Page 26 of Wistful in Wyoming
Dale: Hey yourself cowboy.
Taking a sip of his beer, he gave himself a second to think about what he wanted to say. Another text popped up before he had a chance to respond to the first one. The words lit him up, spreading warmth throughout his chest.
Dale: I missed you today.
Jeremiah: Oh yeah?
Dale: Yup. I keep thinking about that wooden dick ;)
Jeremiah rolled his eyes and groaned.
Jeremiah: I did more research into lacquer than I ever thought I’d need to do.
Dale: Ha! Love it. Can’t wait to see the finished product.
Dale: What are you doing right now?
Jeremiah snapped a picture of his booted feet up on the stump, a beer in his left hand, balancing on his knee, and sent it.
Jeremiah: Relaxing. I played businessman all day—paperwork, bills, etc.
Dale: Fun. The joys of ranching. Wish I was there.
Jeremiah: Me too.
The sound of a car engine had Jeremiah lifting his head. A sheriff’s department-issued SUV was coming down the lane.
Jeremiah: Grady is pulling up.
Dale: Ooh the fuzz is coming!
Jeremiah: Please don’t say coming in the same sentence as my cousin!
Dale: True. If we’re talking about coming, I’d rather be talking about you coming in my mouth.
His face flamed—even his ears felt like they were singed. He uncrossed his ankles and then recrossed them in the opposite manner, trying to stave off an impending erection the dirty messages had evoked.
Dale: You’re blushing so hard right now.
Damn the man and his sixth sense.
Jeremiah: Maybe.
Grady pulled to a stop just as another ping sounded on Jeremiah’s phone. He ignored it, too afraid further embarrassment would show on his face and his observant cousin would notice and question him. Jeremiah was taking baby steps into the out-and-proud world, and he wasn’t ready to be caught texting his ...Boyfriend? Is that what we are?Lover sounded too much like an illicit affair. Partner was too committed, too permanent, which they weren’t yet. He made a mental note to ask Dale, just as his phone pinged twice more in rapid succession.
“Hey, how’s it going, cuz?” Climbing the steps, Grady was dressed in civilian clothes—jeans, a brown and gold T-shirt from his alma mater, the University of Wyoming, and scuffed, chestnut-colored boots—the attire he wore on the weekends when he wasn’t scheduled to work. However, as always, his duty weapon and badge were attached to his belt since he never knew when he’d have to respond to an emergency and not have time to change into a uniform.
“It’s going. Pull up a seat, grab a beer.” Jeremiah gestured to a small ice bucket holding two more cold brews he’d brought outside. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much. Rissa’s still grounded and not speaking to me. Lorraine told me she’d keep an eye on her if I wanted to get out of the house for a while.” The sixty-five-year-old widow was a sweetheart and lived across the street from Grady. After Leah had passed away, Grady had hired Lorraine Culpepper as a housekeeper and nanny to his then four-year-old daughter. It’d been an arrangement that had benefited both of them, since Lorraine had lost her job as a secretary in Butterfield when the business had closed down. Rissa called the woman Aunt Lorraine who, in turn, considered the teen her niece.
“Thought I’d come by and check on you.” Grady snagged a chilled bottle from the bucket. Smirking, he pointed to the loveseat with his beer. “Safe to sit?”
Mortification rolled through Jeremiah, and he ran a hand down his face, not meeting Grady’s amused gaze. “Yes. And I thought we agreed to never speak of that again.”
Needing a distraction, he peeked at his phone and nearly dropped it when he saw the screen. Dale had sent him a series of pictures. Each one was sexier than the last. Making sure Grady couldn’t see them, Jeremiah tried to keep his eyes from bugging out and a moan from erupting from his mouth.
The first one was an image of his bare chest, with his hand resting on his lower belly, fingers buried in the coarse hair there, looking as if he was about to go lower. He wasn’t wearing any pants, and the tips of his fingers were just brushing the band of his boxer briefs. The outline of his erection clearly defined behind the snug material.
