Chapter 1

The explosion was earsplitting.  Thousand-pound hooves slammed into the dirt, reeling dust violently into the air.  Help me!  

The boy fell. 

Then came the crushing—blood squirting and soaking the ground.  It was the relentless crack of bones echoing throughout the stands that made Cash sick to his stomach.  He wanted to retch. 

Snarling deep within its throat, eyes rolled back, whites fully revealed—there was no stopping.  The angry bull snorted—mouth foaming.  Without warning, it reared-up and spun wildly—completely insane.

Where were these thoughts coming from?

Over and over, Cash could see it plain as day.  He could hear the screams as if he was physically there.  But where was there?  Who was this boy?  He certainly didn’t look familiar—at least no one he knew. 

Snap!

Abruptly, Cash was heralded back to reality with the crack of the ruler on the surface of his desk.  “Mr. McCollum, rodeo daydreaming again?”  Mr. Vincent, an old former Marine—stood looming over Cash’s head as if he were still assuming DI duties at Paris Island.  “Perhaps we should all buy a ticket?” 

What a smartass, Cash sourly thought.  Treating me as if I’m one of his dumbfuck recruits.  Hell! 

Several snickers erupted—rousing an impish, demonic stir throughout the room.  Pushing himself back up in his seat, he felt defiance gnaw at his control.  He hated shit like this.  Bowing his head to the desk, he sucked in air and allowed an angry tooth to bite mercilessly into the flesh of his inner mouth.  Be damned if he was going to allow anyone catch him in a full-freckled burn. 

With the sound of the teacher’s footsteps trailing back to the blackboard, Cash’s eyes remained focused on the open textbook—avoiding everyone’s stare. Feeling his heart return back into a normal beat, he allowed his mind to slip quietly back into a shadowy, secluded dream world. 

Sniffing, inhaling the ever-present residue pine smoke embedded in the fuzzy flannel fabric of his shirt cuff, his thoughts, this time, escaped down an old meandering dirt road leading to a weather-weary house nestled deep in the river bottoms. 

This was his home. 

No, the McCollum’s didn’t have a lot of class… they didn’t need to; it was their pride, determination, and fierce independence that ran as thick as Irish stew in their blood.  It was what gave them solid grounding under their feet.

Since the cattle drives, his Texas ancestors had settled along the rocky banks and bluffs of the mighty Yellowstone—their lives protected from the never-ending winds blowing across the stark hide of an area known as the Great Open.  Cowboys by nature, roughnecks at heart, five generations created a heritage coveted by many—beginning with the old ranch house they all called home.  His great, great grand dad had started out with two bedrooms, large kitchen and a modest parlor area.  Through the years, as the family had grown, additions had been added to where there were now four bedrooms—two added upstairs in a loft overlooking the living room, and a bathroom to replace the outhouse.

Cattle herding and the ever-lasting tug of the rodeo circuit seemed to weave into every nerve and fiber of each McCollum.  In Cash’s case, he seemed to be bit with a double portion of the bug, enticing him to spend many of his free hours in the corral getting dusty and collecting a fair share of manure on his pair of well-worn boots. 

“Don’t you think it’s time to retire ‘em?”  His dad would occasionally chide him. 

“Why?”  Cash would always come back with a grin.  “They feel like a glove.”

With eyes scanning the room, he popped off a huff.  To hell with the open book on his desk.  For God’s sake, he could barely concentrate—between the strange daydream and the incredible weather outside—it was torture to his soul.  Math equations on the page seemed to jumble together in one massive, geometric heap—tempting him to impatiently bounce the end of his pencil repeatedly off a blank sheet of notebook paper.

And so it was, Cash shoved his frustration into a mental closet of indifference.  He’d concern himself about it all later. 

Glancing up toward the clock, his heart skipped a beat—five more minutes.  All he could envision right now was Brownie, his feisty quarter kicking up heels with a heap of dust in the small corral located out behind the grain house.   He could hardly wait to harness him up—tossing an old wooly blanket and saddle on that gracefully curved back.  It seemed to be what both of them lived for—afternoon rides along the river banks, then on up into the rugged crevices of the badlands.   Impatiently, a tinge of excitement shot through his veins—he could already feel the fresh autumn air whip across his ruddy, chiseled face and strawberry blond hair. 

Sure enough, at the stroke of three there began a hurried shuffle toward the door like a cattle stampede.  Falling in line, Cash scuffed his boot heels over the newly waxed floor.  He couldn’t help but notice everyone else’s desire to get out of the building as well. 

You know, he told himself, it’s a damned sin to keep kids cooped up like a bunch of chickens on such a perfect autumn day. 

Afternoons such as this one certainly didn’t come often… especially in Montana.     

Fumbling his long, slender fingers with the combination lock, he heard a somewhat familiar voice from over his shoulder.

“Thought today would never end.”

“Yeah“, chuckled Cash, tossing his books on the shelf, “…felt like I was gonna blow in Vincent’s class.” 

He slammed his locker door shut and turned to find himself gazing face-front into a black t-shirt.  Geez!  He told himself.  Talk about being engulfed.  Cocking his head upwards, his eyes became welded to the bluest blue he’d ever seen.  Shit, he never knew the varsity football‘s tight-end was so big, nor his eyes so blue.

“Yeah, we all thought you were going to do just that after he whacked your desk.”  Instantly, a full, broad smile flooded Travis’ rugged, Val Kilmer-handsome face.  “…especially when you turned beet red.”

Resembling a brick wall, or an invincible Roman guard—every tough, curved muscle in this giant’s chest, arms, and back seemed to swell and explode through the skin-tight shirt fabric.  Moreover, from his heavy dark-lined forehead and brow, to that finely sculpted squared-off jaw, the boy standing before Cash resembled a robot or machine than a mere mortal. 

Travis Hunter was an enigma… a true riddle.  Cash knew little about him except that he had come from California with his mother one year ago.  Why they had moved up here, he wasn’t sure.  Mrs. Hunter was the director at one of the banks in town.  Local gossip was that she had just left her husband and had moved back with her only child to be near family in Miles City.  

From Cash’s perspective, Travis appeared to be the conceited type—stuck on himself.  Smart, good-looking and very athletic, he obviously had what it took to quickly move up the social ranks, into the inner-circle of the ‘SNOBS’ crowd—cynically dubbed by the others in school.  And while he was friendly and quite audacious, yet his mannerisms were very arrogant towards those seeping from lower ranks. 

What the hell did he want?  Never making a special point to talk with him before, Cash wondered to himself, why now?  There was no reason to have their paths cross; although something inside made him feel good to have this big jock approach him.  Something even stranger, he liked looking at Travis.  He couldn’t take his gaze off those piercing eyes of his.  A funny, prickly feeling shot up his spine and throughout the rest of his body.  Suddenly, he felt fully awake—his senses charged to explosion.  

“What’s up?” he lowered his voice, struggling to remain cool, but all the while his hands trembling.  Thank God he was holding on to his jacket.  His fingers quietly forged a death grip around the supple leather.  

“I heard you’re selling a paint.” 

Well, that was odd, Cash went on to think.  Travis’ words sailed through the air light and smooth—something that didn’t correlate with that body of his. 

“It’s my brother’s.”  Cash squinted, studying him closely.  Humph, he thought.  Off the cuff, Travis didn’t seem like the horseman type.  Glued to that sleek, red Viper of his, he appeared more like a ‘material boy’ than a ‘back to nature’ kind of guy.  No offense, but there was no way he could picture this guy tending to anything running around with four legs and a tail—especially a horse.  

“How old is it?”  Travis asked, slowly shifting his position from one leg to the other, his arms crossed. 

“About two years.”  Feeling braver, Cash began to step away from the wall.  “She’s a good mare—lots of life.”  A smile snuck across his face as he could not help envisioning her skip and buck around in the field, avoiding Clayton and that annoying saddle of his at all cost.

“I’d like to see it.”  Travis said, apparently noticing the grin.  Uncrossing his arms, he allowed his eyes to mechanically rove over Cash as if he were the bull’s eye on a target. 

“Give Clayton a call.  He’ll be glad to show ‘er off.” 

At that point, Cash locked.  He couldn’t talk.  He couldn’t move—he didn’t want to.  Somewhere deep inside, a thought whisked his mind—sending a swell of wetness throughout his throat and mouth.  What would those lips of Travis’ be like to kiss?  Would they be soft or hard? 

For God’s sake!  He quickly snapped out of it—instantly shifting his gaze into all directions—but Travis’.  What was the matter with him?  Suddenly, he needed air… lots of air. 

 “Right,” responded Travis with a continued stare.  “I’ll give him a ring.”  Then with a pause, he purposefully extended his hand toward the awkward cowboy, and said, “Thanks.” 

He probably wouldn’t have given their little chat a second thought, but then came the handshake.  If there was ever a moment of truth… slipping his fingers into Travis’ palm, Cash expected an immediate release.  How wrong he was.  To his surprise, he was caught in a hold that seemed to last forever.  In fact, Travis appeared to be in no hurry of letting go. 

Not sure where all these wild feelings were coming from, Cash nervously shuffled his legs to manage a situation that was unbelievably growing out of hand.  What the hell?!

Eventually, the undaunted jock relented, releasing Cash’s hand and allowing a hint of a grin to slide slowly over his mouth.  He looked pleased… very pleased.  “See ya later.” 

“Yeah, no problem.”  Overwrought with a shock of hormones, Cash could barely squeak out his words. 

Pushing the school doors open, he grabbed for the pack of crumpled smokes from his pocket, and with jittery fingers, he fired one up.  God, he asked himself.  What was up with that?  In one way, it was flattering to have someone like Travis Hunter approach him since he never seemed to cross social boundaries—the football team being his total life.  On the other hand, it was unnerving.  Something was up.  Maybe he was reading too much into this, but it seemed Travis wanted more.  Something like… oh, come on, don’t be stupid!  He swore at himself. That’s impossible!  He didn’t seem like that type of guy.  But yet, there had been that look and the linger in the hand shake.  Taking the smoke deeply into his lungs, he felt a dizzy-crazy buzz settle in.  Why was he shaking like this?  His lanky, jean-torn legs carried him quickly across the broken pavement.  He couldn’t get to his pick-up fast enough.

The memory of the encounter with Travis still lingered in Cash’s mind when he arrived at the ranch.  An unsettled sense remained as he shut the engine off and crawled out of the cab.  What was it that he sensed back there?  Why the arousal?  Was he attracted to Travis?  Was he attracted to men?  Even though it bothered him, there was something inside he found deeply exciting.  And while he had always been told attraction to other men was wrong, somehow, within his conscience, it seemed right.  Natural.  Maybe he was reading more into it than what it actually was.  His mom always said he had a wild imagination, like the time he had insisted a ghost was hanging around in the upstairs loft.  He could have sworn he had seen his great grandma dusting off the book shelf at the end of the hallway.  She had looked so real, hunched over, meticulously moving her duster across the top in a manner done many times before when he was a small boy. 

Perhaps that was it—his usual tendency to overreact… and, of course, he wasn’t gay.        

Making his way towards the house, he bounded up the steps and forced open the heavy oak door.  The faint hint of livestock musk, fireplace ashes, and an enticing aroma of baking biscuits filled his nostrils.  He loved it.  It made him feel safe and warm—a feeling he would never verbally admit to anyone else in the family lest he be ridiculed to death.  The McCollum’s were a tough breed, hard to understand, and difficult to communicate with.   But there was a certain stability that seemed to bring their peculiar tendencies into perspective.  And in spite of all the irregularity, there was a place where it all made sense… plain and simple, with open honesty, and no complications… the type of set-up a guy could be comfortable with.

“Cash, is that you?”  A voice called from upstairs. 

“Yeah, Mom.  I’m goin’ out and spend some time with Brownie,” he replied, making his way out to the kitchen.  He heard her footsteps come down the stairs.

A slight, graceful, red-headed woman dressed in jeans, sneakers and old work shirt, Janice McCollum stood at the entryway to the kitchen with a small package in her hands.  “I’m runnin’ over to see Dad for a minute, then to the post office to get this off to Clint.” 

“Okay,” Cash smiled as he reached over the counter and lifting the lid from the cookie jar.  He was in the mood for something sweet. Something chocolate—one of his strange cravings—something else he’d never dare admit.

Soon, with bit and bridle, blanket and saddle, Brownie was gracefully adorned.  Cash always loved fittin’ his horse out.  The two of them made their way up the long driveway, anticipating the afternoon venture.  His horse’s clip-clopping gait echoed on the rocky gravel with ecstasy.

“Hey boy,” Cash leaned forward and whispered in the old quarter’s ears.  “You’re havin’ fun aren’t you?” 

Understanding the words, Brownie nodded.  Cocking his silky brown head to the right, his wispy mane was caught by the breeze.  With a small snort, and a turn of the hooves, they left the road and wandered up the hillside beyond a patch of thorn bushes and cottonwoods.  Around the small creek bed, at the other end of the ravine, Brownie increased his speed.  Bounding past the property fence and on toward the highway, they continued to the large grassy field.  Cash knew where they were heading.  The gentle quarter loved spending time skulking about in the sage brush edging the badlands.  There were usually lots of critters in that neck of the woods—rabbits, ground squirrels, and countless birds hanging about, feasting on goodies such as wild berries.  “I know where you’re goin’.”   Cash chuckled.  “You wanna go stir some nests, huh?”   This time Brownie ignored Cash.  There was mischievous anticipation in his trot, as if he had more important things on his mind.

Cash simply went along for the ride.  He knew he was not in control of this one.  The best thing he could do was sit back and go with the flow. 

Looking into the cloudless, deep-blue sky, he took a long breath.  The hassles of school seemed a world away.  With the faint, sweet aroma of sage nearby, the gnawing stress that marinated his muscles from the day seemed to fade out with the last rays of sunlight stretching across the unending expanse.  Every now and then, a whispering breeze would blow around his hat and past his ears.  Pulling the collar around his neck, he buttoned up as a chill buried itself in his bones—a gentle reminder that winter was just around the corner. 

As they headed back to the corral, the last hues of blue sky began to deepen into violet with the hint of stars in the eastern horizon.  What time was it?  He didn’t realize it had gotten so late.  A growl from his stomach told him he was hungry.  Instantly, he recalled the earlier smell of stew in the house.

The winds started blowing, howling later that evening—seeming to kick up anything that wasn’t bolted or nailed down in the yard.  By bedtime, gusts pounded at the panes and under the eaves.  Strange, Cash didn’t recall hearing a storm heading their way in the forecast.  As he crawled into the sack—sliding his legs between the soft fuzz of the flannel sheets, warmth soon crept back into his body.  The heavy wool blanket sure felt good tonight, he told himself.  Pulling the covers up around his shoulders, he snuggled in for a good night’s sleep. 

As he lay still, the hazy memory of the locker scene with Travis kept creeping back into his mind—bringing on its own whirlwind of raging squalls between his legs.  The bottom line, why was he thinking about Travis in this way?  How could he get to sleep—being all charged up like this?  Closing his eyes, he could see him—again and again.  There was no doubt; Cash loved looking deep into that big jock’s grin, his ice-blue eyes, and those big, full lips.  Vividly, he could still recall the hint of sweet cologne—well-mixed with a batch of musky sweat.  Even now, his mouth salivated. 

The question was now, what did he want to do with all those good-looking things?  A picture can only go so far.  This thought perplexed him greatly.  Was there a drive inside coaxing him to go further?  Was he… truth be said, was he gay? 

Well, up to now, he’d never really thought of it before—it had never been an issue.  Shit, he’d always considered himself attracted to girls, women.  He loved looking at cute ones, small and petite.  He even thought about asking a few of them out from time to time.  But somehow, situations never really worked out right.   Lying in his bed, this particular evening, thinking about all this stuff, he had to be honest with himself.  Never once, could he recall a time of truly fantasying in gettin’ it on with a gal—bonin’ the livin’ shit outta her.

Eventually a funny feeling settled over him.  Should he be alarmed?  Concerned?  Worried that something might be wrong?  It made him become somewhat anxious, but there was something stronger that tantalized him—tickling his fancy and kicking his heart into high gear.  Picturing him and Travis together—why, it looked fuckin’ great. 

It must have been past midnight when sleep finally overtook him.  The last time he had glanced at the clock was just before twelve.  Somewhere, in the midst of his dream state, and the nagging need to take a leak, various people and events floated in and out of his sub-conscious—including the one and only…Travis Hunter. 

When the bull ring transformed into a football grid iron, Cash could not tell.  Between Brownie, Black Lightning, a mix of cousins, and cinching up Hell in the chute, a tall, extremely well-built man walked out of a cloud of swirling dust wearing shoulder pads, sleek-tight football pants, and cleats.  In his hand, he held a helmet.  From a distance, he looked like a Greek god—perhaps Achilles marching valiantly into Troy.  The closer he walked toward Cash, the more evident it became who it was.  Travis wore the same sly grin he had bore in the school hallway. 

Suddenly, he found himself alone in a dark locker room—only the faint glow of light radiating from a nearby room.  Before realizing what was going on, or where Travis had disappeared, he felt a soft touch of fingers slide underneath his shirt and across his chest.  Tenderly, they brushed across his nipples.   Travis’ big hands felt so good!  Somewhere in his mind, he knew he wanted to pull away, but something stronger made him stay.  Not moving a muscle, he allowed those smooth, gentle fingers to float effortlessly over his body.

The shrill ringing woke him up.  Reaching out, he slammed the alarm clock with his fist.  Damn it!  What a time to wake up!  Instantly, his mood went crabby.  Just when things were getting interesting. 

Pushing himself out from the warmth of the bed, he plopped his feet on the cold, hardwood floor.  For Christ’s sake, was he simply conjuring all this shit up… indeed, making a damn mountain out of a mole hill?!  Even though he admitted being attracted to Travis, how could he be sure the feeling was mutual?  Being such a hot-shot jock, Travis could have anyone he wanted—at the drop of a hat.  Why would he want such an ordinary, run-of-the-mill, kind of cowboy?  Entertaining that idea bore a mean and ruthless hole into his waking brain. 

By the time he got dressed, he had wholeheartedly decided he didn’t want to go to school.  There was no way he could face Travis.  This whole scene, he concluded, was nothing more than a sick, hopeless desire for something that would never be.  In spite of it all, he still collected himself—grabbing his jacket and trudging heavy-heartedly down the stairs.  And like the sand blowing vigorously against his face, he tackled the day with a gravelly disposition—reluctantly making his way to the pick-up.

All of this could be rightfully blamed upon one reason…

…that shit-assed conversation by the lockers.  Since that moment, everything in his life seemed tossed and stirred—jumbled up. 

Going back to yesterday afternoon for the millionth time, Cash honestly wondered if all of this was just completely blown out of proportion because of his own stupid, wild imagination.  More realistically, Travis was only trying to play with his mind by throwing him that mysterious grin and holding onto his hand too long.  If that was the case, then the encounter which had occurred the day before was probably nothing more than a manipulative, condescending expression from a cocky asshole. 

If yesterday had been a bear trying to concentrate on studies, today was virtually impossible.  In the hallways between classes, at lunch—two tables away, and finally, the algebra class across the aisle, Cash continuously found himself situated in direct eye-shot of Travis. 

There’s the old saying, “Curiosity kills the cat.”  Well, Cash was one who could never keep his fingers off a hot stove.  Unable to refrain stealing several clandestine glances, he discovered each time his gaze was locked with Travis’.  In fact, there wasn’t a time he didn’t catch Travis watching him—closely spying his every move with prey-like calculation.  Didn’t he care that others could be watching them?  This was more than an over-active imagination; something was definitely up, he finally determined.  Cat-n-mouse, he figured.  He hated to admit what role he was playing.  The entire scenario made his heart pound wildly in his chest.  Why couldn’t he just blow this whole thing off and ignore him? 

Their little game continued throughout the day until Cash walked down the steps of the school and out to his truck.

“Hey, I’ve been trying to touch base with you all day.”

Recognizing the voice, Cash’s heart nearly jumped through his throat.  “Well, I’ve been here.”  He could hardly believe such a sharp retort could escape from his mouth.  Actually, it wasn’t the words, but the tone in his voice that made it so cutting. 

With an unexpected softness in that tough, masculine face of his, Travis gave a whispered chuckle.  “And that you have.”  Scanning the area nearby, he appeared to be ensuring their privacy was intact before continuing.  “You’re sort of a hard one to nail down.”

Coming to a complete stop, Cash turned on his heals and looked square into Travis’ eyes.  “Yeah, why’s that?”  He felt cockiness overtake his innards.

“I don’t know,” Travis replied.  Suddenly, he himself looked a little uncomfortable.  “You tell me.”

Cash could sense his fingers slightly tremble; the adrenaline was really getting pumped.  At any moment, he believed he was going to crawl out of his skin.  “Tell you what?”  With an ornery spirit, he whapped the ball back across the net.  “I thought you were gonna call Clayton last night.”

Shifting his weight from left to right, Travis barricaded himself by crossing his arms.

This looked familiar; Cash wryly thought—remembering his stance during their conversation the day before.

“I had practice, besides I couldn’t find your number.” 

“We’re in the book.”  Cash fumbled for a cigarette from his shirt pocket. 

“Yeah?”  Travis scanned the parking lot one more time and then focused back onto Cash who was lighting up a smoke.  “Well, it was getting pretty late.”

“I see.”  Cash leaned up against his pick-up and propped one boot back on the foot rail.  Slowly, he blew smoke from his nostrils.  Suddenly, a certain gutsiness swept over him.  He could no longer hold back his curiosity.  “Tell me, Travis, what is it you’re lookin’ for?” 

Cash was never known for pulling punches, and on this occasion it was no exception.  The powerful magnetic force caught Travis off guard; his eyes nervously shot into several directions.  Cash found it interesting to see such a rugged giant squirm.  Fighting off a grin that wanted to surface across his face, he told himself, Travis sure looks cute standing there trying to weasel his way through this conversation. 

Suddenly, there was an overpowering urge to step forward, reach out and draw him in with cowboy-rough hands.  He wanted to feel Travis’ flesh.  So with the burning, sizzling desire deep in his guts, he continued to eye him down—realizing there was no turning back now.  God, he could not believe this was happening.  

“Uh,” Travis stammered for words.  “We need to go someplace to talk.”

Taking a long, hard hit from his cigarette, Cash flipped the butt with his fingers and asked, “Where do you wanna go?”

“I dunno.”  Urgent frustration rode in Travis’ voice as he nervously glanced down at his wristwatch.  “Fuck, I have to be at practice right now.”  

“You set the time and place.”  Cash purposely ignored the impatience.   

Looking intently at Cash, Travis quaked out his words.  “Let’s talk tomorrow.” 

They both studied each other closely in an effort to determine mutual sincerity.  Cash finally nodded and turned back to the pick-up.  Jumping up into the cab, he started the heavy-thundering engine.  He knew the cops would eventually pull him over, ordering him to put a lid on the noise.  Until that time, however, his truck, the ‘Pound Puppy,’ would rock the world. 

Travis rested a hand on the door.  “This is just between us.  I mean, no one needs to know—okay?”   There was pleading in his voice.

Shifting the gear stick, Cash pulled his dirty old Stetson down tightly over his forehead.  “I only sing loud as I’m told to,” and having said that, he throttled down and drove away.  As he glanced back into the rear view mirror, he could not help noticing Travis.  Like a lost lamb, the big football star remained motionless from the spot where the truck had been.  With slumped shoulders and heavy brow furled as dark as a thunderstorm in June, it took Cash by surprise.   Was he seeing things?  Travis was always so rough and tough in school; was this a side nobody knew?  Quickly steering the monster-wheeled mudder around the lot—back where he’d been, he leaned out the window and threw a quick snip, “What?”  Edginess carried in his voice as if dozens of ants were crawling up his ass.  By nature, Cash was not a cool-headed guy.  He knew it all too well.  Attributing his feistiness to the blood line—using the excuse that it was only an Irish temper, his mother would never buy in.  “You’re just like a jackrabbit,” she would always say, “…can’t wait for anything.  Some day, you’re gonna learn to simmer down.”

The sound of a whistle blew from the football field. 

“You need to get to practice.”

“I know,” Travis replied, looking down at the ground.  “I’m already late.”

An awkward silence fell between them.

Cash wasn’t sure where this was going to end up, but he knew something had to be done.  Cocking his head toward the passenger’s side of the cab, he finally said, “Get in.”  Without protest, Travis bounded around the truck, hopping in.

Gunning the engine, a deep-throated roar echoed against the school front and back across the parking lot.  As the ‘Puppy’ rolled onto the street, both remained silent--seeming to know what would happen next. 

As they drove through town and out to the levee the charge between them became explosive.  Cash knew of several secluded areas where they could park.  By the time they got to the sandy river banks, boiling blood pounded throughout his body.  He could barely hold the steering wheel.  Shutting down the engine, he slid back in the seat and let out a slow, deep sigh.  Now what?  They both remained at a loss for words.  Who was going to break the ice?  Thoughts in his mind kept telling him he was nuts for doing this—simply jack-assed insane.  But something else deeper seemed to take over his will… something much more powerful and demanding than he ever dreamed. 

Lighting up another cigarette, Cash sucked in the thick tobacco smoke as deep as his lungs could take.  Slowly exhaling, he sensed a pair of eager, hungry eyes fixed on him.  A spell enveloped—hot as lightening, blazing throughout his body.  And like iron dust attracted to a magnet, he yearned to bring his hands—every one of his fingers—to a place they had never been before.  Forbidden flesh.  Hungry for what he saw, his mouth watered for what he deliciously smelled.  Travis’ unique body scent, laced with that musky sweat and the woodsy cologne—it all drove him crazy.  He knew he could ride any goddamn bull put in front of him! 

Facing Travis, he closely studied each feature—one by one.  That extreme high ‘n tight flat top contrasted nicely with a thick, gallant neck and broad shoulders.  His skin—smooth and deep-tanned, respectfully earned from all those summer days lifeguarding at the city pool, created a magnificent backdrop to a perfect set of ivory white teeth.  And lastly, every curve of his face—cheeks, dimples, forehead and chin seemed to form a symphony of beauty that was absolutely breathtaking. 

Instantly, Cash’s memory dug back to the first day when Travis had walked through the school doors.  It was the beginning of his junior year…

“There’s a new guy startin’ here today.” 

The news had started as a trickle.  By third period, it had spread throughout the school. 

 “Yeah?”

…Cash had picked up on the conversation in the hallway while making his way to his next class.  

“What’s he like?”

“I dunno.  I guess he seems alright.” 

“Where’s he from?”

“Someplace in California.”

“Great,” a sarcastic laugh had quickly followed.  “He’ll fit in real good here.”

“I heard he’s pretty good-lookin’ and really big.”

Now there was no way that Cash was prepared, in the slightest, for what his eyes would soon behold.  Upon settling into his desk with a long sigh, his eyes suddenly caught sight of the most unbelievably handsome, sharp-dressed boy—definitely not countrified, and no hillbilly.  Suave, nonchalant, Travis entered the room—his eyes smoothly roving, searching for a vacant desk. 

It was the silence that followed which Cash would never forget.  Seized by the power of his presence, the entire room had fallen into a hush.  Cassie Johnston, one of the varsity cheerleaders, seemingly broke the spell by letting out a long, hoarse gasp.  “Oh… my… God...”

Continuing to search the room, the new student’s gaze unexpectedly landed on Cash—locking, penetrating.  Blazing eyes of cool ice pierced the still air of the classroom and drilled a crater deep into Cash’s conscience.  

What the…?  He could only freeze. 

At that moment, time had stopped.  With their glances quickly welding into a stare, the space between them became lightening bolts—Cash feeling something mysteriously scorch, seducing his spirit.  But just as he had been caught under the trance, he was rudely yanked back to reality by his rodeo buddy, Josh Parker. 

“Like he’s never seen a real live cowboy before?  God, this guy’s a trip.”  Kicking the back of Cash’s seat, his friend had leaned over and whispered into his ear, “Better watch out, he’s got the hots for you.”

“Shut up!” was Cash’s quick reply—feeling his face scald… 

Bringing himself back to the present, Cash realized what it all meant, plain as day.  He knew why they were here. 

In their concrete world of hesitation, Travis eventually reached for the door handle.  Twisting it with a tight fist, he slid out of the cab—slamming the door with an angry thrust.  Slowly, he walked to the river’s edge.  With hands thrust deeply into his front pockets, he allowed a small chuckle to escape from his hidden face. 

Quickly, Cash opened his door.  Something needed to happen.  A first move needed to be made.  They certainly had not come this far for nothing.  Extending his leg out on the rocky sand, he pushed himself out.  Boot heels sliding over the stones, he made his way to Travis who remained motionless.  Defying all fear, he finally reached out and softly touched Travis’ shoulder. 

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