“I didn’t want them to find you,” Cash said, like that should be obvious. “I told them I was looking for a place to park the horse and the motorcycle and asked them for help.”
Glen stared at him. “You asked them for….”
“And they said sure. They could put everything in the barn. I should stay right here.”
Glen swallowed, sweat prickling all over his body. “Cash?”
“Yeah?”
“Run.”
Glen turned and started off, legs pumping, hoping he could spare them both the argument and get the hell out of there before the gorillas brought back reinforcements. He heard Cash rattling through the underbrush next to him and gave the kid a quick glance as they pelted through the trees.
Yeah, Cash saw what he’d done. He’d probably assumed the guys would think he was still with the commune or whatever. What he’d actually done was give two goons their only means of transportation and a way of catching Glen and Cash if they were skulking around the property.
And now—now they were fucked.
Or they would have been, but God intervened.
They were running, hell for leather, Glen keeping the trail to his left but staying off of it, when they broke into a clearing. Glen poured on the speed, hoping snakes would hear the ruckus and get the hell out of the way, and Cash kept to his heels. Their breathing wasn’t bad, so Glen had a little hope. If they’d run fast enough, if Tranquilo’s goons had taken their time believing Cash to be low-hanging fruit, they might make it. They might make it and—
“The fuck?”
The ground rippled under their feet. One minute, Glen was putting one foot in front of the other, and the next he was flying while the land turned into the ocean.
He landed face first in the tall grass and heard Cash’s “Oof” at his side. He paused, wild-eyed, trying to figure out if that had been an earthquake or divine intervention, when they both heard voices and the sound of a gas-powered engine.
Glen rolled enough to look through the tall grass and saw a jeep struggling to stay on the road. The grasses they were in stood about four feet over their heads, and while the ground was full of stickers like little pincushions, turning their clothes into sandpaper, it worked as decent concealment. As Glen watched, the jeep pulled itself back onto the road and turned around, obviously deciding Glen and Cash were secondary to whatever was going on at the mansion.
They waited until even the sound of the engine receded before Glen stood up and started to dust himself off. He took special care to get rid of stickers—and any critters they might have encountered—and then asked Cash to check his back when he was done with the front.
It wasn’t until he felt Cash’s hands moving across his shoulders that he remembered the night before… and froze.
“Here,” Cash murmured. “Got one.” Glen felt the tug of a burr on the back of his head, and then Cash fluffed Glen’s hair from the scalp—an unconsciously sensual act that served to torture Glen for his lapse in judgment.
“Here,” Cash said, putting his back to Glen. Nothing in his tone betrayed anything—remorse, memory, anything. “You do me.”
Glen was the asshole who would usually say it. Heh heh heh—been there, done that. But he didn’t. He silently patted Cash down, hands gentle on the narrow shoulders and slim waist, fingers nimble in the thick, sandy-brown hair.
He found a tick making its way under Cash’s collar and flicked the thing away, shuddering.
“Done,” he said gruffly, and Cash turned to him before Glen could start moving forward.
“Thanks,” he said, voice low.
“Basic hygiene,” Glen said, and without waiting for a reaction, he started marching forward.
They didn’t say anything during the three-hour trudge back to Agujero en la Roca—mostly because they were hot and thirsty, but also because Glen didn’t want to.
Talking to Cash was fun. It was seductive. It made Glen want to find out what made this kid so afraid—and fix him.
Better not to talk. Better to get to town and… and what?
“What next?” Cash asked about halfway through their walk.
Glen pulled out his phone, unsurprised to see no bars and not much power left either.
“Remember the general store?” he asked as he strode down the path.
“Yeah, what about it?”
“Had the only electric lamp in the town—and that includes the church.” The town itself sported maybe half a dozen outbuildings. Glen was sure there were cabins or houses back beyond the tree line, but “town” had consisted of the bakery, a feed store, a post office, the church, and a small restaurant that probably served whatever the owners felt like. And the general store, which was likely the town’s only source of internet and power.
“So?”
“I bet we can place a call there—”
“Call?” Cash asked, voice squeaking. “Call who?”
Glen rolled his eyes. “My best friend, business partner, and guy who generally bails my ass out of the fire, that’s who.”
“So your boyfriend,” Cash snarled, but he sounded almost relieved.
Glen stopped walking and pinned Cash with a glare. “If he’d been my boyfriend, last night would not have happened,” he said, voice hard. “No. He’s my copilot, my best friend, and my business partner. Some people you’d die for. Me and Damie, we’re tight like that. Not the other way.” Glen shrugged. “Just never happened. Would have been like kissing my brother—and I like my brother and all, but ew. Just ew.”
Cash let out what might have been a giggle. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I was—”
“Just finding a reason to make ditching me this morning all right. I get it.” Glen had always favored a “let me slip this condom off before I go” approach to things, but, then, he’d pretty much let all his hookups know that was going to happen before the condom went on.
Last night had been… special. He’d known—thought he’d known—Cash would have to be there in the morning. His disappointment at the empty bed had been acute.
“Well, you didn’t seem all that happy to see me when you caught up with me,” Cash muttered sullenly.
“Kid—”
“I’m not a kid,” Cash retorted.
“Men stay,” Glen fired back, and Cash shut up.
Well, he should. Glen could count on one hand the times he’d tried to have a relationship, and that had been the only guiding principle he’d had. If it was more than sex, more than a blowjob, more than a quickie, then that meant men stayed.
Usually it had been the other guy to blow. In the military it had been, well, the military that had driven them away. Low pay, lots of moving, and never knowing when Glen and Damien would get deployed wore on someone’s nerves. The two times Glen had tried after he and Damie had started the business had been disasters for the same reasons.
Part of why Glen was rooting so hard for Damien to hook up with Preston, Glen’s brother, was that he wanted to see one of them happy. He wanted to see how Damien made it work. Damien was better with people. Or was usually, until the helicopter crash. But Glen had faith that Damien would come back from that; of the two of them, Damien had the more resilient soul.