Page 39 of Stud Ranch

He turned his face into the spray, letting it run down his body.

Either way, where did that leave him?

* * * * *

Shaw slumped in the leather chair, listening to the drone of Dylan’s shower, his stare riveted on Sloane. She always looked stunning, but there was something about her in sleep that brought out the protector in him. The vulnerability revealed in the softening of her features.

He saw the changes two years apart had made. Motherhood had given her a core of steel that only enhanced how lovely she was, but knowing that he’d let her carry that burden alone riddled him with guilt.

His throat burned around the lump that settled there. He still loved her—always would. Seeing her again wasn’t just a confirmation—it chiseled the reality in granite. Nothing could ever erase it.

And Dylan. Fuck. Just fuck. Why did he have to give Shaw those looks he did—like he wanted him just as damn much as he wanted Sloane?

Shaw was far from homophobic. Hell, he’d even played hockey with guys who preferred the opposite sex. But what good would it do if Shaw led Dylan on? He’d only hurt his friend.

He had some tough choices to make—now, before Sloane woke up. Leaving her again would cause more damage, and he’d already screwed up in thinking that walking out of her and Marigold’s life would cause less pain.

He should give her up again. Let Dylan handle it from here.

Dammit, he didn’t want that.

Since no clear answer made itself known, the only thing to do was live in the present. Sticking around her and Dylan seemed the better option.

At least it would get Sloane on her journey to healing—her reason for coming to The Boot Knockers Ranch. Staying involved with Dylan might smooth things over between them, until the point where they could return to normal everyday life.

For Shaw? It would be the equivalent of taking a hockey stick to the face and getting knocked out.

He issued a low sigh. He’d take the pain, shoulder the burden for all three of them. So what could he do to keep all of them happy right this minute?

Food was a necessity. He could manage that easily by ordering a tray from the dining hall. Then what?

He flipped through several options in the ranch schedule. The BDSM show was over for the week…and look where that landed the three of them. The night might have been mind-blowing, but it had created more problems.

Tonight’s entertainment was taken care of with rodeo night. The guys competed in real rodeo events, and Dylan would be showing off in all his glory. Shaw wasn’t cut out for rodeos, especially with his leg injury still nagging at him daily, but he could still sit a horse.

He turned his head to look out the window. Horses grazed in the pasture in the distance, giving him the spark of an idea. They could take Sloane horseback riding, the perfect segue to rodeo night.

Then when Dylan came out of the arena, bruised and sore after his bull ride, he and Sloane could make him feel all better.

He was on his feet before conscious thought kicked in. Crossing the room to reach the bathroom, he tossed a glance at Sloane to make sure she was still asleep. When he tested the door, the handle turned.

Steam fogged the air, but he could make out Dylan in the shower, one hand braced on the wall, head bowed.

Shaw’s stomach dipped. Was the man just as tormented as he was? Hell.

He shoved his jeans off and stepped into the shower. Dylan didn’t turn. Only the muscle of his shoulder rippling alerted Shaw that he acknowledged that someone had joined him.

Standing naked in the shower with a man didn’t feel as odd as he might have once thought. He released the air he’d held contained in his lungs and reached out a hand to touch Dylan.

His palm settled on his chiseled side. Still, Dylan didn’t move or even twitch. Water sluiced over his bowed head and ran down his nape and the spine that was layered in muscle earned from hard work and the conditioning it took to stay in competitive bull riding.

With a pounding urge to give the man some ease, he skated his hand down his body, over his ribs to his hip. When he ran his hand around to Dylan’s cock, he felt the man jerk.

Before he could order him to leave, he locked an arm around Dylan’s middle and wrapped his fingers around his cock. Dylan let out a groan, then a louder one when Shaw gave his cock a slow jack, rolling the head through his fingers.

He could do this for his friend—lover. He wanted to give him this release.

Running his cock through his fist, squeezing the head, he skated his other hand up Dylan’s chest and pinched his nipple. The sharp intake of breath told him how much he enjoyed that.

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