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  Martin poured him another whiskey, then a glass for himself. They sat before the fire, Biscuit lying between them, and talked of the approaching holidays.

  “I usually get stuck spending Christmas in jail watching the convicts,” Dalton grumbled. “Been years since I’ve known anyone I wanted to spend that much time with.”

  Martin nodded thoughtfully and sipped his whiskey. “I’ve always lived close to my parents, so I’ve always spent the holidays with them. This’ll be the first season I’ll be alone.”

  Dalton watched him from the corner of his eye. “No one in town you want to be with?”

  Martin shrugged. “No one. Why?”

  “Not even Mary Westford?”

  Martin’s eyes widened as Dalton roared with laughter. “You’re serious? Mary Westford? No, no, I don’t think so.”

  “I know for a fact she’d like to find you under her tree this year,” Dalton teased through his laughter. “She’s hung mistletoe on every doorframe in town hoping to trap you into a kiss.”

  “You can’t be serious!”

  “I am.” Dalton grinned mischievously.

  “You’re a damned liar.”

  “Swear on the bullet you pulled out of my chest.”

  Martin’s mind conjured images of himself masturbating furiously while clutching the bullet, and he fell silent. Looking away from Dalton’s hot blue gaze, he took a swallow of his drink and fought to keep his sudden erection at bay.

  Dalton suggested a game of poker, but Martin shook his head. “I don’t have any money for cards, especially with the likes of you, Dalton Pringle.”

  “You’re not suggesting I cheat, are you?” Dalton growled. “That’s akin to slander in these parts.”

  “Fine, I take it back.”

  “Too late, you already said it. And to make up for it, you have to play.”

  Martin sighed but relented, and Dalton suggested they play for articles of clothing, which he agreed to. It wasn’t until he had lost his first hand and gotten up to fetch a sock from his bureau that he realized his folly. Through his laughter, Dalton explained that when Martin lost, he was to shed an article of clothing he was currently wearing, not pull one from his chest of drawers. Martin refused until Dalton pointed out that he had already agreed to the conditions of the game, and so he reluctantly pulled a sock off his foot.

  Several hands and several drinks later, both men sat barechested and barefoot before the fire as the wind howled outside. Martin was down to his undergarment, and his head felt fuzzy with whiskey. Across the table, Dalton was down to his jeans but seemed unaffected by the liquor. Several times Martin caught Dalton’s eyes roving to the young doctor’s chest and he took the opportunity to inspect the sheriff’s body as well. The scar over the man’s heart was beginning to fade, though the black hair around it had turned white. Pretending to examine the cards in his hand, Martin lowered his gaze to see how his own body looked. The weeks of physical labor around his small homestead had firmed his muscles. His nipples, the size of half dollars and pink, stood up firm beneath the light brown hair that covered his torso. His cock, hard for more than an hour now, strained against the confines of his undergarment. He had the taste of copper in his mouth.

  Looking up, Martin caught Dalton barely hiding a smile as he surveyed his cards. Martin forced himself to focus on his own hand and studied it with dread: he held absolutely nothing of worth. Martin swallowed and peered up at Dalton, who raised an eyebrow.

  “Want any cards?” Dalton asked.

  “Yes, please. Four.”

  “Four? My, my, my, you must have a solid hand.”

  Martin inspected his four new cards and felt his gut clench. They were even worse than the ones he’d had. He would lose his last article of clothing, and Dalton would see his erection and know him for what he was: a sodomite.

  “Dealer takes one.” Grinning, Dalton dealt himself a card then looked up at Martin. “Ready?”

  Martin sighed. “Ready.” He laid down his hand, and Dalton laughed as he showed Martin his full house.

  “Well, I guess that would mean I win.” Dalton sat back in his chair, his hands clasped over his lap. “And you, my good doctor, lose your drawers.”

  Martin sat back and crossed his arms. “I protest. This was a setup.”

  Dalton shrugged. “I don’t cheat at cards. I’m the law in this town. How would that look?” He lifted his chin at Martin. “Shuck ’em.”

  Defeated, Martin got to his feet, hesitated a moment, then slid his undergarment down his legs. He looked into the fire as he stood before Dalton, his cock hard and throbbing.

  Dalton’s voice was low and husky. “You got some cock on you, Doc.”

  Martin mustered his courage and gazed at Dalton, suddenly caught in the man’s dangerous stare. The sheriff licked his lips and pressed the palm of his hand against his own bulging crotch.

  “I…” Martin began but was cut off by a pounding on the door and a girl’s high-pitched squeal.

  “Dr. Lancaster! Dr. Lancaster!”

  Martin quickly pulled on his undergarment and trousers then struggled into his shirt as he headed for the door. Dalton gathered his clothes and ducked into the nearest hiding place, Martin’s bedroom.

  The doctor opened the door to admit a pale young girl with auburn hair and a population of freckles on her face. He grasped her gently by the shoulders.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s my mama,” the girl gasped. “She’s havin’ a baby, but it ain’t goin’ well. The midwife sent me to fetch you.”

  Martin’s head cleared immediately, the fuzziness of the whiskey gone as adrenaline burned through him. He sat the girl by the fire to warm her up and dashed into his operatory to grab his bag. Stepping into his bedroom, he found Dalton on the edge of his bed, shirt still off, the bullet Martin kept by his bed held in the palm of his hand.

  “I have to go.” Martin tucked in his shirt and pulled on his jacket. “A birth isn’t going right.” He paused and looked at Dalton. “Are you…?”

  Dalton stared up at him, his eyes calm. “You keep this by your bed?”

  Martin nodded, his stomach knotting like snakes.

  “I always wondered what you did with it.”

  “You were my first patient,” Martin tried to explain. There was more to it, so much more, but no time to divulge his reasoning and feelings. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”

  “I know. Go. Save a life.”

  Martin moved into the living room and helped the girl tie her coat more tightly against the wind. They stepped into the cold night, and he loaded her into his wagon then headed down the frozen, rutted road.

  Later that night, beneath the white gaze of the waning moon, Martin returned home. He unhitched his horse and led him to the stable, then staggered through the back door of his house and scrubbed up in the operatory. He was tired, and a cold seed of worry had begun to unfurl in his gut now that the medical emergency was done with. He worried about Dalton and how their card game and the sheriff’s discovery of the bullet might affect their friendship.

  Drying his hands, Martin made his way into the parlor to find that the fire had died. He gathered some smaller bits of wood for the stove in his bedroom and, carrying a lamp, made his way through the house with Biscuit trailing.

  His bedroom was cold and dark, and his mind was distracted with thoughts of Dalton as he arranged the firewood so it would catch easily. Once he had the fire lit he started to undress.

  “Did you save her?”

  Martin jumped and let out a shout, turning to find Dalton lying in his bed. The sheets were down to the middle of his chest, exposing his bare skin.

  “You scared five years off my life,” Martin said.

  “Well, now we’re a little closer in age.” Dalton sat up against the headboard, and the sheet fell to his waist. “Did you save her?”

  “What?” Martin forced his gaze up from the man’s bare torso to his blue eyes reflecting firelight. “Um, yes, I
did. The baby was breach. I had to turn it. But I saved them both.”

  “Was it Polly Olmsted?”

  “Yes.”

  “Boy or girl?”

  “Boy.”

  “They’ve been wanting a boy,” Dalton said. “Polly and Jack have got themselves four girls and now a boy.”

  “They were very grateful.” Martin took a few steps forward. “I don’t know why you’re in my bed, but—”

  “Yes, you do.” Dalton reached over and pulled back the sheets on the other side of the bed. “We’ve been dancing around this for a while now. It’s high time we both admitted it.”

  Martin hesitated a moment, then stripped off his clothes and slid in beside Dalton. The man’s body had warmed the sheets, and Martin sighed as the sheriff pulled him against his hard, strong form.

  Their mouths collided, tongues bursting past their lips, the passion that had been building from the first day they met finally finding release. Dalton’s beard scratched along Martin’s face and lips, and his powerful, calloused hands moved down Martin’s body to clutch his erection.

  “Oh, God,” Martin gasped. No man had ever touched him in this way.

  Dalton slid beneath the sheets, his mouth and tongue tasting Martin’s body. He paused to suck hard on Martin’s nipples, and the doctor groaned, pressing his hands against the back of Dalton’s head. The scratch of the sheriff’s beard brought up gooseflesh on Martin’s arms, and he tilted back his head, closing his eyes against the rush of sensation.

  Moving lower, Dalton came to Martin’s cock and ran his tongue along its length. The doctor groaned and squirmed, but Dalton used the weight of his body to pin Martin in place, then took his cock in his throat. He sucked him slow and deep, the fingers of one hand curled tight around the base of the shaft while in the other he held Martin’s balls. They were smaller than Dalton’s but fit just fine in the palm of his hand. The doctor’s cock was circumcised, and Dalton sucked hard on the bulbous tip.

  After a time, Dalton released Martin’s cock and slid up the man’s body, poking his head from beneath the sheets to draw in a deep breath of cool air. They kissed again, slower and deeper this time, tongues twisting like rope. Martin’s hand grazed the scar over Dalton’s chest, and the doctor pulled away, his brow furrowed.

  “I’m sorry. Did that hurt?” Martin asked.

  “No,” Dalton said, and kissed him again. “My old heart’s full of scars. I’m surprised you found a way inside.”

  At these words, Martin felt a jolt race through him and rolled Dalton onto his back. He lowered himself along the man’s body, pausing for a time to suck the small, hard points of his nipples. He ran his tongue through Dalton’s dark chest hair to his navel, slipping the tip of his tongue into the deep, swirled cavern.

  The head of the sheriff’s cock pulsed and throbbed beneath Martin’s jaw, commanding his attention, and he finally addressed it. Dalton’s cock was long and thick, uncut and meaty. Martin peeled back the foreskin and pursed his lips around the shiny, wet glans. He had never touched another man like this, and the salty taste of Dalton’s cock burst in his mouth like ripe fruit. Suddenly he couldn’t get enough, and he filled his mouth with Dalton’s cock. The blunt tip bumped and skidded along the roof of his mouth, poking into the back of his throat and causing him to gag.

  “Easy, Doc,” Dalton said. He pulled the sheets back so Martin could take a gulp of fresh air. “Have you ever done this before?”

  Martin shook his head, coughing as his eyes watered.

  Dalton laid a hand along his face and smiled. “I’ve only been with two other men, both for just a night and rougher than a stampede.” He pulled Martin’s face close and kissed his forehead. “Nothing like this.”

  Easing Martin onto his back, Dalton knelt between his legs and eased them up to his shoulders. He lowered his face into the crack of Martin’s ass and flicked his tongue across the tight, puckered anus.

  “Oh, God,” Martin breathed. “What are you doing?”

  “Relax,” Dalton told him. “Trust me.” He pressed his mouth against Martin’s hole and slid his tongue deep into the man. Martin groaned and clutched the sheets beneath him as Dalton did things to him he had never imagined.

  Just when Martin thought he couldn’t take any more, Dalton raised his head and slipped a finger inside him. He felt the invading finger like a punch in the gut and lifted his head from the pillow to stare at Dalton’s face illuminated by the lamplight.

  Dalton raised his eyebrows. “Want a little more?”

  Martin nodded then dropped his head back. The second finger slipped inside, and he groaned again as his cock jumped, slapping audibly against his belly.

  “Feel okay?” Dalton asked.

  Martin had no voice, so he raised his head and nodded. Dalton’s fingers drove in and pulled out of him faster and faster, and just when Martin thought he would lose control, they stopped and withdrew. Dalton adjusted his position and Martin looked down to see him spit into his open palm. Dalton reached down to spread his spit on something out of Martin’s sightline, then moved closer to him.

  Suddenly Martin felt as if he were being split open. The fat, round head of Dalton’s cock pushed into him, and Martin let out a cry that startled Biscuit into a volley of barks. Dalton snapped at Biscuit to keep quiet, and the dog lay down again by the stove as the sheriff turned his attention back to Martin. Slowly, so slowly, Dalton eased deeper into him, his cock parting muscles until finally he knelt fully inside him.

  “Oh, my God.” Martin sighed and raised his head just as Dalton lowered his to press a kiss to his lips. “Oh, my God. This is amazing.”

  “Feels all right?” Dalton asked.

  “It feels very right.”

  Dalton withdrew then entered him again, a little faster this time. He pulled out and pushed in again, then again, faster until his hips found a rhythm and he drove into his lover with a rugged power that shook the bedstead. Martin groaned and thrashed as Dalton’s cock pumped into him, invading him, opening him up.

  The familiar tingle of orgasm started in his prostate, and Martin reached down to grab hold of his cock, stroking himself to a powerful climax. The hot, thick semen splattered along his torso, mixing with his and Dalton’s sweat and leaving him sticky and exhausted.

  Dalton thrust into him a few more times then screwed up his face as he let loose his own load deep inside Martin. He collapsed on top of him, his sweaty body coated with Martin’s semen. They kissed for a time, Dalton’s softening cock still held tight in Martin’s ass.

  Finally, Dalton eased himself out of Martin and stood to collect their undergarments, which they used to clean themselves up. He added wood to the fire, patted Biscuit’s head, then joined Martin in bed again, giving him a gentle, lingering kiss. They fell asleep in minutes, Martin’s arm slung across Dalton’s chest, his fingers resting against the man’s scar.

  As the wind whips snow harder against Martin’s house, he gets up to place another log on the fire. In the corner stands a Christmas tree, one he and Dalton had ridden out into the woods for and cut down together two mornings ago. Martin had started a snowball fight, which ended in a long, deep kiss once he had been tackled by Dalton as he attempted to flee the sheriff’s better aim through the drifting snow.

  They had put up the tree that afternoon, decorating it with tinsel and paper ornaments, talking about their childhoods and Christmases past. Dalton had confessed he hadn’t had a Christmas tree since leaving his family’s ranch, and Martin had asked him to put the tin star Martin’s father had made for him on top.

  Martin looks forward to Dalton’s arrival later tonight, like he once did that jolly burglar Saint Nick. The sheriff will come in the back door and find Martin waiting nude in bed, and they’ll make Christmas memories of their own.

  The wind pushes against the glass again, and Martin refills his sherry, then takes it to the window where he stands and looks out at the town. His eye is drawn to the glow of lamplight in the window of the sh
eriff’s office just visible through the snowfall, and he feels the first pulse of arousal as he thinks about the long, hard gift Dalton will be bringing him later.

  MIND IN THE MIDDLE

  Julia Talbot

  You reckon Tyler will take it all this year?” some old fart was saying, not knowing Tyler Anderson was walking right by him, separated only by the wall of galvanized steel tubing and Skoal advertising banners.

  “Not if he don’t get his head out of his ass,” geezer number two muttered. “You see him go down in the well today?”

  “Yep. Didn’t even make three seconds.”

  Cheeks on fire, Tyler kept walking, heading up the long walk of shame to the locker rooms where he could get out of his chaps and vest. He was limping a little from where that goddamned Brahma had stomped his shit but good.

  Get his head out of his ass. Tyler snorted. No, it wasn’t just that he’d torn a tendon in his arm a month back, or that he’d drawn one of the biggest, strongest bulls on the circuit. Not a bit. That was the hazard of being on top of the bull-riding game. Everyone speculated when you had a few bad rides, from the Pro Rodeo News reporters to the gate-pullers on the ground. He’d just hit a slump, was all, and while Tyler wasn’t one to hold anyone else responsible for his problems, he laid the blame for this dry spell firmly at Sevi Rosa’s doorstep.

  Damn that beautiful Brazilian bastard, dumping him the first week of finals in Las Vegas. What a shitty thing to do.

  The after-party was already going strong in the hotel ballroom when Tyler got there, stopping to sign autographs on the way in. Wouldn’t you know it, the minute he headed to the bar to get a Jack and Coke, there was Sevi, chatting up some girl with tousled blonde hair and a tiny pink tank top.

  “Hey, Tyler,” his buddy Craig hollered, waving at him from a table. “Come on over.”

  Tearing his eyes away from Sevi’s sleek, compact body and pretty eyes, Tyler nodded and headed to his friend, grinning a little. Craig bounced along to the music, which was by some band Tyler didn’t know, looking like he wanted to two-step someone right into the ground.