Page 1 of Throw Down

Chapter One

BRIAR

It was a dark and stormy night, but that wasn’t the worst of it.Briar Phillips was about to die alone—and in the most ridiculous way possible.He’d survived foster care, crazy ex-boyfriends, and the day male rompers came into fashion, but the boonies were going to kill him.

“You’re not going to die.” Nate’s voice was almost drowned by the crackle and hiss of faulty cell towers.Service was hit-or-miss this deep in the middle of nowhere, especially during a storm.

“You're my boss. You have to say that.” Briar switched on his speaker and edged across the dark exam room, navigating by his cell phone's flashlight.“A dead vet tech would kill your insurance premiums.”

“It’s just a baby boa.”

“Named Julius Squeezer!”

“He couldn't kill you if he tried,” Nate protested, amusement trickling through the static.

“Spoken like a man not trapped in the dark with it.” Briar choked, scrabbling at the coils around his neck.“He keeps squeezing.”

“Just unwrap him.”

“And re-open his wounds? Are you crazy?” Briar slipped one hand between his throat and the coils to protect his carotid from the pressure, but he kept his other hand stretched out in front of him.He'd already banged his shin and overturned two procedure trays in the darkness.

The clinic was always creepy at night, but it was downright spooky with only an occasional flash of lightning for illumination.According to Nate, the building had been standing, in one form or another, since the first Oregon Trail stragglers settled in Sweetwater.It was a patchwork of plaster, crumbling brick, and leaking water pipes.Nate had taken over the practice from the town's retiring veterinarian, and he and Briar had spent months bringing the place up to code.

“Things like this never happened in the city,” Briar muttered.

Nate laughed. “You're just homesick.That’s your rose-colored glasses talking.”

“I promised to give you one year when you dragged me to this godforsaken place.Just to help you start up. At this point, I deserve hazard pay.”

It was the same argument they'd been having since relocating from the city, and Briar wasn't even sure he meant it anymore.For a town the size of a postage stamp, Sweetwater wasn't so bad.Thanks to a few large, profitable ranches pumping money into the economy, the town had avoided the slow, agonizing death striking every other farming community.The old, utilitarian streets had been cleaned up and dotted by quaint little tourist shops.There wasn't much entertainment for a man in his prime, but at least there was a diner, a steak house, and a bowling alley.One of each.

As far as Briar was concerned, the worst part about living in a hick town was the lack of variety.If he wanted a latte, he could swing by one place—Java Joes.But it marked him as an outsider.Locals all took their coffee from a shabby diner named The Hungry Pig.The Stop n' Shop was the only place for overpriced groceries, and clothes were best ordered online unless Briar was willing to drive three towns away.

And if he wanted a drink? Well...he just didn't.

There were no hipster breweries or swanky clubs in Sweetwater.Not even for tourists. Only dark, sticky bars filled with hard-drinking men and tired women.Nate insisted they were safe, but he’d grown up here.He was well-known and liked, and besides, he was a different kind of gay.The kind that didn’t get cornered in high school bathrooms.The kind who was big enough to fight his way out.

The biggest thing about Briar was his mouth.He stuck out like a sore thumb in a place like this.But Nate wasn’t just his boss; he was the best friend Briar had ever known.He'd stick it out as long as Nate needed him, even if it meant living in the ass end of nowhere.

As the only licensed veterinarian in town, Nate was usually taking calls before sunrise, so Briar often handled the after-hours care by himself.It wasn’t so bad, but the animals weren’t great conversationalists.He’d learned to beat the solitude by turning on all the lights and cranking up the satellite radio, but that wasn’t an option tonight.

He’d been in the process of lifting a juvenile boa from an antiseptic bath when a freak spring gale knocked out the power.He'd been left, stranded in the darkness, with a wet reptile dangling from his shoulders like the world’s most dangerous scarf.

It was at times like this he missed his old job in retail, where he was safe from everything except bad fashion choices.

“When I die,” he said conversationally, “make sure the Gazette doesn’t put my obituary on the same page as the story about McPherson’s two-headed calf.”

“It didn’t really have two heads.”

“That distinction won’t add any dignity to my obituary." Briar sniffed."Make sure they use the photo of me from last New Year.You know, the one with those fierce orange animal-print pants.”

“Just start unwrapping from the tail,” Nate said, exasperated. “You’re not going to hurt it.”

“I might.”

“Hate to break it to you, bud, but you’re overestimating your own strength.All five feet of it.”

“Five-four,” Briar corrected automatically, and then he couldn’t resist adding cheekily, “Inches matter.”

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