Page 1 of The Finding Series: Vol. 1

ChapterOne

Rhys Tellar stared at the iron arch above him and grimaced. A ranch in the heart of Bumfuck, Montana. This was where honesty and playing by the rules had gotten him – a dry, dusty piece of shit land that sat in the shadow of the Rocky Mountain range. He didn’t see any cows, but he sure as hell could smell them as the winds shifted and a hot, stifling gust blew more grit onto his sweat soaked skin. The guy he’d hitched a ride with had told him the ranch sat a mile up past the entrance. He hoped to God that the rusty piece of metal that hung above his head with the initials CB on it was a sign that a cold shower and hot meal were in his near future. Fuck, they didn’t even need to happen in that order.

He cursed his parole officer for the hundredth time as he began the long trek up the dirt road. Frank Pettit had sworn this place would be more receptive to hiring an ex-con without a lot of questions, though he wasn’t sure what that said about the man running the place. If the guy he’d hitched with was right, the owner of the CB Bar Ranch was a major prick who’d alienated most of the little town of Dare and would be as likely to greet a newcomer with a shotgun as a handshake.

But it wasn’t like Rhys had a lot of options. He’d blown through three jobs already in the six weeks he’d been out of prison, and it was only the fact that he and Frank had a previous personal relationship that had made it possible for him to even leave the state of Illinois to serve his parole. Being a former cop hadn’t done him any favors when it came to the Parole Board, but Frank’s reputation had been a game changer and the older man had called in every favor to get Rhys out of the state. Now if Rhys could just get his temper under control long enough to get a job in the exciting world of ranching, maybe he could start to get his life back on track. He just needed to get through six months in this hell hole and then he’d be in the free and clear and the first thing he’d do would be get his ass back to Chicago and settle some old scores.

Rhys hefted his duffle bag over his shoulder, ignoring the way his jeans were starting to stick in all the wrong places. Hearing the sound of an engine behind him, he turned to see an old, beat up, 70’s era red pick-up truck bouncing its way up the road. He couldn’t make out the driver, but wanted to shout for joy as the truck meandered to a crawl and then finally stopped next to him. The passenger window was open - a sure sign that air conditioning was probably too much to ask for – so he leaned in and wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Hey-” he began, but then came to a stuttering halt when he saw the vision sitting in the driver’s seat. Tousled blonde hair streaked with darker strands of gold, blue eyes, firm lips – and young…way too fucking young.

“Hi,” said the young man, clearly unaware of how Rhys was internally drooling. “You need a lift up to the ranch?”

Rhys nodded, not quite trusting his tongue yet, especially since it had a mind of its own and wanted nothing more than to explore the lean, smooth column of the guy’s throat.

“Hop in,” he said with a smile. A good ole country boy. Rhys tossed his bag in the bed of the truck before climbing in next to the guy.

“I’m Finn,” the guy offered as he held out his hand.

Rhys took it and held it for a little longer than necessary, enjoying the sparks prickling where their skin met. Finn seemed to notice it too because his lips parted just slightly and a whisper of air escaped his lips before he pulled free.

“Rhys Tellar,” Rhys said, hiding a knowing smile. If the kid wasn’t gay, he was definitely curious and that had Rhys’ dick taking notice. He quickly amended his previous list about wanting food and a cold shower. Finn’s perfect mouth wrapped around Rhys’ cock jumped to the top of the list. Finn fiddled with putting the truck in gear and Rhys shifted to try to buy himself some more room in his jeans.

“What brings you to the CB Bar, Rhys?” Finn asked nervously as he pressed the gas and the truck lurched forward. God, the kid’s nerves turned Rhys on even more because he knew how receptive that would make the younger man.

“Job, hopefully,” Rhys answered, his eyes scanning Finn, taking in the cowboy shirt, faded, worn jeans and cowboy boots. There was even a fucking cowboy hat on the seat between them. A cliché, but a hot one that Rhys couldn’t wait to indulge in. “You work here?” Rhys asked.

Finn nodded and Rhys didn’t miss the look of pride pass over the other man’s features. “Going on six years now.”

That made the kid well above the age to consent, Rhys thought to himself happily. He stretched his arm out across the back of the seat bench and wondered if Finn’s hair was as soft as it looked. Would he cry out when Rhys held it as he fucked him from behind?

“So you’re a real live cowboy,” Rhys drawled.

Finn chuckled and said, “I guess so.”

“So you’re good at riding things.”

Finn actually laughed so hard he had to pull the truck to a stop. “Really?” he asked as he looked at Rhys. “That’s the best come-on a guy like you can come up with?”

Ithadbeen pretty lame and Rhys found himself smiling. “Guess so,” he said good-naturedly and then relaxed. At least he had the proof he needed that he and Finn shared at least one important detail in common.

Finn got the truck moving again. “You must be from the city,” the young man said as he looked Rhys up and down. God, it felt like a fucking caress.

“That obvious?”

Finn just smiled. “I’m guessing New York? Military? Cop?”

“Chicago and yes to both. Did two tours in Iraq, then joined the police academy. How’d you know?”

Shrugging, Finn replied, “You have that look in your eyes. The one men get when they’ve seen too much, too soon. You’re what, late twenties?”

Rhys nodded.

“Eyes of an old man, body of a young one and you flirt worse than Ronny Elks, the first boy I kissed when I was fourteen. A damn shame,” Finn said with a smile.

“How’d it work out for you and Ronny?”

“He married the captain of the cheerleading squad after he knocked her up junior year. He’s so deep in the closet, I doubt he’ll ever find his way out.”

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