Marcus was just passing through Texas when he met Kent. In his cowboy hat, low-riding jeans, and black boots, Kent looks like the type of guy Marcus desperately wants to love.<br><br>But two years later, he's discovered Kent is cold and distant, the quintessential American cowboy, and spends more time drunk than sober. Marcus can never predict his mood and blames himself for the flailing relationship.<br><br>Then, one day when Kent rides into town, Marcus finds a young runaway hiding in their barn. Luke is warm, loving, and quick to please ... everything Kent is not. Though the answer seems obvious, Marcus finds himself torn between the boy who demands his love and the man whose love he craves.

Cowboy

Luke doesn’t ask, thank God, just slips down


lower into the suds and moans as the water soothes away the day. I


can imagine his muscles relaxing, his skin softening, and shouldn’t


I be doing something else right about now? Making dinner, maybe?


Closing up the lot, something? Anything other than standing


here and staring at him like a sex-crazed pervert. And I am


staring, it’s evident when Luke asks me for a washcloth and I jump


at the sound of his voice. A washcloth, right—there’s one hanging


on a peg inside the barn with the towel I use to dry myself off


after a bath. As I approach the tub with it in hand, Luke sits up


and leans forward and asks, “Can you maybe wash my back? I don’t


shoulder blades curved like wings where he’s hunched over, and the


nubs of his spine stand out like knuckles. I want to run my tongue


around them, each and every one, count my way down from his neck to


Chapter 17