The Tracker Claims the Cutie [Rescue for Hire West 2] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove) Read online

  Rescue for Hire West 2

  The Tracker Claims the Cutie

  Welcome to Rescue for Hire West, a team of specialists ready to take on America’s rugged west to rescue victims in trouble. The first time Tristen Earl visited his brother, the team’s tracker, Santos Elbarize, watched the flirty man entice the entire team with his charms. By the time Santos had warned the other men away, it was too late and Tristen was gone. Now Tristen’s back and heading toward the cook’s rooms. Santos has other ideas.

  For Tristen Earl, finding men to warm his bed isn’t a problem. Finding one who wants a forever is a whole different matter. Desperate and lonely, he sneaks into his brother’s home ready to throw himself at a man he’s shared one mediocre kiss with. What Tristen encounters is a big Brazilian who announces Tristen is his, before throwing him over his shoulder and taking him to his bedroom. Can Santos convince Tristen they are true partners while surviving forest fires, and rescuing accident victims?

  Genre: Alternative (M/M, Gay), Contemporary, Western/Cowboys

  Length: 26,732 words

  THE TRACKER CLAIMS

  THE CUTIE

  Rescue for Hire West 2

  Bellann Summer

  EVERLASTING CLASSIC

  MANLOVE

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Everlasting Classic ManLove

  THE TRACKER CLAIMS THE CUTIE

  Copyright © 2015 by Bellann Summer

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-63259-722-9

  First E-book Publication: September 2015

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All art and logo copyright © 2015 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of The Tracker Claims the Cutie by Bellann Summer from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

  Regarding E-book Piracy

  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

  The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

  This is Bellann Summer’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Bellann Summer’s right to earn a living from her work.

  Amanda Hilton, Publisher

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  www.BookStrand.com

  DEDICATION

  This story is for those who are waiting for someone to come and throw them over their shoulder and take them away.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  THE TRACKER CLAIMS

  THE CUTIE

  Rescue for Hire West 2

  BELLANN SUMMER

  Copyright © 2015

  Chapter One

  Tristen Earl turned the antique brass doorknob until the latch disengaged from the frame. He held his breath thinking words of hope before pushing the front door open. When the hinges of the door remained quiet, Tristen found he could breathe again. His by-the-seat-of-his-pants plans to sneak into the hacienda came into realization as he stepped over the threshold and closed the door, careful not to make any noise. Tristen slipped the emergency door key into his pocket of his shorts. He would return it to its hiding place under one of the front patio stones later.

  Elation kept the creeping exhaustion at bay. Tristen had driven straight through from Texas to Nevada, only stopping for bathroom and snack breaks along the way. Anticipation of being with Garrett McKay had kept him going.

  Okay, if he were honest with himself, he would have to admit that on his last visit to Los Héroes, the kiss he’d shared with Garrett was good, but not great. The sleepless nights, restlessness, and not being able to eat had started when he got home. Images of the men of Los Héroes haunted him. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t stay away. Was it yearning or a magical string pulling him back? He wasn’t sure. Tristen only knew he had to return.

  The soft glow of a nightlight plugged into the wall near the huge stainless steel cooking range helped Tristen navigate through the spotless kitchen. At the edge of the room where the hallway to Garrett’s rooms began, Tristen paused. Closing his eyes, he strained to listen for any sounds. The refrigerator turned on with a sharp click, but nothing else broke the silence.

  Trying to be as quiet as he could, he started down the short hall. Tristen was so ready for someone to love him that he was willing to knock on Garrett McKay’s door and present himself for whatever Garrett wanted.

  Tristen hesitated. After a long moment, he told himself he must have imagined hearing a whisper of movement. A few more careful, quiet steps had him standing in front of the door to Garrett’s bedroom. He had made it.

  After drawing in a deep breath, Tristen held it for a moment before letting his lungs slowly deflate. He shrugged, trying to ease the tension tightening his muscles. This was it.

  An iron band of muscles wrapped around Tristen’s chest, pulling him back against an unyielding body. At the same time, a large hand splayed across his throat, forcing him to lift his chin until his head pressed against a solid shoulder.

  Tristen’s body shook with fear. Never before had he ever been in such a vulnerable position, trapped as he was, with his n
eck arched back exposing his throat.

  “You are in the wrong place, fofinho,” the deep voice with a rich Brazilian accent rumbled in his ear.

  “I wasn’t hurting anyone. I was going to visit Garrett,” Tristen whispered back.

  “Garrett doesn’t need your visit. He is twenty years older than you. You need to be standing at my door,” the voice whispered while the hand on Tristin’s throat tightened.

  “Santos, I don’t think—” The world twisted and tilted as Tristen found himself lifted and slung over Santos’s shoulder.

  “No need to think anymore, fofinho. I will take care of you,” Santos said.

  Tristen struggled to suck air into his lungs with Santos’s solid shoulder jarring his stomach as the big man carried him back down the hall.

  “You can’t just decide to pick me up and take me away.” Tristen objected. Secretly he was thrilled. This was one of the most exciting things that had ever happened to him.

  “It seems that is what I have done,” Santos said. “I think you should be quiet now until we get to my room. You don’t want to wake up the rest of the house.”

  Tristen concentrated on taking shallow breaths and ignoring the blood rushing to his brain until his backside landed with a bounce on a firm mattress. He shook his head, clearing the long strands of blond hair away from his face.

  A glance around showed Tristen a stark room, devoid of personality. A chest of drawers and a dresser with a mirror took up part of one wall, and there was a large pillow lying in one corner. That was all the large room contained except for the king-sized bed he was half reclining on and the gorgeous man leaning against the closed door with his arms crossed over his chest.

  Looks wise, Santos Ebarize was in direct contrast to Tristen. The dark-skinned Brazilian tracker for Rescue for Hire West was six-four with wide shoulders, thick thighs, and long legs. Tattoos covered heavy muscles that Tristen longed to explore. Tristen’s lean body didn’t compare, especially his height, which was five-foot-eight when he lied about the extra half-inch he always tacked on. Tanned by hours out in the sun, Tristen’s skin still paled next to Santos’.

  Santos’s thick black hair was cut close to his head, and a short beard and mustache couldn’t have been more opposite from clean-shaven, long, blond-haired Tristen. Dark brown, almost black, eyes looked at Tristen from under a thick, heavy brow. Tristen’s wide hazel eyes and pouty lips only added to his overall surfer-boy look.

  “Do I have to call anyone and let them know you’re here, fofinho?” Santos asked.

  “No,” Tristen answered. He wasn’t going to tell Santos that, before he had come into the Hacienda, he had called his mother and let her know he’d made it safely. While his brother Jimmy had always been closest to their father, it was their mom who was Tristen’s confidant.

  Muscles rippled under the material of Santos’s thin jeans and T-shirt when he moved forward. “Put that pouting lip away, or I will be forced to take it between my teeth,” Santos said.

  Tristen pressed his lips together and scurried back onto the bed. Santos followed, pressing one knee between Tristen’s legs before coming down onto his forearms next to Tristen’s head.

  “What are you doing?” Tristen asked. Santo’s face was getting closer.

  “It’s time we share our first kiss,” Santos said.

  Tristen put his hands against Santos’s chest, trying to push the man away. Santos didn’t move.

  “Wait,” Tristen said. “When I was here last time, all you wanted to do was talk. What’s changed?”

  Life had been so much fun weeks ago during Tristen’s and his father’s visit. Never before had Tristen flirted so much, as he had with the other members of Rescue for Hire West. He’d exchanged kisses with a few of them, and others had pulled him close against their bodies. Tristen had loved it.

  Except for Santos, the exasperating man wouldn’t cooperate with Tristen’s fun. Instead, he wanted to talk about their childhoods and what Tristen wanted to do with his future. Tristen would be lying if he didn’t admit he had been disappointed that Santos hadn’t tried anything.

  “Before, you were here to straighten things out with your brother,” Santos said, pausing. “Now you’re here to find the man for you.”

  Santos’s sharp teeth began nibbling on Tristen’s lips. Tristen no longer pushed at the wide chest above him. Instead, he clutched the material of the T-shirt between his fingers.

  Santos lifted his mouth a whisper away. “Open for me, querido,” he demanded, the raspy voice making Tristen shiver.

  Tristen parted his lips and let the world faded away. The only thing left was Santos and what his kiss was doing to him. Santos’s tongue swept inside, demanding Tristen’s participation. Their flesh met, dueling in a dance of pleasure. Tristen reached up and brushed his fingertips over the soft strands of Santos’s beard.

  Santos lifted his head, ending the wet kiss. For long moments, Tristen enjoyed looking up at the handsome man while Santos gazed back at him. A wide, rough finger skimmed over the thin skin below one of Tristen’s eyes. When Tristen became tired, dark bruises always formed. He suspected they probably looked almost black by now.

  “You need to get undressed, fofinho. You are tired and need to sleep.”

  Tristen disagreed. He was horny. Lifting his hips the millimeter of space between their bodies, he rubbed his hard prick against Santos’s taut belly. “I don’t feel tired,” he said, using the seductive tone that had men flocking in droves to his side.

  Santos lifted his body away from Tristen far enough to grab the bottom of the loose orange shirt he wore. Without finesse, Santos pulled the shirt over Tristen’s head. If Tristen hadn’t lifted his upper torso and arms, and ducked his head, he would have lost his nose or something else important.

  Shaking the hair out of his face, he glared at Santos. “What the hell, man?”

  Santo’s dark eyes sparkled with merriment, and one corner of his lips turned up slightly as he flicked open the button of Tristen’s bold, flowered shorts. Not bothering to loosen the zipper, Santos pulled the shorts down, taking Tristen’s orange flip-flops with them, and threw them on the floor next to his shirt.

  Left with wearing only a skimpy pair of boy shorts, Tristen decided to go on the offense. Slipping his hands under Santos’s T-shirt, he ran his hands over Santos’s hard abs up to his prominent pecs—lifting the shirt as he explored.

  Tristen zeroed in on Santos’s thick nipples, pinching them and making them stand up proudly. A tattoo covered one pec in a swirling array of reds and shades of black. Tristen thought a chunky gold ring looped through that nipple would top off the magnificent art that continued up over Santos’s shoulder and down his arm.

  One large hand captured both of his. Tristen dragged his gaze away from Santos’s deeply tanned, decorated skin and looked up into dark, smoldering eyes. Without a word, Santos flipped him over onto his side before pulling him back into the hard curve of his body. Santos still held Tristen’s hands. In this position, Tristen felt surrounded, captured, and safe.

  “Go to sleep, fofinho,” Santos ordered.

  Tristen looked up over his shoulder. “What does fofinho mean?”

  In astonishment, Tristen watched Santos’s cheeks take on a red flush. Santos pulled Tristen back tight against his body, forcing him to look away.

  “Go to sleep,” Santos ordered.

  Santos might be big and a bit rough, but Tristen wasn’t a pushover and was known to be pain-in-the-ass persistent. “Tell me what it means,” he said.

  The chest behind his back expanded before Santos sighed loudly. “It means cute, or some would say cutie pie,” he admitted.

  Tristen had to turn that one over in his mind. The prima donna in him liked being complimented. And cute was a compliment. The problem was Tristen wasn’t sure he liked Santos thinking he was cute. He wanted Santos to see him as more. Of course, this didn’t make any sense either, considering he had come to Los Héroes to be with Garrett.

>   Santo gave him a little shake. “You are thinking too hard. Close those beautiful eyes and sleep now.”

  Tristen closed his eyes. The word beautiful had pacified him. He was who he was. On the ranch at home, he tucked his hair under his cowboy hat and wore loose layers of clothing. He presented himself as a rough cowboy who excelled in the skills needed to rope and wrangle cows.

  When the cowboy boots and hat came off, he was sultry, over-the-top Tristen, who mesmerized everyone, man or woman, around.

  * * * *

  Once Santos was sure the little surprise present—the one he had snagged before the others watching from the shadows could snatch him away—was asleep, he slid off the bed and removed his clothes. A soft sigh of relief left his body when he released his straining cock from the confining jeans. How he wanted to lift Tristen’s leg and press his thickness into the paradise he knew was waiting for him.

  He contemplated going out and talking to Roman but then decided tomorrow would be soon enough. Roman was the leader of Rescue for Hire West, a company formed to help people in America’s western states. Be it weather, manmade or natural disasters, the team went in and found those who were lost, injured, or held captive. Each team member used his specialized abilities to do what needed to be done to rescue people in need.

  Earlier, Roman had stood behind Santos and watched Tristen’s feeble attempts at entering the Hacienda and tiptoeing to Garrett’s rooms without making any noise. Santos mentally shook his head. Flip-flops weren’t the best shoes to wear if one wanted to be silent.