two homemade fudge brownies. If Derrick didn’t want one, he’d eat them both.

  They didn’t chat much after that, and Derrick cranked up the radio again. Slater closed his eyes and listened to Derrick sing, and before he knew it, Derrick pulled into a pickup spot outside a deli. He dashed inside for their food and came out a few minutes later with a loaded plastic bag. The new scents in the car made Slater’s mouth water.

  Derrick pulled into a residential neighborhood that was a mix of old and newer homes, and he cursed as he parked on the street in front of one of the houses. “Damn it, I’d hoped there would be a driveway spot open so you didn’t have to walk as far.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Slater wasn’t sure which house was their destination, so once he was situated on his crutches, he waited for Derrick to grab the bag of food and Slater’s prescriptions. Then he followed Derrick up the sidewalk to a driveway. The two-story home had some age and was painted blue and white. It took a minute for Slater to get up the three steps to the small front porch, but he managed without toppling onto his ass.

  Derrick unlocked the front door. The foyer surprised Slater with its living room look, and he eyeballed the interior staircase. Thankfully, Derrick led him to a locked door on the right. “Home sweet home,” Derrick said.

  The apartment was tidy, had a pleasant lemon-polish scent to it, and had sunlight streaming in through the living room windows. The windows overlooked a modest backyard that had a simple cement patio surrounded by a narrow swath of grass. “How do you get out to that?” Slater asked.

  “You have to go out the front door and around. It’s not the most convenient thing, but when the owner remodeled there wasn’t an easy way to keep a rear exit for everyone to use.”

  “Got it. Cool. Food now?”

  Derrick laughed. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  Slater did, stretching out on the futon with one throw pillow behind his back and another propping up his right foot. He’d barely done anything today but it still hurt, and he could probably take a pain pill soon.

  Derrick took their food into the kitchen area and opened the wax-paper-wrapped sandwiches. “You want some of my corn chips?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Cola or root beer?”

  “You got both?”

  Derrick shot him a sheepish grin over one shoulder. “Maybe.”

  “Surprise me.”

  “Cool.”

  A few minutes later, Derrick put a chilled can of cola on the end table closest to Slater’s body and handed him a porcelain plate with his sub and a handful of red-dusted chips. Derrick had a similar plate, plus a bottle of beer, and he settled on the floor with his food. Slater felt like a douche for taking up the only piece of sitting furniture in the living room, but Derrick didn’t seem to mind. He tore into his meatball sub with gusto, leaving a smear of tomato sauce on his chin.

  Slater kind of wanted to lick that sauce off, so he picked up his own sub, which dripped oil onto his plate. Perfect. The first bite was food nirvana as so many flavors mixed together in the very best way. Heat and spice and fat and meat and crunch and oh, hell yes! This was a deli he was absolutely ordering from again. The spicy corn chips were a shockingly good combo with his sub, and the great food helped him forget about his aching foot.

  They didn’t talk while they scarfed down their lunch, and that was fine by Slater. He wasn’t huge on conversation, preferring solitary walks through the land to boisterous beer and poker nights with the other hands. Besides, why fill the air with small talk when the food was so good?

  The six-inch sub plus chips more than filled Slater up, so the brownies would keep until later, and he sipped at his cola while Derrick licked sauce off his own fingers. Slater wasn’t used to being waited on. In Patrice’s kitchen, the hands served themselves and put their own dishes in the dishwasher basket. But Derrick offered to take his empty plate with a gentle smile, so Slater handed it over. Unsure how Derrick’s TV system worked, he waited for the guy to clean up and return to the living room. Derrick sitting on the floor of his own home kind of sucked, but Slater was pretty tall and took up the whole futon.

  “I can prop my ankle up differently if you want to sit up here,” Slater said. “On a stool or something.”

  “It’s fine. I don’t really have anything for you to use, but Dez and Morgan might have something we can borrow. Their apartment is nuts.”

  “Who?”

  “Our neighbors. Really nice couple. Morgan is a bodybuilder and Dez is a clothing designer-slash-upcycle blogger. She’s actually got a pretty good following on social media.”

  Slater blinked. “What does upcycle mean?”

  Derrick stared at him as if Slater had asked the world’s dumbest question. “She reinvents old or broken things into something new. Like broken pottery into a mosaic tabletop, or she’s really good at taking worn-out clothes with holes and recreating them into new pieces. She takes photos and blogs about the process, and sometimes she sells at swap meets. She wears a lot of the stuff she makes, too, and is really into reusing and recycling.”

  “Oh. That’s cool. Really creative.” He was impressed by creative types, especially artists, poets and authors. People who created new things out of nothing but the thoughts or images in their heads. Slater had never possessed much creativity.

  Rachel was creative. She enjoyed drawing, painting and acting. Her mother wasn’t like that, though, so Slater wasn’t sure where she’d gotten her talent from. Latent genes from a grandparent, maybe?

  “How’s their apartment nuts?” Slater asked, putting his mind back into their current conversation.

  “They just have a lot of stuff. Dez loves tag sales and thrifting, and she’s always picking up a new project, so they have boxes and bags of things all over the place. Random furniture parts, cheap clothes, bits and bobs of all sorts. It’s not messy, exactly, just very full. But I bet they have a padded stool we can borrow. If not, I’m sure I can find something at Goodwill.”

  “Okay, good. I just... I know my
ankle needs to be elevated, but I don’t want you to sit on the floor in your own place.”

  Derrick grinned up at him in a way that made Slater feel as if they’d been friends for years, rather than weeks. “No trouble, man. I should have thought ahead and didn’t. Want me to check in with Dez next door about a stool? Once we get settled, we can stream a movie or play a game. Do you game?”

  “Not really. I play a few on my phone, but the last time I played a video game was on a Super NES system back in the day.”

  “Damn, man, you’re old.”

  Slater pretended to swipe at Derrick’s head and the motion made his ribs ache. “I’m only thirty-five, you ass. Not that much older than you.”

  Except I have a seventeen-year-old daughter no one knows about.

  No one in his current life knew the whole truth about Rachel, and Slater planned to keep it that way for now.

  “You said you’re turning thirty soon, didn’t you?” Slater asked.

  Derrick rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and I’m dreading whatever Conrad and Wes are cooking up for me. Although, I guess whatever Conrad dishes out, I get to serve right back to him in two years when he turns thirty.”

  “Well, the easiest way to head them off at the pass is simply to say you’re too busy taking care of your broken boyfriend, and you don’t have time to go out and play.” Slater meant it as a slight joke, because the apartment seemed easy enough to maneuver around on crutches, but Derrick seemed absolutely delighted by the excuse.

  “You’re a lifesaver.” Derrick lurched up from the floor and planted a hard kiss to Slater’s surprised forehead. “And the perfect excuse to stay in for the foreseeable future. I mean, I do love to go out dancing to let off steam and occasionally find a hookup, but the last thing I want is some kind of ambush at a nightclub.”

  “Have you tried telling your brother that? You guys talk, right?”

  “Yeah, we talk.”

  “So tell him you don’t want a surprise party. Tell him you’d rather stay in, or go out on a simple dinner date or something. It’s your birthday, pal.”