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facial features had a horse face or anything, but the look the man gave him said that was how he took it. “Listen, Creed, I’m sorry about all this. Judge Dickhead isn’t usually such a hard-ass. We’ll get this straightened out and I’ll get you home to Texas. In the meantime, I guess I could use someone to help me out. My stables are a mess. The judge was right. I’ve ignored my horses. I’ve got a couple of mares in brood. And I fired my foreman in May. I pay pretty good. And room and board I guess for you and your horse. It’s not a big-ticket win, but it should equal out in the end, you know.”
    Creed stood in the room, watching him with those eerie eyes as Eli raced and stammered his way through that speech. He tapped his beat-up hat against his leg. Damn, why didn’t he say something instead of staring at him like that? Eli felt the weight of Creed’s gaze burrowing into his brain, clawing and digging a hole through his confidence with every second that passed. “Wyoming,” he said finally as he tossed his hat on the dresser beside an ancient television set.
    “Okay … What?” Eli’s whirling thoughts came to an abrupt halt with that one little word.
    “I’m from Cheyenne, Wyoming, not Texas. Just because we met in Texas doesn’t mean I’m from there. But you didn’t even know my last name until this morning, did you?”
    Eli started to deny the accusation; he even opened his mouth to tell Creed how full of shit he was, but damn, he wasn’t. “I never got past your pussy first name to even consider that you might have a last name. And what the hell did it matter where you were from?”
    “You have got to be the most self-centered person I have ever met, Eli. How could you not remember my name? Is that even possible? Of course this is Elijah Mason we’re talking about: selfish, egotistical, prick. You made me your enemy and you can’t even remember my last name,” Creed more or less snarled, his fingers shaking as he started pulling at the little pearl snaps on his plaid shirt, and Eli forgot to think of a comeback when he tossed the beer-soaked garment on the floor near the bathroom door. All that golden skin, smooth and freckle free and … fuck.
    “But now I do know your last name. Dick-son … seems so fitting a pussy last name to go with your pussy first name,” Eli said to cover the moment of stunned silence. He smiled, knowing what he’d look like to the other man, and was rewarded with a flash of anger in those haunting eyes.
    “If only I could wipe that shit-eater grin off your face, Eli, I would. Can’t stand you. Never could. I’d rather eat dirt than work for you, but since I have no choice until your godfather decides you’ve been punished enough, then I’ll do it. Stay the hell away from me and maybe we’ll get through this.” Creed reached down, tugged off a boot, and tossed it beside the bed, and the only thing Eli noticed was the black band around his ankle and the hole in the toe of his sock. When the other boot hit the floor Creed turned and went into the small bath and closed the door, leaving Eli standing there feeling like a fool.
    Creed hated him. Really hated him. Eli had never considered that in all these years. But there it was, clear as day in Creed’s eyes. Pure, unadulterated hate. Somehow, after all these years of letting the kid get to him, he’d thought maybe it was all a game. Now he knew. For Creed this had never been a game. For him this was war. But then again, this had always been war, hadn’t it?
    Eli turned slowly and closed the door behind him.

Chapter 3
    The linen in the small bathroom closet had a mild perfumey odor indicating they’d been washed sometime recently. Creed pulled out a large towel and went to the shower. He hadn’t grabbed his toiletry kit, but right now all he wanted was to stand under a steaming hot shower. His neck ached like a bitch from sitting against a hard wall all night. Sleeping sitting up was always hell, but