Page 49 of The Fire Line

Harris set the saddle over the fence.

Shit.

Navarro had joked about it. He joked about most things. But Harris remembered the expression beneath the smile when Navarro had told him he was difficult to read. There had been a question there Harris had understood without wanting to answer.

Maybe Navarro thought Harris had a problem with him being gay.

The idea sat badly enough that Harris stopped what he was doing. He did not care for being misunderstood, but that wasn’t the worst of it.

Navarro had probably spent half his life making calculations Harris had never needed to make. Tell this person. Don’t tell that one. Touch somebody here but not there. Decide whether a joke was harmless before laughing. Figure out whether a man who had been friendly five minutes ago was still friendly after learning who Navarro slept with.

Harris knew enough about the world to understand that much, and he had given Navarro a reason to perform the same calculation here, on Harris’s ranch.

Whatever was happening belonged to Harris. Navarro had not asked him to be attracted to him and certainly hadn’t asked Harris to lose the ability to operate basic communication equipment because he took off a shirt. He should not have to wonder whether anything about the ranch had become less safe because Harris couldn’t keep his own head straight.

Rain nudged his shoulder, and Harris rubbed a hand down her neck.

The young gelding stood quietly beyond the fence, saddle removed now, one hind leg cocked beneath him. Harris had spent the afternoon teaching him that the rules stayed consistent. Ask clearly. Give him time to find the answer. Release the pressure when he got there.

If the answer changed every time he found it, eventually he would stop trying.

Simple with horses.

With Navarro, Harris had been changing the rule every time the man got close enough to understand it.

Talk to him, but not that much. Come here, but not that close. Ask a question, but not that question.

Harris could see why somebody might quit looking for the answer, and that wasn’t Navarro’s fault.

It also wasn’t something Harris could fix by explaining the actual problem. He was not about to walk up to the man and announce that the sudden awkwardness had nothing to do with Navarro being gay and everything to do with Harris wanting to put his mouth somewhere it had no business going.

There were probably intermediate options.

Harris picked up the saddle and started toward the barn. Evan was waiting at the south fence, and Harris was already late enough to hear about it.

* * *

By nine that night, Harris’s plan to start behaving normally around Navarro had brought him back to Tessa’s bar.

“Well, shit. Twice in one week.”

Tessa slowed behind the bar with two empty glasses in her hands. Harris took his usual stool at the far end and set his keys on the counter.

“Nice to see you too.”

“I thought we’d met our quarterly quota.” She reached automatically for his beer. “Should I be worried?”

“Probably.”

“That bad?”

“Just want a drink.”

“Sure.”

She slid the open bottle toward him, and Harris drank half of it in one pull.

He had wanted a drink and Tessa less than a week ago. Harris generally came into town when work allowed and inclination happened to line up with it; twice in one week suggested a problem.