Page 65 of Cowboy Seeks Husband
Ben’s shoulders drooped with relief, and Walker hauled him closer. Something protective surged in him. The poor guy. Ben gingerly let his forehead rest against Walker’s shoulder and Walker moved a little closer, letting his hands trace the curve of Ben’s back. “Okay?” he whispered.
“Okay,” Ben agreed.
When he stopped shaking, Walker let go of Ben. “You’ll be just fine,” he said, and Ben nodded but didn’t reply.
“That was excellent!” Molly cried out, and Walker startled. He’d forgotten about those damn cameras and hadn’t even seen Molly come in. “No, really! That was great. Tortured gay man finding his feet. It’s a dream come true. This show is going to be so awesome.” Ben quickly rose to his feet and left, and Walker wanted to go after him but figured he needed a minute to himself.
“Why are you so relentlessly unkind, Molly?”
Molly waved him away, clearly still envisioning golden scenes. “First, you and Roan pretty much eating each other up on that fucked-up fishing date, then that kiss with Chad and Roan’s jealous face, and now this. And right now Roan’s pouring his heart out to Luke.” She smiled gleefully. “I hope he cries.”
Walker stood up, ready to leave. “That’s heartless.”
“Yeah, well, don’t judge before you have all the info, cowboy. And you won’t have it until the show airs.”
“Whatever.” Walker pushed past her and stomped through to the living room. He didn’t even pretend like he wasn’t looking for Roan. And shit. This was exactly what he’d initially wanted to avoid. These feelings.
He liked Ben, but he didn’t feel that tug beneath his breastbone like he did whenever Roan’s name was mentioned. There’d been something right from the start. From the very first moment he’d seen Roan get out of the SUV, he’d thrilled to him at a cellular level. Maybe the show was playing tricks on him, maybe not. He knew two things. One, he needed to make sure Roan was okay, and two, he needed to get him alone so he could figure out what was real.
Next week,I’m getting him to myself if it kills me.
“If you’re lookingfor Roan, he’s in the kitchen,” Luke said while Kylie attacked his face with wet wipes. They came away orange.
“Thanks,” Walker said. “And by the way, I like you better in your real color.”
Luke laughed. “You and me both.”
Walker pushed his way into the kitchen and found Roan at the counter in there, hunched over on a bar stool with his back to the door.
“Hey, little lion,” Walker said. Roan glanced over his shoulder, and Walker stopped in his tracks for a second. He looked awful. “What’s up?”
Roan let his forehead drop back into his palm and he stared desolately at the counter. “Do you ever do or say anything in front of those damn cameras and instantly regret it?”
Walker laughed softly. “All the time.” Roan’s shoulders hunched further, and fuck, it was really hard not to walk over there and put his hand between those sharp shoulder blades, then slide around him, and tug Roan into a big hug. “What did Luke pry out of you?”
Roan was quiet, and Walker took the barstool beside him. Eventually Roan said, “Luke asked about my dad. I never meant to bring it up here. It just caught me off guard, I guess.”
Walker smiled gently. “Yeah, they’re good at doing that. My mother calls it the show’s trauma trick. They want the home audience to think that someone’s character should be weighed by what horrible things they’ve gone through and how well they’ve responded to it. But it’s no basis for a healthy relationship in real life.”
Lifting his head, Roan smiled at him a little. “That’s a good point, actually.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t care about what you’ve gone through, or that I don’t want to know. It’s just that it doesn’t matter in the long run. Day-to-day life isn’t determined by childhood losses.”
Roan shrugged and ran his hand through his hair, or tried to at least, but the product keeping it stylishly bent to his will didn’t budge. He stuffed his hand between his knees. “It was nothing special. It’s not a sob story. My dad and my mom weren’t married, and one day he just left and didn’t come back.”
“How old were you?”
“Two.”
“I’m sorry,” Walker said. “That must’ve been hard.”
Roan shook his head. “It really wasn’t. I never knew any different.”
Walker reached for him, putting his hand on Roan’s thigh. The muscle bunched beneath his palm, then slowly eased. Roan swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple dancing up and down. God, he was so pretty, his profile an artwork of contradictions. Sharp nose, full, luscious lips, strong jaw but long, thin eyebrows. Dark hair and pale, pale skin. He had a beauty spot on his cheekbone, and Walker wanted to taste it.
A week he’d spent admiring that beauty from afar. Too much time and no time at all.
“You want to go for a stroll?” Walker asked. Someone cleared his throat behind them and they both looked up. A camera man stood there, looking uncomfortable. “Let me guess, you go where we go?”
