“I told the old man!” Chace Davidson burst out as if to punctuate the slapping of the screen door behind him. On the mark, like a runner about to bolt for the finish line, Chace absorbed the absolute quiet of Trinity March’s spartan kitchen.

The only sounds were the tick of the yellowed plastic clock sitting on the dusty river rock hearth and the unsatisfied swish of the wind outside the cabin windows. The only signs of spring this April were the strong winds that whipped up cold front after cold front.

Trin was sitting at his battered maple table, his big capable hands spreading out the morning paper along with the monthly ranchers’ newsletter. He stared at Chace through cool, smoky quartz eyes, a stillness about him that was predatory.

Chace swallowed, his body quivering with the aftermath of rage from this latest fight with his father, his heart thundering like a stampeding herd of buffalo. In contrast, the kitchen held the hushed quality of a church. Chace was reminded of the jokes some of the hands of the Lazy L made about Trin—that he was so solemn, so reserved and so damn sad he might as well be a monk, especially since the mysterious disappearance of his son.

His son.

Shit.

Chace remembered today’s date before he saw, not coffee sitting on the table in front of Trin, but a juice glass half filled with amber liquid.

He sat, subdued, and couldn’t help but reach out to touch Trin’s hand. At the last moment he stopped himself. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He couldn’t touch Trin freely, as if it didn’t mean something.

“I’m sorry about…” He couldn’t finish. What could he say about Trin’s son? Chace had never met the kid. His disappearance had happened before Trin had come to work on the Lazy L as foreman and Trin never spoke of it. Never. “I’m sorry.”

 Trin reached out without expression, picked up his whisky and sipped. A lock of black hair streaked with a single shot of gray fell into one eye. “I know you are.” His face was as unrevealing as a card shark’s, but his voice was kind, like he was squeezing Chace’s shoulder.

Trin had a way about him. Folks from all over brought him their sick horses and he helped them. Even Adrian, the local vet, marveled at Trin’s gift of healing.

But Trin seemed to lack the ability to heal himself, spending most of his time alone.

“Just what did you tell your father this time?” he asked, probably wondering if he’d have to pull another thorn out of Chace’s paw.

Chace colored. Damn it, he had to pick today of all days to come tromping in on Trin with more of his shit.

Trin took another drink of his whisky, honoring his lost boy in his own quiet way. The silence of the kitchen again struck Chace. Monk. Yeah, he could see why the nickname, even though this man being a monk was a shame.

Trinity was… Breath escaped Chace’s lungs in a rush as he held Trin’s gaze. Trinity March had a certain something extra, a wildness under the skin.

But Trin wasn’t remotely handsome. Though his dark hair would probably feel like heaven, his face was more craggy than good looking and he was twenty years older than Chace’s nineteen. But his silent energy hummed, like a powerful engine waiting to power up. And when they touched lately…

Chace was careful not to touch Trin.

Studying Chace, Trin’s expression softened. “You’re stirred up like the weather outside.”

Chace swallowed. Trin had no idea why and Chace hoped to God he never would. Chace couldn’t lose Trin. He thought he’d die if he couldn’t come to Trin, just be close to him. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I guess bein’ an artist, you need a bigger canvas than the rest of us.” About the only color in Trin’s serviceable cabin came from the glow of Chace’s paintings, landscapes of the ranch or portraits of Trinity. Chace’s favorite was one showing Trinity gentling a sick horse. Everyone had figured that mustang was a goner, but Trin had brought it back, never losing hope or patience when the animal wouldn’t eat.

But Trin had helped more than that horse. He’d been the first to recognize Chace’s yearning to hold a paintbrush. Trin had arranged for secret art lessons in his house on weeknights from a local high school teacher. Chace’s father had other plans for his son, plans that did not include Chace becoming an artist.

Chace swallowed. “I shouldn’t have come this morning. I’m sorry. I know you have your way of remembering Sage.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Trin said, voice husky. “It’s a day for family.”

Chace pulled a small watercolor free from under the newspaper. He’d done it a few years ago after asking Trin about what his son had looked like. Lacking any photographs, Chace had based it on Trin’s looks. Trin hadn’t commented on it, just rolled it up and stuffed it in a drawer, but sometimes when Chace walked into the kitchen, he found Trin holding the portrait, studying it. Trin always put it away without saying anything.

Now Chace studied the shining green eyes of the boy in the portrait. “Did I get Sage right?” he asked, very softly.

Trin wouldn’t meet his gaze. He nodded. “I gave it to Calhoun. It might help find him.”

Chace swallowed. Most of Trin’s money and any holidays he had were always put into looking for his lost son, even after all these years. But Trin didn’t have it in him to give up.

Chace reached out and squeezed Trin’s arm. The small contact shocked. Chace flushed again, feeling stupid. He couldn’t touch Trin lately without making an idiot of himself.

But Trin covered Chace’s hand and, to his surprise, lifted it and put it against his forehead, closing his eyes, breathing deeply. “Christ. I’m glad you’re here, Chace. You’re the only thing… You bein’ on this ranch is what keeps me going.”

“Trin.”

Chace caught a strange image of high stone walls made of yellowish chipped rock like the kind up in the foothills. They surrounded a barren space where nothing moved but tall dead grass. He sensed that dead ground was how Trinity saw himself. He sensed the images were somehow transmitted from…Trin. “No, that’s not you,” he murmured. “I won’t ever let that be you.”

Trin’s eyes widened, his pupils huge like those of a hunting owl. “You can…see me, can’t you?” He didn’t seem to find the idea freaky and impossible. “Of course you can, because you’re my…” He laughed softly. “I’m sorry, that’s not for you to see.”

He began to pull away but Chace gave into his impulsive nature and the knot of empathy in his chest. His chair scraped, loud in the hush of the room. He knelt beside Trin’s chair.

Trin watched him, his lips parted, color touching his cheeks. “Chace…” His name sounded different, rough and sexy. Trin had never said it in quite that tone before. But lately Chace had caught Trin looking at him in a new way, a way that always made his heart pound.

“I’m sorry you’re alone. You need…” But he couldn’t give those bullshit suggestions that Trinity needed to start dating again. Some of the well-meaning women in their community had set him up a few times and Chace had died every time Trin had escorted some woman to a rodeo or to the movies.

Ever since Trinity had come to work here for his father, Chace had felt as if the older man belonged to him, which was crazy.

Chace searched his heart for what Trin needed, but the first answer that popped into his head was me. Yeah, right, he thought ruefully. Not very fucking helpful.

After a million years, Trin reached out and pushed the hair off Chace’s forehead. “Chace.”

He had to clear his throat. “Yeah?”

But Trin just compressed his lips, as if sealing his words inside, keeping them safe. Or was that keeping Chace safe? A trickle of apprehension feathered down his spine even as he touched Trinity’s wrist, curious if he’d see more of the strange images.

“Chace, no!” Trin gasped.

Chace was looking down at his own body, lying on the kitchen table, his hair tangled, his neck arched, his hands digging fistfuls of Trin’s plaid shirt. Trin was fully dressed but Chace was naked. Trin was standing between his spread legs. His big callused hand cupped Chace’s balls, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure.

A hot slap of excitement jolted his body fully awake.

Chace cried out, writhing on the table and Trin laughed. He squeezed again and Chace whimpered, looking up at Trin with absolute trust.

“Dammit!” Trin shoved him. The images vanished like a popped soap bubble.

Chace fell on his ass. Panting, he stared at Trin, unable to process. What the hell?

“Don’t do that,” Trin growled. “Don’t you ever touch me.”

Hurt bloomed like a bloody flower.

He couldn’t look at Trin, didn’t want to see revulsion in those steady gray eyes. Trin must want him gone, out of his house.

The rustle of his clothing and the creak of his bones as he got to his feet screamed in his ears. His face burned.

“Chace, wait!” The chair fell with a clatter. Trin was following him, probably to tell him everything was all right.

“Fuck off!” Chace yelled, frustration boiling up.

“Chace, you don’t understand.” The voice was soothing as Trin reached out.

Chace elbowed Trin.

“Oof!”

Trin was holding Chace so tight that not even a breath of air separated them. The silence of the kitchen gave way to harsh breathing, to wild feeling hanging silent in the room.

“You’re stronger than you look.” Strained amusement in Trin’s voice.

“I’m strong? I can’t break your grip.”

Chace swallowed. Trin hadn’t sounded as if he hated him.

“Chace, I know I fucked up but I need to hear what happened between you and your father.”

Chace frowned, still not ready to look at Trin. “Why would you need to know? I figure it’s a pain in the ass, always hearing about my shit.”

“I’ve stayed here all these years because of you,” Trin said. “He didn’t hit you again?” His voice had gone hard.

Chace met Trin’s steady gaze.

“No.” Not this time. The last time his father had struck him, when Chace was fifteen, Trin had visited the big house. Chace wasn’t sure what he’d done, but Chace’s father had never hit him again. In fact, Alec had avoided him for days after that, taking to drinking alone in his study. He’d acted as if he was afraid to be in the same room with Chace, which was weird.

Trin scrutinized Chace as if looking for bruises.

“Trin, I’m okay.” As okay as he could be, standing so close to what he wanted and knew he would never have.

Trin’s gaze fell to Chace’s mouth.

What would Trin do if Chace stood up on his toes and brought their mouths together?

Trin cleared his throat. “I’ll make you some breakfast. Have you even had coffee yet?”

Chace grimaced. “Your coffee is like tar. I’ll make it, uh…” He looked at that single glass on the table.

“It’s all right. I’m glad you’re here with me,” Trin said. “It’s where you belong.”

Following old habit, Chace rinsed out the old grounds in the metal coffee pot while Trin pulled out a blackened frying pan. Chace went to the fridge and found eggs.

“I got those free run eggs you prefer.” There was no condemnation in Trin’s voice over Chace’s diet, which was something else that Chace’s father couldn’t seem to tolerate in his son.

Alec had once locked Chace in his room and refused to let him eat anything but steak. Chace had chosen to go hungry until Trin had shown up, face as hard as the granite cliffs in the nearby Rockies, and brought him back to his cabin. At first Chace had thought he was going to insist Chace eat meat like his father, but when he’d entered Trin’s kitchen, the counters had overflowed with green vegetables, plus exotic fruits like star fruit, kiwi fruit and passion fruit. There were whole grain breads made with honey, cranberries and nuts. Trin had said he’d done some reading and found out Chace would need to take a good iron supplement and eat beans and nuts to balance his nutrition.

Trin had then gathered the bounty and taken Chace riding in the foothills, managing to grill tofu on a skillet over the fire. The tofu hadn’t been very good—nothing like the fancy vegetarian restaurants in New York Chace had tried whenever he visited his mother’s family—but he’d eaten every bite.

If Chace hadn’t loved Trin before, that afternoon would have cemented it.

Remembering Trin’s acceptance, words fell out. “Trin, I’m gay.”

He waited, heart pounding, gut knotted so he thought he would vomit. He wished desperately he could take those words back. Don’t let Trin turn away, anything but that. Chace could take anything but that.

“I know,” Trin said calmly. He dropped slabs of quivering white tofu into the frying pan, adding teriyaki sauce. He cooked it better than he had at first. He’d bought a vegetarian cookbook, the Moosewood Cookbook, and had even experimented with vegan brownies. “I’ve always known.”

Chace’s eyes stung. He focused on the heap of fresh coffee he was measuring.

Trin gave him a moment while he added parsley to the onions and other good smelling things in the skillet. “Is that what this latest fight was about with your father?”

“No.” He let out a deep breath, still feeling light-headed. If Trin had turned away from him, he’d have wanted to die. “I’m going away, Trin. I’ve booked a ticket to Rome, Italy. You know I’ve wanted to go there for so long, to see the paintings, sculpture. I need… I just have to go.” He desperately needed to get away, to be his own man, to give full expression to his art and also to meet someone. It was time to take care of the embarrassing problem of being a virgin. Time to stop yearning for Trin.

Trin calmly put down his spatula. “So when do we leave?”

Chace blinked. “Huh?”