Page 3 of Coral Rustling

Huh.What is that?

Chapter Two

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Trey swished his tailat the horsefly that’d landed on his haunch.As much as he didn’t mind the work of hiking up and down the canyon trail day in and day out, it was the dang flies that annoyed him the most.Even the kids bouncing on his back were easily ignored.

Biting, stinging flies.Not so much.

Fortunately, Trey’s nephew, Reagan, noticed when he stomped his hoof in his attempt to dislodge another of the pests.He grabbed a white plastic spray bottle and headed his way.Closing the distance between them swiftly, Reagan patted Trey’s thick neck.

“Hang on, Bubba,” Reagan crooned with a reassuring smile, using the wranglers’ name for him, just in case someone happened to be listening.“I’ll deter those pesky buggers.”

Trey nickered and rubbed his head against Reagan’s chest.Then he relaxed and closed his eyes in relief as his nephew doused all areas not covered by the saddle, with extra focus on his more sensitive places.As the cool mist of fly spray covered Trey, the pungent scent filled his nostrils, but he ignored it.Despite the smell, it was worth the relief from the stinging insects.

Once done, Reagan rubbed behind Trey’s ear, underneath the halter he wore.“We have a group made up of guys in a motorcycle gang rolling in,” his nephew told Trey.His voice held a hint of concern.“Can’t say as we’ve ever taken out motorcycle gang members before.You be extra careful out on the trail.Okay?”

Offering another nicker and chest-bump, Trey did his best to reassure his nephew.He knew that most people who rode motorcycles were perfectly nice, ordinary people.It was the small criminal element of the motorcycle crowd that gave the rest a bad name.

I wonder which kind will be coming here today.

Just as the thought flittered in and out of Trey’s mind, his sensitive shifter hearing picked up the rumble of powerful engines.They grew louder, softer, then shut off.Their gang clients had arrived.

Guess I’ll figure out what kind of people these are soon enough.

As a shifter, Trey could scent lies and usually the intent to deceive.He could even get a measure of a man just from their smell.Most of the time, evilness gave off its own distinctive odor.

Smelled it before.

Banishing memories of his past, Trey turned his head and focused on the group striding up the trail from the parking area.There were over a dozen of them, and they varied in size and shape—from broad-shouldered, thickly-muscled men to guys who could carry the classic label of twink—Black, Caucasian, and plenty of indeterminate mixed races.To Trey’s appreciation, they were all damn fine-looking men and appeared remarkably clean and well-groomed.

If they’re criminals, they’re hiding it well.

Huh, there are some obvious gay couples in this group.That seems a bit out of the norm for motorcycle gangs.

Then again, what do I know?

After all, Trey had been living as a trail horse for over five years.He planned to continue doing so for at least another five...as long as his nephew stuck around.Fortunately, Reagan seemed to absolutely love his job as a tour guide and wrangler.

Trey spotted at least four couples...wait, no, make that eight.Considering the way sixteen of the seventeen men stood close to another or had their arms over shoulders or around waists, it wasn’t hard to figure out who was with whom.That drew Trey’s attention to the odd man out...who seemed to be focused on him...well, on the string of horses, anyway.

Hmm, he’s nice looking.

The odd man out had a rangy build.Even the relaxed-fit jeans didn’t hide his muscular legs.The long sleeves of his flannel shirt were rolled up, revealing lightly muscled, nicely tanned forearms.Even the cowboy-style hat on his head didn’t hide the slightly shaggy, dirty-blond hair on his head.

Suddenly, Trey felt the oddest desire to toss his head, prance, and whinny, drawing the guy’s attention.He suppressed it.Trey would have rolled his eyes had he been in human form.

Sure, the guy was hot, but there was no reason to draw attention to himself.

I’m just another horse on a string of trail mounts.Don’t make waves for some handsome human.

With that thought in mind, Trey turned his attention to cocking a back leg and relaxing on the high-line.When he’d first started pretending to be just one mount among many on a trail ride string, it’d taken him a little time to get used to allowing himself to be tied up.As a shifter, he wasn’t a fan of being restrained, but he knew it was something most normal horses learned from an early age.

Only Reagan knew that he wasn’t just an average quarter horse, and Trey certainly didn’t want to give anyone a reason to think differently.

To that end, Trey relaxed and watched as Reagan and another couple of wranglers handed out paperwork to register the guys.He found it interesting that all the men appeared to act courteous and respectful, never raising their voices or resisting when helmets were deemed a requirement.Perhaps that was because they were used to wearing them as motorcyclists.

Finally, Reagan and Mark—another wrangler—began leading most of them toward the horses.Mark was asking one of the smaller men for clarification on his riding experience.Whatever the man’s answer, it was lost on Trey as the guys’ scents finally registered over the chemical smell of the fly spray.

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