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  THE WILD BUNCH: CASA

  by

  DEIRDRE O'DARE

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.amberquill.com

  The Wild Bunch: Casa

  An Amber Quill Press Book

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.AmberQuill.com

  http://www.AmberHeat.com

  http://www.AmberAllure.com

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  Copyright © 2011 by Deirdre O'Dare

  ISBN 978-1-61124-174-7

  Cover Art © 2011 Trace Edward Zaber

  Published in the United States of America

  Also by Deirdre O'Dare

  Armed And Amorous

  Beyond The Shadows

  The Canine Cupid Series

  The Chap In Chaps

  Daring Desires

  Eres Tu--Times Two

  Fire On Ice

  Guilty By Innocence

  Homeless In Heaven

  Jesse's Girl

  Journal Of A Timid Temptress

  Muscle Car Man

  Runes Of Revelation

  Special Delivery

  The Thin Green Line

  Treading Dangerous Ground

  The Wild Bunch: Spark

  The Wild Bunch: Stace

  Wings Of Love

  Workin' On The Railroad

  You Were Always On My Mind

  Dedication

  To many Latino friends who've passed through my life since childhood. I admire your courage and patience, sympathize with the prejudice and struggles you have endured. Your folk were the first "cowboys" in what has become the American southwest and the ranching parts of Mexico and left an indelible mark on that scene. Without you our language would be poorer and our history less colorful. Badger Clark, a long-ago cowboy poet, said it well: "Spanish is a loving tongue... 'twas a girl I learned it from, living down Sonora way." Falina in Marty Robbin's great song El Paso, the proud tears of the bullring trumpet, the Charro and so much more is woven through my Celtic psyche and flavors my tales. Thank you and may God bless.

  And thanks to the wonderful Amber Quill Press crew for their hard work, patience and willingness to let me and other authors follow their muse wherever it leads. You are all precious and wonderful and inspire me to keep working. God--or gods--bless you all too!!

  Chapter 1

  Late spring

  Gila, New Mexico

  Carlos Casanuevo, "Casa" to his friends, eased down on the big Brahma's back. He wrapped the rope around his hand, drawing it as tight as he could. It still wanted to slip. He rosined his glove again and tried a second time. The bull swayed, bobbing its massive head. Casa recognized the big gray had been in the chutes many times before. Old Smokey knew the drill. Other cowboys had told him the bull was usually pretty docile, until the gate swung open. Then, he burst out like a rocket fired for the moon, though not moving in a straight line, but a zigzagging pattern as he bucked and twisted. Not a lot of cowboys managed to stick on him for the required eight seconds. Casa believed he could.

  He recalled when he'd done this all season long, at least a couple of times every weekend. That was back when he and his best buddies, Stace Johnson and Spark Diamond, were rodeoing together. They'd decided to quit about six years ago, while they were still more or less in one piece. Riding bulls and broncs was a tough business. They were all good, but they'd recognized they were not world championship good. Since they were really not into the buckle bunnies, the other benefits were not that great. Partying got old, and flying or driving all over the country became real tedious. It was time for a career change.

  About the same time, they met a man a few years older, a man with an idea. Jason Longford wanted to open a guest ranch that catered especially to gay men. When he pitched the idea to the three of them and offered them head wrangler positions, they'd jumped at the chance. Five years into that stint, they were still having a good time and loving their work. Besides the usual dude wrangling tasks, they had the job of catering to the special guests. These were high roller types who paid an additional fee for a chance to enjoy not only the outdoor and western adventures, but also some amorous ones with a hunky cowboy. Casa, Stace and Spark made sure each guest got his money's worth. For them it was almost a special perk instead of a duty.

  Along with other entertainment such as trail rides, big game hunts and scenic photography, the ranch held a rodeo at least once a quarter. They got a good stock contractor to supply the rough stock, and invited locals to come and participate. The event had become a favored tradition in the southwestern corner of New Mexico. Tourists came to watch and local wannabe cowboys to compete. Many guests made a point of scheduling their visits at rodeo time.

  The three cowboys always proved they had not lost their touch. If one of them did not win an event, another did, and usually they vied for the all-around-cowboy points each time.

  Now satisfied with the feel of his rope, Casa gave a final squirm as if to glue his dusty jeans to the gray back. Then he nodded. When the gate swung open, Smokey erupted into the well-plowed arena, bellowing as he bucked.

  The smallest man of the three at about five-foot-ten, Casa knew his lower center of gravity gave him a slight advantage or at least made up for his lesser weight and raw strength compared to his buds. He counted seconds in the back of his mind as he swayed and rocked atop the turning, twisting cyclone of bovine savagery. This old bull made it look harder than it was. Together, they put on a good show. The crowd's enthusiastic roar confirmed he was making a good ride.

  Ready when the whistle blew, he made sure to stick another second or two before he let the rope slide from his hand and pushed down on the bull's hump to vault free. He lit without falling, although he staggered a few steps as the three local cowboys who served as bull fighters--the guys who used to be called rodeo clowns--to protect grounded riders, hazed the massive critter off to the alley. Casa threw his hat Frisbee style like some of the Pro Bull Rider cowboys did and gave a whoop. If his ride wasn't worth day money, he'd retrieve that hat and eat a big bite out of the brim! Feeling cocky, he climbed up on the rails to watch the rest of the riders. Spark and Stace sometimes rode bulls, but preferred saddle broncs. Several locals had signed up for the bulls, though.

  Casa did a double-take when he looked down the row of chutes. Holy shit! Is that Jason? Is he going to ride? Hell, he's too old to risk it. Must be pushing forty! Now what the fuck does he think he's going to prove?

  He wanted to go grab his boss by the neck of the heavy protective vest and jerk him out of there. Jason must've gone totally loco.

  The boss-man roped at most of the rodeos, both as an individual and in team-tying, but he never attempted the rough stock. Casa could not begin to figure why this peculiar turn of events. He worked his way along the rails until he was only one chute away and watched, almost holding his breath.

  Jason had drawn a new bull, one they hadn't seen here before. The compact beast's sleek black hide hinted at Angus blood, but no particular breed had a real monopoly on bucking bulls. They came in every color and shape. This one snorted, slinging spit and snot as he shook his heavy head and banged short blunted horns on the bars.

  Well, it looks like the boss knows what he's doing anyway, like he's done this before.
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br />   Jason reached for the rope as the chute attendant fished it beneath the bull's belly and back up to the rider's hand. Still balancing on the rails above the bull, he eased down slowly as he began to draw the rope up. The bull snorted and lunged. One of the men on top grabbed Jason's arm and helped him rise clear again.

  Damn critter is going to wear hisself out before he ever gets into the arena. Casa wasn't sure if that was bad or good in this case. He preferred his own bulls to be quiet in the chute and save all the meanness for the arena to make a good show. But this is Jason riding...

  Casa wasn't quite ready to admit the extent of his concern, much less analyze the reasons for it. If it had been anyone else, he knew he'd only have been curious and eager to see how the ride went, but this was not anyone else.

  Like Casa, Jason was more compact, a shade under six feet tall and well built. Even though his sandy hair was air brushed with gray along the temples, it wasn't yet enough to age his young-looking but outdoor-weathered face. He could have posed for a classic Marlboro ad or taken a role in a western movie--he had the look and the attitude for it. Even though guests often came on to him, he remained aloof.

  Thus, Casa didn't know for a fact that Jason was gay, although he suspected it. Why else would he be running this special resort? As far as he knew, no women ever came around the rancher, and Jason wasn't big on socializing. Jason habitually acted pleasant and courteous to all the guests, but always maintained a hint of distance. To the cowboys, he seemed somewhere between a father figure and a big brother, admired, respected and well liked because he was a fair and generous boss.

  From early in his tenure at Rainbow Ranch, Casa had nursed a secret crush on his employer. He could never bring himself to ask, much less make a pass or hint how he felt, but the attraction continued to smolder along in the background and would not go away. And now this man was going to ride an unknown bull. Holy fucking shit.

  Casa had to guess Jason must have rodeoed at one time. After all, it had been at a rodeo where the three cowboys had met him, although Jason was not a competitor even then. Casa got so wrapped up in his worries he almost missed the moment when Jason nodded and the gate swung open. The black bull had not used up all his dynamite in the chute. He had plenty left to do his stuff and do it he did. After two prodigious jumps with kicks higher than a tall man's head, the bull went into a spin, hard to the left, still bucking.

  Jason seemed to be giving the bull one hell of a ride, but spins were tricky. You had to lean in to counteract the centrifugal force that wanted to pull you off and away, but if you leaned too far... Most riders did best if the bull spun into their rope-holding hand. For Jason, that was his right, so this bull went against that general rule. The seconds ticked by, each seeming an hour long.

  Simultaneous with the whistle, Casa realized Jason was in trouble. His rope had begun to slip from his hand and would soon loosen around the bull, no longer providing a secure "handle." and he'd leaned a breath too far inward. An instant later, Jason fell into the middle of a tight spiral of deadly hooves with a ton of beef above them. The bullfighters were right there, but maybe a second or two slow.

  Casa felt sure the bull stomped on Jason at least a couple of times before the beast realized it was free and no longer squeezed by the rope. Casa didn't even register he'd moved until his boots hit the arena as he ran to the fallen rider. He sensed, but ignored, the heat and breeze as the bull rushed past him, missing him by a few hairs when it turned to head for the alley, but that didn't matter either. He had attention for only one thing.

  Jason had curled into a protective crunch. As Casa knelt beside him, the fallen man began to unfold, inch by inch. Casa could see the tension and pain on the older man's face, even before he'd stretched out and rolled over to try to get up.

  "Hang on. The bull's gone. Take your time. You don't have to jump up and haul ass."

  By then the bullfighters were back, moving in close to help the fallen rider to his feet if he needed the assistance. They, too, sensed everything might not be not all right and paused in their reach to grab Jason by his arms.

  Very slowly, he got up on all fours, but stopped there, breathing in fast, uneven gasps. The imprint of one massive hoof stood out clearly on the leather of his chaps, about halfway between the right knee and ankle. Hissing a ragged sigh as he started to push up with his right leg, Jason leaned to the other side. That was when Casa knew for sure he was hurt.

  Casa and Marty, one of the bullfighters, took hold of Jason's arms then and lifted him off the ground with as much care as they could. He got his left foot under him and hopped between them across to the alley leading between the stock pens. His right foot dragged, apparently beyond his ability to control the motion. Behind the corrals, they found a bench and eased him down on it.

  Casa knelt in front of him. "Your leg's busted, isn't it?"

  Jason shrugged. "Don't know. Could be. It's numb right now, but I can't seem to move my foot."

  They kept an ambulance and an EMT crew standing by during the rodeo in case of accidents like this one. Since the event brought extra visitors and money into the county, the local volunteer fire department was glad to provide this support. Soon the vehicle pulled up and the crew got out. Casa had to step back while they unzipped the right leg of Jason's chaps to examine his injury.

  He winced when one of them started to pull off his boot, whistling a breath through clenched teeth.

  "Okay," one EMT said, "looks like we have to cut it off. Hate to ruin a good pair of Tony Lamas, but..."

  "Just do it," Jason said, his voice low and tight.

  To cowboys, Tony Lama and a few other boot brands were the equivalent of Manolo Blahniks and Jimmy Choos to fashionistas. Such high-end boots did not come cheap, but Casa could see Jason couldn't stand the twist and jerk of having the boot pulled off his foot. The ETM produced a scalpel and sliced through the stitched leather in a fast, clean cut. He peeled the top back and then slipped the foot free. Another cut split the leg of Jason's Levi's from the knee down. As the denim fell back, the darkening double bruise appeared and the lump of the distorted bone showed clearly.

  "Yep, you got a break...the tibia for sure. Gonna have to run you in to Silver City to get it taken care of."

  Jason muttered some crude words ending in, "Fucking bad luck." He looked up at Casa. "Can you and the other boys handle the rest of the rodeo?"

  Casa nodded. As badly as he wanted to stick close to his injured hero, he knew he had another obligation--to stay here and take care of ranch business. "Sure. Don't worry about a thing. We've got it. When you're ready to come home, call and one of us will come after you."

  The EMTs put Jason on a gurney and rolled it into the back of the ambulance. At least they didn't use lights and siren when they took off for town. Casa grinned, knowing how much Jason would have hated that. A busted leg was not life-threatening, and he would hate a lot of commotion made in his behalf.

  Shortly before the crew loaded Jason in the ambulance, Stace and Spark had made it around to see what was wrong. Casa filled them in quickly. "We've got to see this show through and do the ranch proud," he concluded. "Then we'll need to go for Jason when the doc is through with him. I'll take care of that."

  Spark shot one quick, keen glance at him, but did not respond directly.

  * * * *

  Two days later, Casa and the other two cowboys sat in the bunkhouse, downing their second cups of morning coffee. The sun had begun to peek over the eastern horizon, tinting a few clouds rose and gold with the first rays. Casa glanced from Stace to Spark, a question in his intent gaze. They both had the grace to look abashed, lowering ebony and bright blue gazes to the bunkhouse floor.

  Although they had been best friends and casual lovers since their high school rodeo days, almost inseparable for more than a decade, the cement of their bond suddenly seemed to be breaking down. Casa struggled with new and troubling notions.

  Since the rodeo, he seemed to have stepped into a leaders
hip role. Jason had limited mobility with a bright blue cast on his leg. He'd be laid up for at least six weeks, which put more work and responsibility on the three lead wranglers, but somehow Casa had become the one giving most of the orders, taking charge in a quiet but competent way. At one time, that role would have probably fallen to Spark, but things had undergone a subtle shift recently. New connections had begun to form, links with such power they had begun to erode the closeness the three buddies shared. Casa had started to exert more leadership and initiative, as Stace and Spark were no longer quite as involved as they had been.

  A pang shot through him. Did his two buddies resent his new status? They didn't seem to, but it still made him uncomfortable, while some added news disturbed him even more. It had become clear Stace's relationship with Jared Langford and Spark's with Lou Vetrano had progressed well beyond casual flings. Of course, that could impact everything.

  Jared was in the process of moving his edu-tainment media firm to Las Cruces, and Lou had bought the Dolan Ranch, a few miles up the road. He'd be coming out from Chicago often to spend time there now, perhaps even relocating soon, too. So how would Stace and Spark progress with their lives? The awareness they might not even be working together much longer felt so strange Casa could hardly grasp the idea.

  "Damn it, guys, what's happening with us? How's Rainbow Ranch going to fare if we aren't the head wranglers anymore? How can we do this to Jason after all he's done for us? I need some answers. It's time you two 'fessed up here. In a few weeks' time, everything's changed."

  "We're still here," Spark protested. "Still doing our jobs same as ever. Yeah, Lou's going to be right up the road, and I'll prob'ly spend some time there, but I haven't served notice to Jason that I'm quitting or anything. For now, I don't plan to."

  Casa looked at the blond Texan, wishing he could see into his friend's mind or heart. While the words sounded good, intuition still told him a lot was not being said. If Spark hooked up with a highly successful and powerful man like Vetrano, Lou was likely to object to sharing Spark's favors with others. Casa didn't have to be a fortuneteller to read that in the cards.