Overview
Chaz struggles with his addiction, while continuing to do his job of saving bull riders, but it's all getting out of control.
Charles 'Chaz' O'Brien has been at the top of his profession for many years, enduring injuries that would have crushed a lesser man. Yet the top bullfighter isn't calling it quits any time soon. He does his job with a fierce joy, all the while he's hiding a terrible secret. One that could get him suspended, and could end up killing the very men he protects.
Peter Skinner loves working for Les Hardin and Randy Hersch. His bosses are amazing men, but seeing how in love they are every day makes Peter's heart ache. He wishes he could find a man to love him like that, but he knows they're hard to come by in Wyoming where he lives.
Until one day, Peter finds a man strung-out in an alley, and Peter is the only one around to deal with it. When Peter and Chaz meet, their worlds collide in a way that could be the best thing in the world for them both, or the worst experience of their lives.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781781843079 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Totally Entwined Group |
| Publication date: | 04/29/2013 |
| Series: | Home , #4 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 157 |
| File size: | 305 KB |
| Age Range: | 18 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
The sound coming from the alley caught Peter Skinner's attention. He paused on the sidewalk, staring into the shadows between the two buildings. Tugging out his mace, he thought about the promise he'd made to Les, his boss. He wasn't supposed to go into dark alleys anymore, not after the last time when some kids who'd wanted to steal his wallet had beaten him up. It didn't matter that both Les and Max had taught him some self-defence moves.
Peter snorted quietly. Who was he kidding? Even though he'd learnt some moves, that didn't make him a black belt or anything. He'd be lucky not to hurt himself if he tried something.
A pain-filled moan emerged from the alley again, and Peter took a deep breath. He couldn't walk away when someone might be in there, and might be hurt. Maybe he should call the police. It would be the smart thing to do, but Peter didn't want to do the smart thing. He wanted to do the brave thing, which would be to enter the alley. As long as he had his mace and his phone ready, he should be okay.
"Hello?" he called out, unsure he wanted an answer. He wasn't brave, not really. Peter could admit that to himself, if not anyone else.
Another moan drew him closer, and he decided it was now or never. Not going in really wasn't an option for him, not if someone really was injured or dying in there. After straightening his shoulders, he strolled into the alley like he was six-five and muscle-bound.
Max had told him that one way not to become a victim was to act like he knew what he was doing. 'Keep your eyes up, and shoulders back. Meet a person's gaze as they approach you. That way they'll know you've seen them. It makes most people hesitate before attacking'. He could hear Max's explanation in his head.
Peter hadn't gone very far before he almost tripped over a man sprawled on the ground.
"Oh shit. I'm sorry. Are you all right?" Peter crouched next to him, but answered his own question. "Of course you're not all right. If you were fine, you wouldn't be lying in an alley."
The stranger muttered something, and Peter leaned closer to him. The smell of alcohol and sweat hit his nose with all the force of a wind storm. He rocked back on his heels, gagging slightly. Not even Yancey, after helping a horse give birth, had smelt that bad.
"Great," he muttered. "I came back here to save a wino."
Peter might have disliked the fact that the man was drunk, but he couldn't very well leave him helpless in the alley. He reached to grab the man's arm.
"I'll help you out of here."
"What are you doing?" The stranger's rank breath caused Peter to wrinkle his nose in disgust.
"I just said I was trying to help you out of here. I actually think I should call an ambulance. You should really go to the hospital." Peter grimaced as he practically lifted the man to his feet. "I'm Peter, by the way."
"I'm Chaz, and I won't go to the hospital. I'll be fine. Just need a place to crash for a few days." Chaz's head rolled on his shoulders, a dirty, disgusting version of a ragdoll.
Peter shook his head. "I really don't think that's a good idea. You smell like you've been on a three-day binge without stopping to take a shower or brush your teeth. I've seen pigs that smell better than you."
"Don't know you, man. Not sure you have the right to judge me." Chaz sounded indignant.
Peter couldn't help it. He snorted as he dragged Chaz towards the alley entrance. "Chaz, I'm not judging you. I'm simply stating a fact about the way you smell."
They got to the sidewalk where Peter lowered Chaz to the ground. The man leaned against the building then rested his head back on the brick wall. Standing there, Peter studied Chaz, unsure why his heartbeat increased as he looked at him. It had to have been because of dragging Chaz from the alley. Yet Peter knew that was a lie.
Chaz was covered in dirt, obviously not having made the acquaintance of a shower at any point in the last couple of days. It was hard to tell the colour of his hair because of the grime. His green eyes were bloodshot and there were dark bags under them. Peter doubted Chaz had had any sleep in the last several days.
He noticed that Chaz's hands shook and his skin was sickly pale under the dirt. Peter couldn't be a hundred per cent sure, but he thought Chaz might have been high, or coming down from a high.
"Do you have a place to stay around here, Chaz?" Peter kept his phone out, but tucked his mace away. He didn't have anything to worry about from Chaz. Hell, Peter could probably have knocked the guy over, and he wasn't very strong.
Chaz licked his chapped lips, drawing Peter's attention to their plumpness. Fuck! He needed to get a handle on this weird attraction. There was no way in hell Peter could want a dirty druggie who was more than likely homeless. Doing anything to make it obvious would surely lead to Peter getting his ass handed to him, Chaz being high notwithstanding.
"What day is it?" Chaz looked at his wrist like he expected to see a watch there. He grunted when he saw it was bare.
"Seriously? You've been so high you lost track of the days?" Peter shook his head. "It's Monday, August fifth."
"Fuck!" Chaz scrubbed his hand through his short-cropped hair. "I didn't realise it was so late. I need to get back."
"Where is home? If you don't mind me asking?" Peter propped his hip against one of the building corners. "We're in Cheyenne, Wyoming."
"I know I'm in Wyoming," Chaz snarled. "Home would be wherever I hang my hat. I move around too much for a permanent place."
"So then where do you need to get back to? Is someone waiting for you somewhere?"
Peter didn't like the small rush of jealousy he felt at the thought that Chaz might belong to someone. Christ! He was an idiot. It was like he was a baby duck, imprinting on the first new guy he met.
"No, man. I need to find a place to crash for a few days, get cleaned up before I have to go do my job. The next event's in Tulsa, and I need to make sure I'm ready." Chaz braced his hands on the wall behind him before starting to stand up.
Peter watched as Chaz made it to his feet, swaying as he tried to find his balance. He tensed when Chaz started to tilt to the left. He rushed in, and encircled Chaz's waist.
"You never answered my question. Do you have a hotel room around here?" Peter locked his knees to keep from falling over himself when Chaz put almost his full weight on him.
"I don't think so." Chaz reached into one of his pockets to pull out his wallet.
After taking the wallet, Peter fumbled a little bit, but finally got it open. He glanced quickly into it, not wanting to invade the man's privacy any more than he had to.
"I don't see a key card or anything. What else do you have in your pockets?"
Chaz's hands were shaking too much for him to dig in his other pockets. Peter sighed, and moved Chaz over to the wall again.
"Lean here."
Peter tried not to think about the fact that he was putting his hands all over Chaz's body. He could tell the man took care of himself, for the most part. If he was a druggie, it hadn't been for long, or else his body would've been wasted. He mentally rolled his eyes. All he really knew about drug users and the effects of drugs on the body was what he'd seen on TV.
From what he could feel, Chaz's stomach was flat and his ass was firm. There was nothing in Chaz's front pockets, but there were a few slips of paper and a baggie of white pills in one of the back ones. He also found a set of keys in his coat pocket.
"At least we know you have a vehicle somewhere," he pointed out, holding the keys up for Chaz to look at. "We just have to go in search of it."
Chaz's eyes widened at the sight of the baggie, and Peter put it away in his own pocket. He didn't want to know what it was, and he didn't think Chaz needed any more of it at the moment. The papers were receipts from different restaurants in the Cheyenne area. They were dated for the last couple of days, which meant that Chaz had been in the area for a while. He had to have been staying somewhere.
"Maybe the hotel card is in your ride."
He checked his watch. Damn! He needed to get back to the ranch or Margie would start to worry. With Les and Randy out of the country, and Jackson off on his honeymoon with Tammy, there wasn't anyone there to run the place. Not that Peter was such a take-charge person, but he followed directions well, and Jackson checked in once a day to let him know what needed to be done.
"All right. We should find your car, and I'll follow you to your hotel."
"Don't bother. I'll get myself there." Chaz pushed away from the building.
Peter watched him take a few steps before his knees buckled.
"Shit." Peter swore as he caught Chaz right before he hit the ground. "Man, I'm not leaving you out here. You know what? My car's right down the street. I'll drive you to a hotel or something. I have to get home, but damn me for being a good person."
Chaz didn't say anything, and Peter checked to make sure the man was even conscious. Chaz's eyes were glazed over, making Peter think maybe Chaz had used up whatever strength or determination he'd had to get as far as he had done. Either whatever he'd taken was wearing off, or Chaz had spent all his energy getting to where Peter had found him.
Sighing, Peter made a decision he was probably going to regret in the morning. He stumbled and tripped as he carted Chaz back towards his car. He'd take Chaz home to the ranch with him, and they would see what Chaz wanted to do after he'd cleaned up and rested.
Crazy idea. He could hear Max's voice in his head, telling him not to take Chaz home. It would be better to take Chaz to the nearest hotel and let him fend for himself than to bring him to where he lived.
You don't even know who he really is, Peter. He could be a thief, or worse. Peter pursed his lips as they walked. Max's voice might be right. Chaz could be a thief or a killer, yet everything in Peter's gut told him the man was a danger only to himself.
"Chaz, what do you do for a living?
Underneath all the grime, it looks like you've taken care of yourself. If you're homeless, you haven't been for long." Peter kept talking, not knowing if Chaz could hear him or not. "I could look at your wallet, but I think I'll wait until we get to the ranch for that."
He managed to get his keys out of his pocket without letting go of Chaz. Clicking the button, he got it unlocked before they reached it. He shook Chaz enough for him to focus on Peter.
"I need you to stand right here. Somehow keep upright. I have to get the door open, then you can get in." He waited until he got a slight nod before he stepped away.
Peter didn't think he'd ever moved so fast in his life. He opened the back door, then cleaned the seat off. He grabbed Chaz's arm to pull him close to the car.
"Get in."
Chaz managed to crawl in, then curled into a foetal position. His pasty skin glistened with sweat.
"If you throw up in my car, I'm going to be pissed off," Peter commented, shutting the door.
As he walked around the front of the car, he got his phone out and dialled the ranch's number.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Margie, it's Peter. I wanted to let you know I'm on my way home, and I'm bringing someone with me." He climbed into the driver's seat while he spoke to her.
"You know you're always welcome to bring home friends. Master Les wouldn't mind at all." He could hear the smile in her voice.
"Well, he isn't really a friend. Just some guy who needs some help. I didn't want to leave him alone, so I thought I'd let him crash for a little while."
Margie was silent for a moment, then she said, "All right. Dinner will be ready when you get back."
"Thanks, Margie. I'll see you in about twenty minutes."
After Peter hung up, he tossed the phone onto the seat next to him. He waited a few seconds before starting the car. He couldn't help wondering if he was doing the right thing. He'd seen too many horror movies that started with the good guy taking a stranger home, and the stranger turning out to be some psycho serial killer.
He glanced over his shoulder at where Chaz lay curled on the seat. So often he'd heard Les and Randy telling him to go with his gut feeling. Everything he was feeling about Chaz told Peter the man wasn't dangerous to him.
After pulling away from the kerb, Peter headed towards the ranch. Only time would tell whether taking Chaz home was a bad decision or not.
Twenty minutes later, Peter parked the car outside the main house. He climbed out, then stood and stared at the building. It was a nondescript, stereotypical ranch house with white siding and blue shutters. There was a porch on the front, and there was a matching one at the back. Les had expanded the master suite a few years ago.
There was nothing remarkable about the house, yet Peter knew it was home to the most wonderful couple he'd ever met. Also, it had been his home for the last several years. It went to show that the plainest packaging could hide marvellous things.
"Are you coming in, Peter?"
Glancing over at Margie, he smiled. "Yes, ma'am. I just have to get my friend. Ummm ..."
He hesitated at the passenger door. Was this the best decision he could have made? He probably should've called T or David to come and help him. They would've known what to do that didn't involve Chaz being brought into the house.
He hated the fact that Les and Randy weren't around. Neither were Tony and Brody. Both couples had gone to Germany to watch Juan, Tony's nephew, compete in some big horse show. It wouldn't have been so bad if Max still worked for Tony, but he'd quit to move to Austin with his partner, and Peter couldn't blame him for that. Heck, every man deserved happiness when they discovered it.
Before he could open the door, Chaz burst through it to drop to his knees in the middle of the driveway, and throw up. Peter didn't know what to do, so he stood there, grimacing as Chaz crumpled to the side, moaning.
"I'll go and start a shower in the guest bathroom. Bring your friend in when he's ready," Margie said from where she stood on the porch.
"Yes, ma'am."
He watched her stroll back into the house then turned to look at Chaz. With a disgusted grunt, Peter walked over to where Chaz lay groaning and clutching his stomach.
"Come on. We have to get you inside. Once you get out of those wretched clothes and take a shower, I'm sure you'll feel better."
Not that Peter knew anything about withdrawal or anything like that. But he knew when he was sick he liked being clean best of all.
"I'll be fine. Just give me my pills, and it'll be okay." Chaz held out his shaking hand.
Peter shook his head. "I don't think so. Your problem is from these things. Seems to me you'd know better than to take any more of them."
"Whatever." Chaz shrugged, letting his hand drop. "If I could just clean up, I'll be out of your hair."
"You can spend the night, and I'll take you back to town so we can find your vehicle."
Chaz didn't answer him, just braced his hands on the ground to push himself up onto his feet. "Take me to a bathroom."
The command in Chaz's voice irritated him. Peter led the way onto the porch then stopped instead of opening the door. He looked intently at Chaz, hoping to make Chaz understand how important what he was about to say was.
"I'm trusting that you won't be rude to Margie. This is more her house than mine, and I warn you, if you are rude or mean to her, I'll throw you out on your ass. You'll have to find your own way back to Cheyenne."
Chaz rolled his eyes, and Peter poked him in the chest.
"I'm not joking with you, Chaz. This isn't my house, but the people who do own it are some of my closest friends, and I won't allow you to do anything to hurt them."
What Peter didn't expect was Chaz gripping his hand before pressing it flat against his chest. His heart skipped a beat at how warm and muscular Chaz's chest felt under his T-shirt. He stared up into Chaz's bottle green eyes and saw a hint of sincerity underneath the drug-induced glaze.
"Peter, I promise that I'll be as polite as can be when I meet Margie. I might not be at my best, but my mother raised me the right way. I know you don't know me, and I appreciate that you're risking a lot to welcome me into your house." Chaz frowned. "I need a place to stay for a few weeks. I have a problem. I'll admit it, but I want to overcome it."
"Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery. Isn't that what they say?" Peter thought about tugging his hand away. Something held his hand there, and it wasn't Chaz.
"I suppose so."
"Maybe you should go to a rehab centre. We're not really equipped to deal with your problems." Part of Peter wanted to slap his hand over his mouth to keep him from talking Chaz into leaving. The other part knew he was telling the truth.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Leaving Home"
by .
Copyright © 2013 T.A. Chase.
Excerpted by permission of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
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