Texas and Tarantulas by Bailey Bradford Read Free Book Online

face when Trent had shoved back, the stricken, turned on, needy look on that rough man—Trent could beat off to that image forever.
    Or to the memory of the tight, tight grip around his dick, or the soft and harsh sounds the man had made—grunting, cursing, begging, having his breath driven out of him from Trent fucking him so hard and fast.
    Yeah, he had memories that were better than any porno would be. It was probably stupid of him to have left without speaking, asking for a number or a name. He’d regret it later, Trent would bet.
    Speaking would have ruined it all, though. They’d played a very rough, very erotic game, and silence, or at least as few words as possible exchanged between them, was a large part of it all.
    Besides, the man hadn’t spoken directly to him, either. Hadn’t asked Trent’s name, and after the fucking, hadn’t even bothered to stand up or open his eyes and look at Trent.
    That was okay. Trent got it. They’d had a hot hook up then it was over. He could live with that. Thinking about it was also better than dwelling on what had happened at the ranch today.
    A part of him had known from the moment he’d seen that femur.
    “No. Don’t go there.” He pressed his lips together. Talking to himself in private was one thing. Doing so in public would get him labeled as being off his rocker. He could do without that kind of a reputation.
    He and Joe had to go give DNA samples soon.
    Stop. Just stop thinking about it. Easier said than done.
    Trent drove to the other grocer. Inside, he used the bathroom, cleaning off his private parts with a damp paper towel. He felt like he smelled of spunk, which normally he would say was a good thing, only he didn’t want anyone else catching on to what he’d been doing.
    After he’d soaped up and wiped off, he resumed his errand and picked up the things from Diego’s list. It seemed like everyone was watching him now, whispering behind his back. He didn’t let his inner turmoil show, instead smiling and greeting people. Accepting condolences that tore him up inside. Thanking people for caring when some of them were just being nosy sons of bitches.
    By the time he got back to his truck, Trent’s nerves were frayed and his face felt brittle from the fake smiles he’d worn. He set the groceries in the passenger seat.
    It wasn’t until he was on the way back to the ranch that he felt less likely to shatter. Odd the way that worked. He’d all but run off a couple of hours ago, and now he couldn’t wait to be home again. “Weird.”
    When he stopped at Joe and Diego’s place, they were sitting in the swing on the porch. All the other vehicles were gone except for the ones that belonged on the ranch. Trent’s chest didn’t feel so tight then—he hadn’t realized he’d been wound so tense until that moment. He shut the truck off then got out and took the groceries with him.
    “Y’all want these in the kitchen?” he asked, stopping by the porch swing.
    Diego hopped up and grabbed the bags. “I’ll put everything up. Thanks, Trent.”
    Trent watched him rush inside then looked at Joe. “He’s leaving us alone to talk. What is it you need to tell me?”
    Joe grimaced, taking his hat off and brushing at the band around it. “Just, we gotta go do that DNA stuff. It’ll take a while to get the results back and compare with…with…”
    “You know it’s her,” Trent said. “You know it. I know it. The whole fucking town knows it.”
    Joe swallowed and didn’t deny it.
    “If Dad killed her—” Trent shut up. What was there to say?
    “I never found the records for the two ranch hands working here back then.” Joe obviously had excess words to spew.
    Trent wrangled his anger under control. He had no cause to be mad at Joe, never had, even though their father had so clearly favored him. Hell, the old man had left Joe the whole ranch when he’d died, all except for the acre Trent lived on, the old trailer on it, and a pick-up truck.
    None of