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looking to round up mavericks, no doubt.
Damn it. He was out of supplies and cold to the bone. He marked the location with a big old strip
of red flannel, just in case they got snow on top of ice, and headed back home, figuring on
coming out in the morning and patching the fence.
Smoke curled out of his stovepipe, and Danny cursed again at the sight. He'd put out that fire
when he left two days back, so someone had started it up again. Someone not him, damn it.
He tended his horse first. There was a rawboned gray in his little lean-to, a mare, and it didn't
have no brand on it. Old man Flint branded all of his mounts. Danny drew his rifle out, leaving
the horses cozying up and his saddle on a post, making for the shack and whoever it was
squatting there.
The butt of his rifle hit the planks of the front door hard, making a harsh, ringing sound.
"All right, whoever's in there, come on out. This is my place, and if you so much as twitch about
it, I'll blow you to kingdom come."
The door swung open, the stinging wind helping it enough that it banged against the inside wall.
Danny's mouth fell open when he saw who stood there. It was like seeing a man come back from
the dead.
His old friend Malachi James lifted both hands in the air, giving him a tiny little smile, a curl of
the lips so familiar it was like a kick in the gut. "Well, hey there, Danny. How's it hanging?"
Hands lax on his rifle, Danny stood and stared until Malachi stepped back and motioned him in
like he was a guest. Then he snapped out of it, stepping inside and carefully setting the long gun
in its rack by the door. He took off his hat and hung it up, removed his slicker to shake out.
Then he turned and took one quick step forward so he could jab Malachi right on his square jaw.
Pow.
Malachi staggered back, hand coming up to feel where Danny'd hit him, but he didn't fight back,
just looked at Danny with them sad, dark eyes, floppy brown hair falling in his face.
"I suppose I deserved that," Malachi said. "I surely do."
"That and more, but I ain't got the energy," Danny returned. "Don't reckon you made coffee?"
"I did." Malachi grabbed his tin cup and poured a measure of hot coffee into it, handing it over.
"Got in last night. I fixed the latch when I was warm, so you don't need to worry about the door
shutting."
"Well, I'd say thank you if you weren't a low-down thief."
He couldn't believe it. Malachi. Here. In his line shack, looking tired and ragged, but safe and
solid and real.
"Now, Danny. You know I didn't steal them horses," Malachi said, watching him close as he
sipped his coffee.
"No, but you cut a hole in the fence. What's that for if not for rustlin'? And besides, you ran."
Malachi's face darkened. "I ran because if I'd told them where I was that night they would've
strung us both up. Old man Flint wouldn't hold with what we were up to. I'll help you fix the
fence tomorrow."
Tomorrow. Jesus. Suddenly too worn down to care, Danny shrugged, setting his coffee aside and
stripping down to his union suit. "You can stay the night, at least. We'll go from there. I'm too
tired to jaw. Night, then."
Keenly aware of Mai's eyes on him, Danny threw on his slicker and boots and went to the
necessary before coming back and curling up on his pallet, right near the fire. He wasn't gonna
talk on it no more.
Maybe if he closed his eyes and slept he'd wake up and find it was just a dream.
He dreamed about hangings. Malachi's, in fact, his old friend kicking in the wind, an accusing
glare leveled on Danny the whole time.
When he started awake the fire cast only the most sullen glow, the dark right before dawn on
them. Someone snuggled right up to his back, warm and long and lean, feeling as good as
anything had except for the hand on his cock, rubbing him through the worn, soft wool of his
long johns.
"Mmm," he murmured. "Mai."
"Uh-huh. Missed you, Danny."
His eyes popped open wide, and Danny struggled out of Malachi's embrace, going up on his
knees to look down. "What in God's name are you doin', Malachi? Ain't we had enough trouble?"
"No. I think we can borrow a bit more." A lunge brought Malachi right to him, eyes insanely dark
this close, lips hard as they took his own.
The fight went right out of him, and Danny kissed Mal right back, hands sliding up to cup the
back of Mal's neck, holding him close. So long. It had been so damned long. The kiss went like a
battle, his tongue pushing into Mal's mouth to taste, Mal chasing it back into his own mouth.
Danny felt his lips bruise and swell, felt the bottom one split under the pressure.
Fingers sliding over the bruise on Malachi's jaw, Danny kissed Mal's cheeks, then down his
throat, a frustrated growl
(
leaving him as he encountered cloth. They needed more of the naked, he figured, and he put his
thoughts into action, tugging at flannel and wool, the scent of aroused male surrounding them as
the clothes fell away.
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