His City-Boy

Chapter One “b****y wombats.” The intense Australian sun broke through the clouds and struck Mitchell across the back, warming his skin even through his thin cotton shirt. His thighs ached as he pushed himself up and out of the crouched position he had been working in, stretching his arms above his head, and enjoying the feeling of blood pulsing through his body. “Ahhh...” He groaned, a joint popping in his spine as he looked down at the fence post he had been mending. The fat creatures burrowed under the wire fences that bordered each paddock and destroyed any chance of keeping the boundary in place. There was a valid reason why Aussies called them “bush bulldozers.” Mitchell pushed the remaining soil around the post in with his booted foot and surveyed his handiwork. No doubt he’d be back tomorrow running fence checks, but at least one section was now done. He picked up the tools he’d brought with him, wrapped them up in a thick piece of leather and placed them into his saddle bags while crooning to his horse. “Good boy, Rain. We’ll go home for a drink of water now, hmm?” He’d brought a water bottle for himself and poured some into his hand and held it beneath the black stallion’s mouth. Rain lapped at it happily and Mitchell poured the final bit into his hand for the horse. He knew he should have brought more but hadn’t anticipated being gone from the farmhouse for so long. “Good boy,” he praised the stallion before putting the bottle back into the side pocket, placing his foot into the stirrup and hoisting himself up onto the animal’s back. He settled into the saddle, the move as natural and as comfortable as breathing. He gripped the reins with his left hand and clicked his tongue at the horse. “Let’s go.” The stallion trotted on and Mitchell leaned back in the saddle, giving the horse his head, confident he knew his way home. The sting in his cut hand began to throb in reminder, so Mitchell leaned forward and squeezed his thighs. Rain surged forward into a canter and he rode with the wave of movement beneath him. They cantered over the hills, the grass lush and green in the paddocks to the right. The land to the left had little forage left as it had been filled with beef cattle for a while now. They needed to move the steers tomorrow or the next day. Rotating them around allowed the grass to rejuvenate and give the soil a rest. He leaned further forward encouraging the horse into a gallop when he saw the house, the wind whipping his shoulder-length hair behind him as his heart beat harder in excitement “Hey, Blue!” Mitchell’s boss called out with a raised hand as he neared the stables and slowed the horse down, rubbing a hand down Rain’s sweaty neck. “Hey, Donner.” James Donner was a good boss and a real, true-blue Aussie jackaroo who had worked his way up to having one of the largest beef cattle stations in Australia. He was someone Mitchell looked up to and had plans to emulate one day. Mitchell dismounted and led the horse around the small nearby paddock to let him safely cool down before leading him into the stables and over to the water bucket. The horse ducked his head and began slurping at the clean water. “Sorry, boy.” The poor horse was extremely thirsty, and he’d kept him out too long. A heavy twinge of guilt caught Mitchell in the side. Mitchell unsaddled Rain quickly, ignoring the pain in his palm and led him into his stall. He took the electrolyte bottle and poured some into the horse’s water before adding some hard feed and lucerne hay into his feeding trough. “How’d the repairs to the fence go?” Donner asked, coming up to stand beside Mitchell, his massive arms folded across his solid beer belly. Mitchell shrugged and met the steady green gaze. The cut in his hand throbbed harder now that he was finally standing still. “Not bad.” He lifted his right hand and pushed aside the piece of b****y material he’d wrapped around it. Lovely, he thought as he inspected the gash along his palm. It had stopped bleeding quickly but was open at the sides like a grotesque eye. “That looks like it needs stitches.” Unfortunately, Mitchell thought so too, but he hated getting sewn up with a vengeance. “Nah, just those butterfly clip things. Do you mind if I go up to the house and clean it up?” Donner shook his head forcefully. “Not at all. Go. I’m eating up at the house tonight, but I think your dinner will be ready in half an hour or so.” Mitchell nodded his thanks and headed up to the main house. He and the other two workmen lived in another smaller house close to the sheds. It was simple, but clean and free. He stepped onto the gravel path, admiring the rose beds as he walked. Donner had been alone as long as Mitchell had worked for him, but someone had planted those roses a long time ago. It always struck Mitchell as odd, but Donner even paid a gardener now and then to look after them. The men said Donner had been married once, but there were no photos inside the house, and he wore no ring. It was only speculation as their fifty-something year old boss never said anything and no one was brave enough to ask. He slipped off his dirty work boots and used his left hand to open the door. It was a little awkward now that fatigue was setting in, but he managed, and he moved into the large downstairs bathroom. The vision in the mirror was not a pretty one and he told himself so. “Looks like you’ve been dragged through a bush backwards.” His long, red hair stuck out at odd angles and his face had gotten too much sun. His awful orange freckles looked like they were on fire. f**k. He’d taken his Akubra off while working on the fence and hadn’t put it back on until he’d finished. That wouldn’t happen again. “i***t,” he chastised himself as he unwrapped the dirty bandage and threw it in the bin. He opened the top drawer and pulled out the plastic butterfly clips. Perfect. Now to clean it. Mitchell turned on the taps and adjusted the temperature. He watched for a moment as the steam rose and braced himself. He took a quick breath, scrubbed the wound with soap and pushed his right fist beneath the gushing hot water. “f**k!” he swore, knives of agony crippling his arm muscles. He withstood the searing pain for another few seconds before pulling it back out and examining the now clean gash. He should probably get some metho or something, but couldn’t be bothered to go searching for it. At least that got all the dirt out. “Need some help there?” A smooth, deep voice made Mitchell jump and he whirled around to see someone who was clearly a city boy standing in the doorway. Mitchell stared, the pain in his hand disappearing as his blood ran south. The man in front of him was delicious. Straight brown hair, green eyes and the most amazing mouth Mitchell had ever seen. The man c****d an eyebrow and ran an assessing eye over Mitchell. “Can I help?” Mitchell shook himself and grabbed a clean towel hanging from the rack. He pressed the towel to his dripping wet hand and hissed a little. “Nah, I’m fine, thanks.” The vision in tight blue jeans and white cotton shirt stepped forward and picked up the butterfly tapes from beside Mitchell. As the stranger moved again, Mitchell inhaled the spicy scent of his cologne and groaned from the pain in his groin. It had been far too long since he’d gotten laid. “Show me,” the man demanded, his tone brooking no argument as he tore open the packaging and held the tape ready. Mitchell pulled the towel away from his hand and held it out, watching the man’s eyebrows fly up in surprise. “You sure you don’t need stitches?” he asked as he placed the tape on one side of the cut and pulled the flesh together before sticking the other side down. His hands were soft, not like Mitchell’s own callused ones. Definitely a city boy. Mitchell shrugged, trying for nonchalance when it was the last thing he was feeling. Those hands may be soft, but they looked strong and moved with confidence. “I hate stitches.” The man took up another plastic butterfly and stuck it next to the first. “Yeah, but they say chicks dig scars.” He looked up and smiled, the effect of those brilliant white teeth enough to make Mitchell fall back a little against the sink. Wow. “You okay?” the guy asked, stepping closer, making it even harder for Mitchell to think. He shook his head to clear the fog. “Yeah, fine. What did ya say?” The brunet took one more butterfly clip and placed it next to the second one. “I said, chicks dig scars.” Mitchell huffed in response, unable to laugh when he was enduring both the pain of the injury and the proximity of this hot male. He may as well be honest. If the guy was a homophobe then at least he’d leave Mitchell alone and he could breathe once again. It was a risk to expose his secret, but he was feeling reckless with hormones and fearlessness. “I’m not really into chicks, if you get my drift.” The hot guy’s head shot up and Mitchell got his first real look into those amazing green eyes, which seemed a little familiar. They were almost yellow at the centre, giving him the look of a wild cat. “Me neither...” he replied, rubbing his thumb gently over the fleshy part of Mitchell’s hand that wasn’t cut and causing fissions of awareness to sparkle and slide across his skin. “I’m Jayden by the way. Jay,” the hot guy introduced himself, and Mitchell swallowed hard, withdrawing his hand that was now tingling as well as throbbing. He reached for a rolled-up bandage and took the single clip off so that he could unwind it. He’d need it to keep the dirt out. “I’m Mitchell, but everyone calls me Blue.” Jay’s eyes roamed up to Mitchell’s long red hair and he ran his left hand self-consciously through it, hoping to tame some of the wildness he knew would be there. “I can’t imagine why...” Jay drawled, a half-smile curling up his lips. “Do you want some help with that?” He reached for the bandage still in Mitchell’s right hand. Mitchell shook his head and stepped back. He couldn’t stay in this small, confined space with this guy much longer. “Thanks for your help, Jayden, but I’ve gotta clean up and change for dinner.” Jay took a large step back and air whistled into Mitchell’s lungs, the relief sweetly painful. “No stress.” Jay mock saluted, turned on his polished black heel and walked away. Mitchell concentrated on wrapping the bandage around his throbbing palm and neatly strapped it up. Then a strange wave washed over him, and he sagged against the sink. What the hell had just happened? No time to think about it. He needed to get moving. He turned around to scoop up the small papers littering the bench and another wave of shock washed over him. Oh my God! With shaking hands, he tossed the pieces of paper and plastic in the small bin and walked out of the bathroom and back to the door where his boots sat. There was no sign of Jayden, or Jay, anywhere. Where was he? And more importantly, who was he? Mitchell opened the door once again with his awkward left hand and pulled on his boots. He couldn’t have imagined a gorgeous brunet come to nurse him... could he? Chuckling a little at his own stupidity, Mitchell made his way down to their small house and opened the door, the smell and sizzle of sausages filling the room. “Lachie’s turn to cook again?” He looked at Dazz, the guy sitting on the couch with a beer, who smiled in greeting. “Yeah, of course. Who else cooks that s**t?” Mitchell laughed and moved forward, grabbing a beer out of the small fridge they had in the sitting room and plonking himself down in the armchair at the end of the row. “How’d everything go with the delivery today?” he asked Dazz, who with Lachie, had received and tagged a hundred head of sheep today. Their boss was diversifying. Dazz, who was about thirty, with wiry, tight muscles and a black beard, shrugged and guzzled some more beer. “Not bad.” Mitchell drank his own brew, the cold hops settling into his empty belly with a satisfying gurgle. “Dinner’s ready!” Lachie called from the kitchen, so he and Dazz pulled themselves up and moved into the small room. “Thanks.” Mitchell pulled out a chair and sat, grabbing the tomato sauce and squirting it onto a couple of pieces of bread before forking a few sausages and banging them on top. The other men were busy getting their own dinners ready, so Mitchell picked up the first sausage in bread and bit into it, the hot juice running down his chin as the explosion of flavour hit his tongue. He moaned appreciatively, chewing and swallowing quickly so that he could get more into his belly. “Hey, boys.” Donner’s voice echoed around the room and they all turned to see the boss enter with gorgeous Jayden on his heels. Mitchell swallowed the last bite of his first sausage and grabbed for his beer to wash it down. Jayden looked even more attractive now that he could think and see straight. “Guys, this is my son Jayden. He’s visiting for a couple of weeks. Jay, the guys.” What the f**k? Jayden is Donner’s son? Oh, f**k! He better not say anything! “Hey.” Jayden raised a hand and nodded, his eyes straying to Mitchell’s, the amusement behind them clear. Aw, crap. Mitchell nodded his head in greeting, his gut now tight and uncomfortable. Did Donner know he had a gay son? And was Jayden’s behaviour in the bathroom a come-on? Mitchell was twenty-three. He’d had a few lovers in his time and knew when a guy was interested. By the smile in Jayden’s eyes and from what had been said in the bathroom, Jayden seemed interested, but Mitchell sure as hell wasn’t going to set himself up for that sort of arse kicking. No one in their right mind would go after the boss’s son and Mitchell was sure all of his brain cells were still in working order.