Free 02-Let It Ride by L.C. Chase Page B

didn’t want to, or put undue expectations on him.
    Someone like me.
    He’d been compartmentalizing his life as long as he could remember, so no reason he couldn’t do that here too. It wasn’t like Bridge would want him for more than a fling anyway, so why not help a friend discover—or rediscover—himself?
    As long as he kept his heart and his elusive dreams locked down.
    A whisper of dissent tickled at his thoughts, but he pushed it away.
    Not able to stay in bed any longer, he rolled down from the tiny sleep space of his camper and pulled on his work clothes. Before anything else, a strong cup of coffee was on order. He grabbed a can of grounds from the cupboard above a two-burner stove top, dumped a measured amount into a single-cup coffeemaker sitting on the foot-wide counter, and pressed the On button. He sat down on the tiny couch beside the square of kitchen while his coffee brewed and pulled the shade back from the narrow window.
    He’d parked his truck so it faced his friends’ two equine-RV combo rigs. Those things were huge, and he marveled at how much money it took just to follow the circuit, let alone compete, especially when the winnings were lean and so many cowboys walked away empty-handed at the end of the day. It was definitely a sport born of pure love and tradition, and it didn’t take much to see the draw. He himself had been lured by the history and fantasy of the Wild West—and the rugged men who’d tamed it.
    The door to the RV that Bridge and Kent shared swung open, and Eric held his breath when the man who’d had him tossing and turning half the night stepped out into the brisk morning and stretched his arms over his head, breath gusting out to briefly cloud his face. The cowboy’s gaze immediately homed in on Eric’s camper and locked on him. He couldn’t have looked away even if he tried. Fuck, that man was gorgeous. Bridge smiled and tapped his forefinger to the brim of his hat—another thing Eric fucking loved when Bridge did it—then turned, giving his ass a little shake before going about getting his horses fed and groomed for the day.
    “I’m so screwed,” he mumbled, unable to stop from smiling.
    There was no denying it. He wanted what Bridge was offering, even as doubt gnawed at the back of his mind that it would be a one-time thing, or worse, bring about the end of the only time he’d ever felt he truly belonged somewhere. But he could be what Bridge needed him to be for however long that might be. Wouldn’t be the first time.
    Coffee brewed, he poured the steaming hot liquid into a travel mug and put on a second cup. When that one was ready, he filled another mug and left his camper.
    Bridge had his back to him when Eric walked quietly between the trailers. He was grooming Rosie, the horse Eric had ridden yesterday, who was tethered to a steel ring soldered to the trailer’s frame.
    Eric stopped, taking a minute to admire the big cowboy before making his presence known. His hair was longer than most cattlemen’s and hung in relaxed waves over the collar of a red Western shirt emblazoned with the logo of the pro-rodeo tour’s main sponsor in white across the back. As Bridge reached to brush Rosie’s neck, the shirt stretched flat against supple, delineated muscle, and Eric’s fingers twitched to trace the hard lines of the solid lats that led to a trim waist and lower. Bridge’s ass was a thing of beauty. Well-worn Wranglers hugged firm globes, which were further highlighted by rawhide chaps wrapped around thick, strong thighs.
    Caution, meet wind.
    He swallowed. Or maybe he groaned aloud, because Bridge turned then. That brown-eyed stare burned a sizzling path on Eric’s skin as it slid down the length of his body and back up to settle on his mouth.
    “Mornin’.” Bridge’s voice was barely above a whisper, but the rough edge to it sent a charge of electric arousal coursing through Eric.
    Then the man smiled. A smile so full of life and genuine joy that