Chase the Storm Read Online Free PDF Page B

square ofhay.
    “A flake,” he said, holding it out to me. “When you’re done with that, start mucking the stalls. Wheelbarrow, shovel, and pitchforks are at the end.”
Thenhe was gone again.
    Still unsure of what I was doing, I walked to the closest stall and tossed the flake over the door onto the floor. I worked my way down the aisle, and by the time I was at the end, Chase was at the other end. I heard a clucking sound and saw him leading the first horse that had been given hay fromits stall. He returned a minute later to get the next, leading each horse outside, timing it perfectly so when he got to the last one, the hay was gone. I busied myself getting the stuff to muck the stalls but my eyes kept traveling from my task to Chase. He was dressed in a loose, plaid shirt tucked into a freshpair ofLevi’s, held up bya dark leather belt. I couldn’t help but notice the jeans fit him as well as the day before. His cowboy boots stirred up dust as he walked purposely from one stall to the next. The morning erection I’d woken up with, and never taken care of, began to return, and it took several deep breaths before I was able to concentrate onthe dirtystallinfront ofme.
    “Is that how they muck stalls in Boston?” he asked from the doorway. I glanced up to find himleaningagainst the door, his hands inhis front pockets, his head cocked to the side.
    I had no clue how they shoveled horseshit in Boston, or anywhere else for that matter. I looked at the mostly empty stall and almost full wheelbarrow. I didn’t see the problem. That was what led to me watching himas he scooped the sawdust onto the pitchfork and then shook it back and forth.
    “Sawdust isn’t cheap, so you need to conserve the clean part. Shift out the shit and toss it inthe wheelbarrow. Whenit’s full, there’s a manure pile around the corner out back. If they need more sawdust, there’s some inthe emptystallat the end.”
Once again, he was gone before I could ask himanythingelse.
    I continued down the row of stalls, ignoring my rumbling stomach when breakfast time arrived and went. Chase moved about, occasionally walking through the barn, I thought for no other reason than to check up on me. While he never spoke, I did hear himhumin tune with the country music waftingthroughthe barn.
    After I dumped the last load in the manure pile, I pushed the wheelbarrow back to the barn and added sawdust to the stalls that looked like theyneeded it. Not sure what to do next, I headed for the end ofthe barnto find Chase whenhe appeared around the corner.
He wasn’t alone.
    Towering next to Chase was Admiral, standing perfectly calm and still with a saddle on his back and bridle on his head. The leather reins were in Chase’s gloved hands. Covering his jeans were rust-colored chaps and onhis head was a tancowboyhat.
    “I need to check a fence on the south side. You fix Tantor’s stall door; it’s sticking. Oh, and the saddles in the tack room need cleaning. The supplies are on a shelf. Then make sure everyone is watered and grained for tonight. The amounts are written on a board above the grain bins. I’llbe back bylunch,”he announced smoothly.
Speechless, I watched as he effortlessly swung himself up into the saddle and balanced his weight.
     
“Too bad you don’t ride, city boy,” he snickered as he drew up the reins and tipped his hat to me.
    Following Chase’s cluck and a tug on the reins, Admiral turned toward the big field and then broke into a gallop. Chase’s free arm fell easily by his side, his ass glued to the saddle as he sat tall and moved his hips to matchthe stride ofthe horse.
    The hard-on I’d gotten rid of earlier returned, and I seriously debated running into the house’s bathroomand jerking off to the image of him sitting astride the horse, but decided against it. I still had no idea where Owenwas and didn’t want to get caught and have to explainwhyI was wanking to thoughts of his boyfriend. Hissing at the ache when I moved,