Page 3 of Wistful in Wyoming
Dale had known since his teens he was pansexual and had been in the military when “don’t ask, don’t tell” had still been in effect and for a few more years after its repeal. By the time he’d left the Marines seven years ago, he’d been out and proud, refusing to ever crawl back into that stuffy closet he’d hated with a passion. He didn’t care if a person was male, female, transgender, or undefined—he was attracted to the person, not their sexual orientation. As long as they caught his interest, their gender didn’t matter to him. He’d had relationships with several men and women over the years, but never at the same time. Monogamy was just as important to him as the person he was with being true to who they were.
Yeah, he’d caught some shit from other Marines when they’d found out he was into men as much as women, but most of his teammates had stayed by his side, ready to defend him just like they had in combat. A few had distanced themselves and talked smack about him when he wasn’t around, but that had been the worst of their disapproval.
Frowning, Jeremiah thumped his beer bottle down onto an unoccupied table with a little more force than necessary and stormed toward a hallway that led to the restrooms. Unable to help himself, Dale made the decision to follow the man—for what reason, he wasn’t sure yet. Smiling at Beth and gesturing toward the hallway, he said, “Will you excuse me for a moment?”
She glanced over her shoulder at the sign for the restrooms. “Oh, sure. No problem. Just save me a dance later, okay?”
Beth was a nice, attractive woman, and from what he’d been told, a damn fine deputy. Not that there was a heck of a lot of crime in Rockland County, but she’d reportedly held her own in several high-risk situations over the years. While many of the larger towns in the county were covered by police departments, the smaller ones, like Antelope Rock, were under the jurisdiction of the sheriff’s department. Dale had heard of one domestic violence incident where she’d single-handedly arrested a man who’d been beating his wife bloody. The injured woman hadn’t been the only one in need of an emergency room physician by the time Beth had been done with the man, and she’d done it without firing a shot or deploying a taser.
Dale winked at her. “Sure thing.”
Striding across the room, he silently reminded himself that pursuing Jeremiah was a bad idea and would end in a disaster, but even knowing that didn’t stop him from going after the man right then.
He pushed the door to the men’s room open and frowned. There was no one at the urinals and the two stalls were open and empty.
Where the hell is he?
Stepping back into the hallway, he glanced to his left and noticed an exit door. It was slightly ajar, and he headed for it. Before he opened the door fully, he peered out through the gap and spotted Jeremiah pacing back and forth on a small patio, mumbling to himself and running his hands through his red hair. His hat rested on the retaining wall that bordered the patio. There was no one else out there.
The corners of Dale’s mouth ticked upward when he heard the words “arrogant bastard” along with a few choice curse words filter in. If he had to guess, he’d say his earlier wink at the sexy cowboy had made an impression.
He opened the door just wide enough that he could slip out into the night. Surprisingly, the hinges didn’t make a sound. The muted festive music floating out from the party muffled his footsteps. The patio was lit up by a yellow bulb in a lantern hanging above the door. Flaming citronella torches were spaced out evenly along the perimeter of the patio that’d been created with gray, stone pavers. Two picnic tables and about a dozen or so plastic chairs provided seating, and in the center of it all was a large fire pit. While it wasn’t ablaze, someone had set up several logs and kindling, probably in anticipation of the wedding guests coming out here later. The temperature was hovering around fifty degrees—pretty normal for the region in mid-May after the sun went down. A half-crescent moon hung low, surrounded by countless twinkling stars. Dale would never tire of the Wyoming night sky. In all his travels, both in the United States and abroad, he’d never seen a more magnificent and humbling display of the universe.
Leaning against the brick wall of the building, he eyed the object of his lust, who still hadn’t noticed he was no longer alone amid his muttered grumblings. An amused grin spread across Dale’s face. “You know, it’d be a shame for you to pull all that fiery hair out of your head. I might be forced to shed a tear at the loss.”
Jeremiah spun around, gaping at the unexpected intrusion of his bitch-fest. He quickly tried to shutter his face but failed. There was a mixture of anger and lust in his beautiful green eyes, and Dale would give anything to be staring down into them as his naked body covered the other man’s.
As strong as his desire was though, he wasn’t about to play games with a closeted gay. He’d been burned once before, and he refused to open himself up to that kind of heartbreak again. The only thing worse than falling for a man who wasn’t out was developing feelings for a straight guy. He had no idea why he couldn’t just walk away from Jeremiah and leave the poor guy alone.
“Fuck off.” Turning away from Dale, Jeremiah tipped his head back, staring up at the night sky. “I came out here to get away from you.”
“Did you really want to get away from me? Or were you secretly hoping I’d follow you out here?”
He scowled and snorted at Dale. “You really think highly of yourself, don’t you?”
Dale smirked. “Not really. I just know when someone is attracted to me.”
Unexpectedly, the man didn’t deny that statement, although the desire in his eyes flared just as much as his fury did. The combination had Dale closing the distance between them. Whether Jeremiah was going to try and deck him was a crap shoot Dale was willing to risk—for some inane reason. He didn’t stop until his chest brushed against Jeremiah’s, his gaze never leaving the other man’s. After several heart beats, Dale lowered his mouth to Jeremiah’s ear, inhaling the rich scent of his skin. He made his voice rumble, low and seductive. “Admit it, sweetheart. If we were anywhere else, where there was no chance we’d be interrupted or found out, you’d be on your knees right now, blowing me halfway to heaven before begging me to fuck that hot ass of yours.”
Jeremiah swallowed hard, hunger and passion swirling in his eyes. He wanted this. Craved it. That much was obvious to Dale. However, actually giving in to his basic carnal lust was a different story altogether. Jeremiah would never make the first move, not without some encouragement.
Dale slowly licked his lips, drawing an almost imperceptible moan from the other man’s throat. His jeans got tighter in the crotch as his cock swelled with need. Leaning into Jeremiah just a little bit more, Dale commanded more than dared, “Kiss me.”
As his eyes rounded, Jeremiah’s breathing became near frantic. The pulse in his neck raced as a shiver rippled throughout his body. He was as terrified as a rabbit trying to outrun a predator. But the man didn’t run. Didn’t move. All he had to do was lift his chin and let their mouths meet. Dale would take over from there.
Jeremiah shifted, and it brought him closer to Dale instead of farther away. His head tilted back a scant inch or two. Dale lowered his mouth, reveling in the soft puffs of Jeremiah’s gasping breaths against his own lips, giving the other man every opportunity to take what he so obviously wanted.
Laughter reached his ears a split-second before the door burst open behind him and several wedding guests filed out onto the patio, chatting away. Jeremiah jumped away from Dale as if he’d been burned and spun around, facing away from everyone, most of whom had no idea what he’d been about to do. Dale was the only one aware of how close Jeremiah had come to kissing him. If only they’d had a few more minutes alone.
Damn it.
Jeremiah strode over to the retaining wall and snatched his hat, slamming it down on his head. Someone bumped into Dale, diverting his attention, causing him to reach out and steady the other person.
“Whoops! Sorry, Dale,” Ginger Moore said with an alcohol-induced giggle.
He gave the young hairdresser a smile. “No problem, darlin’.”
Another titter erupted before she turned back toward her date—a man in his twenties that Dale didn’t recognize as being from the Rock. It didn’t mean the guy didn’t live there, but with a population under a thousand, Dale figured he’d met or at least seen a majority of the townspeople during the past seven months he’d lived there.
