Right Move (Clean Slate Ranch #6) - A.M. Arthur Page 0,127
a universal charger?”
“Yup. I’ll get it.”
“Thank you.” Shawn gazed around the room, a little stunned at how generous Wes and Mack were being. He was just an employee, but they were treating him like, well, family. Part of the Bentley Ghost Town family, and he didn’t have the words to express his gratitude. He’d fallen down, and for the first time in years, someone was there to help him stand up so he didn’t have to do it all on his own.
A fresh wave of tears strangled his throat and stung his eyes. Tears of gratitude for the support, but also of frustration for having to rely on other people’s charity at all.
“Shawn?” Wes approached with the charger in one hand and a pair of boxers in his other, his blue eyes wide. “Are you okay? You are perfectly safe here, I promise.”
“I know.” Shawn blinked hard against those damned tears, not afraid of his hosts in the least. “I’m just...not used to having people around who’ll have my back in a crisis. It’s a little overwhelming.”
“Oh, honey.” Wes slung an arm around his shoulders. “You ever need anything, you can come to me or Mack. Definitely to Miles.”
“Thanks.” He carefully extricated himself from beneath Wes’s arm, not much of a casual toucher. “I won’t keep you from your, uh, evening. Thank you again, Wes. I mean it.”
Shawn didn’t realize until after Wes left the room how his actions could have been interpreted by Wes: a half-naked gay man side-hugging Shawn, and Shawn not wanting to be hugged. Crap. He hadn’t meant to insult his host, but Shawn had never come out to anyone at the ghost town. Despite so many other queer people working there, it was no one’s business. He was also too tired to try and explain himself tonight.
After a brief stint in the bathroom, where he changed into the boxers Wes had given him, Shawn slid beneath cool, fresh sheets. Stretched out on all sides on the queen-size mattress like a kid making a snow angel, happy to be in a real bed for a change. He closed his eyes and pretended this was his bed, in his own home, a safe place of his own. Not a one-night thing before he’d go back to sleeping in his car tomorrow.
For one night only, Shawn Matthews allowed himself to dream.
* * *
One of Robin Butler’s favorite things about living in the last cabin on cabin row was the sunrises. His small porch angled to the east, his view not blocked by the main house like so many other employee cabins at Clean Slate Ranch. He leaned against the cabin’s exterior wall, seated on the built-in bench, legs stretched out in front of him, and he watched the sun rise on the world.
The dark blue sky lightened with stripes of purple and red that melted into brighter orange and finally yellow. He snapped a photo just as the first rounded peak of the sun hit the horizon. The sky above the sun paled to its usual shade of blue, and Robin smiled at the lovely sight. Even on cloudy mornings, he loved knowing the sun had risen on another day. Another day on the second chance he’d been given to live.
He pulled his vape out of his jeans pocket and took a few drags. Sure, the thing wasn’t much healthier than actual cigarettes, but Robin didn’t like smelling like cig smoke around the tourists or horses. And he only used it in the morning as part of his sunrise ritual—or on the rare occasion a social situation worked his nerves too much.
At least his constant battle with insomnia was good for watching the sunrise.
Robin posted the sunrise photo to his Instagram account, something he’d created a few years ago as a way to honor Xander and his love of sunrises. He only had a few dozen followers, because he only posted once a day, but it was enough to do the familiar morning task. Every morning for the last two and a half years.
Didn’t matter where he was, be it out in the wilds on an overnight camping trip with guests, or stumbling out of bed to get to the window after a hookup in the city. He captured each and every sunrise for Xander.
A strange thumping noise came from the cabin next door, and Robin strained to listen. The ranch’s den mother, Patrice, lived in that cabin, as she