Page 10 of Down in Flames

An argument was coming though. He had no doubt about that. Michael had clearly been bottling up everything he wanted to say since he realized how much pain West was in, and West could tell he was just dying to rip a slice off him. Carve him up like a Sunday ham. Consideration for his injuries was the only thing that had kept him from going nuclear until now.

“You know there’s a carnival in town?” Michael asked, bracing one arm over his head and staring at the crowded parking lot on the other side of the window. The colorful peaks of a Ferris wheel could barely be made out over the treetops.

“Because of the stampede. It’s the most tourism this place ever gets,” West grunted, shifting so that he sat reclined against some pillows. Lying down while Michael stood, strong and whole and fully dressed, made him feel intensely vulnerable.

Michael gave a noncommittal grunt and checked his watch. “Okay,” he announced. “That’s enough ice. Time to switch on the heat.”

“I can do it,” West grouched, but Michael was already gently slipping the ice pack from beneath him and replacing it with a heating pad.

West turned his face away and squeezed his eyes shut.

Even with nothing but cheap motel soap, the man smelled better than that nurse’s sugary perfume ever could. It was something baked right into his skin. Somehow, he could spend hours fixing fence in the blazing heat, and still smell good at the end of the day. Warm and spicy, like he’d just settled down for a nap in a patch of sage and showy tarweed. A good, familiar smell, like home…except a far cozier home than West had ever known.

“You’re good at taking care of people,” he mumbled as he settled back into the blissful heat.

“I’ve had a lot of practice.” Michael flashed the straight, pearl-white grin that stopped hearts wherever he went. West didn’t know how his own heart had ever survived the repeated shocks.

“Abby is lucky to have you,” he said.

Michael chuckled. “I’m luckier to have her, but that wasn’t what I meant. I handle half a dozen troublemaking cowboys on a regular basis, and not a single one knows how to take care of himself like an adult.” He hooked a ridiculous hot pink chair by its back and dragged it over to the bedside to straddle, and that’s when West knew it was coming. The Talk.

“It’s how we were raised,” West said, adjusting the heating pad like a cape over one shoulder.

“Maybe,” Michael agreed, folding his arms across the back of the chair and resting his chin on them. “I learned the meaning of hard work early, growing up on my grandpa’s farm with my cousins. But he was old, and he’d lost enough people in his life that he made sure we knew how important it was to look after ourselves.”

“Says the man who removed his cast three weeks early,” West pointed a finger at him and raised his eyebrows.

“That’s different,” Michael said dryly. “I had a ranch to rebuild and people counting on me for their livelihood. Besides, I probably took it easier than you think.”

West scoffed, and Michael’s lips curved upward in a rueful smile. “Why do you think I healed up so well?” he asked, lightly rapping his knuckles on the leg he’d broken. “You’ve got to at least do the bare minimum, and you and I both know you aren’t going to wear that sling around your family. So, take a couple days here. The world won’t stop spinning.”

But it might if West had to spend more than a few hours alone with him.

The last time they’d been alone was those first few days in the hospital, right after the fire, back when West didn’t have to explain himself for holding Michael’s hand or smoothing back his hair while he slept. He’d gotten used to it so fast it frightened him. Michael was in so much pain that he might not have noticed how territorial he’d gotten, but the nurses noticed, and that’s when he knew that he’d crossed a line. He couldn’t trust himself. Not around this man.

As he glanced helplessly around the eyesore of a room, he became aware of the tension in his own body. Anxious knots rippled across his shoulders and down his back.

“I’ll pay you back for this,” he said, gesturing at the room.

Michael glanced carelessly around them and shrugged as if the wasted money didn’t matter. But West knew that couldn’t be true. The Triple M had always turned a decent profit, but the insurance money had barely scratched the surface of necessary repairs. The whole town knew that he’d drained his savings bone dry putting the damage to rights.

“Consider it a return on all the unpaid hard labor you’ve given the ranch over the years,” Michael said.

“That’s what friends do.”

“Yeah.” Michael’s eyes sharpened. “It is.”

Something unspoken thrummed between them. West didn’t know what it was, but he knew it pulsed down his spine and made his hair stand on end. Michael's eyes were shockingly blue. In the slant of orange sunlight filtering through the open window, they practically glowed, like the hottest flame on a gas burner.

He dropped his gaze, hoping it was enough to calm his racing heart.

“What did Gus say when you told him you were stuck here?” Michael asked, abruptly breaking the tension.

“He didn’t believe my line about a fuel pump, for starters,” West said with a chuckle. “Then he complained that the owner shouldn’t have to actually do any work around the shop. I swear, he’s fixing to retire any day now.”

“What will you do when that happens?”

“Work for whoever buys the shop off him, I guess.” West shrugged, then he remembered why that was a bad idea. He hissed and cupped his injured shoulder.

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