Clay looked up, startled.

At the top of the riverbank, next to the roadway, stood a tall, dark figure in a cowboy hat. Clay stood his ground, holding his jeans in front of him, hiding the way his stubborn cock filled at that low, raspy voice. "Don't believe I've had the pleasure," Clay called.

"Naw," said the stranger, with a raspy chuckle, "not yet you ain't." He turned away, disappearing behind the spread green canopy of a sycamore, boots raising ghosts in the dust with every footfall.

Clay quickly donned his jeans and boots and started toward the mystery man, T-shirt over one shoulder. Clay found the stranger perched on the bumper of an elderly, olive-green Ford, long legs stretched out in front of him, black ten-gallon pulled low over loose, salt-and-pepper hair that brushed the shoulders of his plaid work-shirt. He stood and stretched as Clay approached, extending a worn, calloused hand.

Clay stood and glared. How long had the guy been watching him?

"Now now, that's no way to be neighborly. Name's Warshaw. Just hired on down the road aways at the Lone Manzanita. Saw the steam coming off your ride here and wondered if you needed anything."

Clay flushed, already regretting his surliness. He stepped forward and shook Warshaw's hand firmly. "Clay Garcia. Double-D."

Forty if he was a day, Warshaw had the lean, sinewy look of a lifetime of ranching. Warm blue eyes regarded Clay with amusement over a wild mustache the same color as his long hair, barely hiding a wide, generous mouth.

Clay realized he'd been staring at that mouth only when it broadened into a gentle laugh. "See something you like, junior?"

Clay scowled and turned away with an angry shrug. Something about this man had gotten under his skin already. His rock-hard cock nudged the stiff seam of his jeans, and Clay knew exactly what had gotten to him about Warshaw. He just didn't have the faintest idea what to do about it.

Dropping his T-shirt in the back, Clay pulled the tailgate of the Silverado down and sat, just to have something to do besides make an ass of himself in front of a man twice his age. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and ignored Warshaw's question. "Radiator's busted. As soon as she cools down, I'll be on my way."

Warshaw jammed his hands into the front of his tight, faded jeans. "Guess you don't need me for...anything, then. That right?" His expression was thoughtful, and if Clay wasn't mistaken, his eyes held interest of a most welcome kind.

Clay shifted as he sat spread-legged on the hot metal and his stubbornly persistent cock nudged his leg, trapped in his jeans.

Warshaw ambled over and took a seat next to him on the tailgate, and the old truck bounced. The rough wool of Warshaw's shirt brushed Clay's bare shoulder, and despite the heat of the day, he fought a shiver.

"Well," Warshaw said, "seems time passes more quickly with company." He turned to Clay and ran his tongue over his lips. "That is," he said softly, "if the company's acceptable."

Clay swallowed. He was pretty sure he recognized that as an invitation, and he hoped he was guessing correctly as to the kind. "The company's very um... that is, you're more than welcome to sit awhile. I'd appreciate it." Clay's voice cracked.

Warshaw just gave another gentle chuckle. He began unbuttoning his shirt, and the precise movements of Warshaw's thick, blunt fingers mesmerized Clay. He could think of quite a few other things he wanted those fingers to do. The pressure from his hard-on was nearly unbearable, and he shifted again.

"Calm yourself, Clay, I'm just getting comfortable. You'd prefer it if I ask you if you come here often?"

Clay looked over at his new acquaintance. All he could think about right now was the closeness of the man, the smell -- sweat tinged with an indefinable musk and some type of aftershave. Clay closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. He wanted to taste the big ranch-hand's skin, get his hands all over the tight, firm ass those jeans were promising.

He wanted to know if that mustache felt as good as it looked.

Biting back a shiver of excitement, Clay said, "At least you didn't ask me for directions." ENDEXCERPT