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Amid fossils, yarrow, and cattle, two men are about to discover a love bigger than the Wyoming sky.
When Nate Pearson left heartache behind in the big city, he never looked back, he couldn’t bear to. Suffering and loss propelled him westward, but once he laid eyes on the Tetons, he knew he’d found a place where he could hide and heal. For over twenty years, the Prairie Smoke Ranch has been his refuge and his salvation. Working under the pale blue sky, he’s been able to keep the pain buried. Then one day while digging a cattle watering system, Nate and his hands unearth a mound of dinosaur bones that will change his life forever.
Once news of the discovery reaches the local university, paleontology professor Bishop Haney arrives with several undergrads to spend the summer excavating and cataloging the find. At first, Nate is unimpressed with the laid-back, surfer dude with the ocean blue eyes. But as the two opposites get to know each other, Nate discovers Bishop might be the balm his aching soul needs.
He talked all the way to the bones.
It was, in some ways, amazing and in other ways utterly infuriating.
How the shit did a man have that much to talk about with a complete stranger? It was probably a good thing that the sun hadn’t risen fully yet, this way he couldn’t see me rolling my eyes as we bounded along on my Polaris, the headlight bouncing. He had wanted to bring his Subaru so I had had to explain that Wyoming pastures weren’t the same as sandy dunes. The exhaust system of his car would have been torn off in no time. So, he was behind me, arms tightly around my waist, thighs clamped to my hips, mouth going steadily.
“There are bugs,” I warned him numerous times hoping that would shut him up, but he would just chuckle and continue along with whatever story he was telling. I’d never been so happy to find that old dry creek bed in my life. Bishop Haney agitated me. The press of his body into mine was too much, too tight, too firm, too sharply painful in so many ways. When he did lapse into quiet, to breathe, his chin rested on my shoulder. That was also too painful. I’d not been held by a man in far too long. I couldn’t recall the last trip I’d made to Jackson Hole to find some quick relief.
“Holy hell,” he said at one point. I slowed down, certain he had seen a predator in the shifting shadows of dawn. We did have wolves, coyotes, grizzlies, and mountain lions roaming the Prairie Smoke Ranch on occasion. Which was why there was a rifle strapped to the rear of my four-wheeler. My gaze flitted across the rolling pastureland. “Look at that sunrise.”
Ah. We were close to the dig, but I shifted down and let the machine under us idle. There was no denying it. Nothing came close to a Wyoming dawn. The clouds were stacked thinly in a scarlet sky. Ribbons of purple and blue had been airbrushed along the bottom of the wispy cirrus clouds. The Tetons rose up to kiss the reds, purples, and blues. The snow still clinging to the peaks was pink and reminded me of cotton candy. It was a glorious sight.
His tight hold slackened, and his chin came to rest on my shoulder again. I turned my head, just an inch, and watched the wonderment dancing in his gaze. He was a handsome man, in a fashion. Minus the bun. The morning light did wondrous things for him though. His eyes darted to me, a smile pulling up the corners of his lips. Another flicker of awareness sparked inside me. Flustered, I shifted into drive, and we bounced and jounced along until the flapping strips of yellow tapes could be seen.
He was off the four-wheeler before it stopped.
With the rising sun behind him, he cut a masculine silhouette. Minus the bun. What the hell ever possessed a man to wear a bun? It was dumb and needed to be taken out immediately.
USA Today Bestselling Author V.L. Locey – Penning LGBT hockey romance that skates into sinful pleasures.
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, Torchwood and Dr. Who, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a pair of geese, far too many chickens, and two steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in one hand and a steamy romance novel in the other.
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