Chapter Four

Stone thanked the woman behind the counter for his coffee as he picked up the paper sack holding his bear claw. Turning, he headed toward the door of Miss Martha's Muffins. With his mind drifting back to the bears he'd seen—and the one he'd hit—three days before, Stone wasn't watching as he pushed the door open.

The door frame came to a jarring halt as it collided with someone who'd been walking by on the sidewalk outside.

"Damn it," the guy grunted, a noise of obvious pain.

While Stone didn't think he could have hit him that hard, a quick once-over of the man betrayed what had probably happened. The broad-shouldered black man had a cast on his left forearm. His dark brows were furrowed, and a grimace twisted his thick lips.

Realizing the door must have hit the guy's casted limb, Stone winced. "Ah, hell. Sorry about that, man."

Stone glanced at the couple of guys accompanying the man he'd hit, and worry slithered through his gut. They were both big, dark men—over six feet and built like linebackers. If they took offense at his mistake, he hoped they didn't try to kick his ass.

Then Stone felt a little bad about making that assumption, especially when the injured man smiled widely at him and offered, "No worries, man." Holding up his injured arm just a little, he added, "Funny how knocking the damn thing hurts more than when it originally happened." With a shrug, he continued, "Probably just the shock factor."

Stone nodded, surprised to find the guy's deep voice and friendly demeanor pleasing. No one who knew him would ever call him a people person. Even while in the military, Stone kept nearly everyone at a distance. He could count his real friends on one hand.

Except the guy before him, with the warmth filling his deep brown eyes, made Stone think of barbeques and relaxing with a beer together, shooting the shit. He could also see plenty of muscles hidden by the polo shirt the man wore. His calves bulged with definition, and the jean shorts did little to hide his thick thighs. Stone wondered what the man's body would look like nude, maybe oiled up like a bodybuilder's.

Such weird thoughts.

Hearing the coffee shop door's bell ring behind him, Stone moved out of the way of the exiting patron. "Well, uh, sorry again," he stated awkwardly. Indicating with his paper coffee cup, he added, "Hope that heals soon."

Beginning to turn away, Stone wondered at his reaction to the stranger. He couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted to linger in someone's company, leastwise a stranger and a man. Plus, the warmth in his gut unsettled him.

Am I feeling attraction for him?

Stone had accepted blowjobs from guys while in the military. Something about a man in uniform seemed to appeal to certain types of people, and a mouth was a mouth. He'd never thought that made him gay, though, or even bisexual. Stone had never returned the favor, and he'd certainly never wondered what a guy looked like naked or felt like to touch.

Good grief. What the hell's wrong with me?

"Oh, hey." The man gripped Stone's upper arm in a loose hold. "Just a sec. You're Percy, right? Percy Stonewall, but you go by Stone?"

Wariness slammed into Stone. The feel of the man's calloused hand on his arm caused the hairs there to stand on end. Heat radiated from that touch, making his stomach clench oddly.

Narrowing his eyes, Stone peered up to meet the taller, larger man's gaze. "Yeah. I'm Stone." He was damn sure he'd never met this man before, so he didn't ask an inane question like that. Instead, Stone said, "You've obviously asked around about me. You need something?"

As Stone spoke, he twisted his arm slowly, pulling free of the stranger's grasp.

The guy didn't appear offended by Stone's words or actions. Instead, he grinned. "Yeah, I do need something."

Of course he does.

"What?"

As a semi owner, Stone had had people ask for all sorts of things—from him hauling a car for them to letting them borrow his rig for something. He never allowed anyone else to drive his semi, but he didn't mind transporting other people's shit... for the right price.

"I'm Valentine," the man claimed, holding out his right hand to shake. "And I'd really like to take you on a date."

Stone grabbed his paper sack with the hand holding his coffee and took the man's hand on instinct, but upon hearing his request, he froze. Narrowing his eyes, he tipped his head a little. He needed to roll those words over in his mind several times before they made sense.

"I'm sorry," Stone began, confused as hell. "Are you asking me on a date?"

The man—Valentine—nodded, still giving him that wide, megawatt smile. "I am. Are you free for dinner this evening?" Before Stone could reply, he continued, "Or do you like to hike? This spring weather sure is nice, and we could check out one of the hiking trails around here." Valentine didn't give Stone a chance to say anything. Instead, he kept right on talking. "I'm new around here, so if you have a favorite, I'd be game to see it. I could pick you up at four."

Completely blown away, Stone found himself stuttering, "O-Okay."

"Great!" Valentine grinned and squeezed Stone's hand, reminding him that he'd never pulled away after the handshake. While rubbing his thumb over the back of Stone's hand, causing tingles to work up his arm, Valentine stated, "I'll pick you up at four then."

Then, to Stone's great shock, Valentine leaned down the couple of inches and bussed his lips over his temple, kissing him right there in the street. Finally, after giving him another huge smile, Valentine released him and turned.

As Stone watched Valentine and his two friends walk away from him, his brain felt as if it was misfiring because he couldn't resist checking out the big man's surprisingly tight-looking ass.

The honk of a horn in the street jolted Stone out of his stupor.

Stone blinked once, twice, then turned to walk in the other direction, all the while wondering what the hell had just happened.

Did I just agree to a date with a dude?

*

Stone kept his body and mind busy by completing a number of domestic chores he'd been putting off—picking up groceries, cleaning his small cabin, and doing laundry. It didn't completely work, but it was stuff he needed done anyway.

He'd been putting some of it off for a while because the last thing he wanted to do after driving a big loaded logging truck through windy mountain roads was to clean. Most evenings, after a long day behind the wheel, he blew off some steam on his workout equipment, did some stretching, then vegged in front of the boob tube with a meal and a beer.

While Stone would never consider himself a master chef, his mother had made certain he could feed himself.

"Can't have you starving until you find yourself a good woman to take care of you,"she used to say. Then she would wave a wooden spoon at him and add, "And that Army food is crap, and we both know it."

So, a couple of times a week, Stone made a large casserole or slow cooker stew or something that could be divided into several days' worth of meals. He also had a kickass grill on his back patio. There was something so very soothing about enjoying a freshly cooked steak and baked potato amidst the beauty of nature.

"What would Mom think of me going out with a guy?" Stone muttered as he scrubbed the bathroom toilet. "What the hell was I thinking?"

Truth was, Stone knew he hadn't been thinking. As his mother would say, he'd been flabbergasted. Hearing Valentine's request, Stone hadn't known what to think or say.

Completing his task, Stone rose to his feet and began putting away his supplies. "I'll just have to set him straight when he gets here."

Stone certainly didn't want to lead the big guy on. That would be a dick move. Even though Stone didn't consider himself the nicest guy around—he had too many selfish, loner tendencies for that—he wasn't an asshole.

As Stone dried his hands and started for the shower, another thought struck him. "I didn't give him my address," he mused. "How the hell does he expect to pick me up? And he doesn't even have my phone number to call me and ask." Slowly, Stone peeled his dirty clothes from his body, tossing them into his laundry basket. "There's something really hinky about all of this."

Figuring time would answer his questions, Stone headed into the shower and scrubbed up. He kept it short and utilitarian. After rubbing himself down with a towel, he padded nude into his bedroom.

Stone stared into his closet, then rolled his eyes. "Not a date. Not a woman," he reminded himself and turned to his dresser.

After slipping on a pair of briefs, Stone grabbed a pair of older, comfortable jeans. He chose a t-shirt and pulled a long-sleeved flannel over it, leaving it unbuttoned. Socks and hiking boots finished his outfit.

Then Stone went to his safe and opened it. He took out the ankle holster and pistol. Kneeling, he strapped it to his leg and positioned his jeans over it.

I don't know this man. Never can be too careful.

Seeing he had a good ten minutes before Valentine was supposed to arrive, Stone headed to his kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of iced tea and headed to his front deck. After settling on the porch swing, Stone rested one foot on the railing and started himself moving.

Stone popped the cap off his tea and settled in to wait while enjoying the warm late afternoon weather. He'd made it halfway through his tea when the sound of a throaty engine teased his ears. Cocking his head, he listened and waited, getting the impression that more than one vehicle approached.

A few seconds later, Stone's suspicions were confirmed. Three motorcycles appeared around a curve in the road and began slowing. The first bike—what appeared to be an older model, comfortable-looking Honda Goldwing—was driven by Valentine. The other two men from earlier drove the motorcycles flanking him.

Stone would be embarrassed if anyone pointed out that he was staring. Except, he was. He couldn't seem to yank his attention away from the big man driving the powerful machine. The guy wore a black half-helmet, a black leather jacket, and dark-blue jeans. It really wasn't anything special. When Valentine began slowing the machine and spotted him on the porch, he grinned broadly.

Stone felt the look like a sucker-punch to the gut, and his pulse kicked up.

Gee-zus.

Giving himself a mental smack upside the head, Stone rose to his feet. He set his tea on the railing and eyed the trio. Silence took over as all three turned off their machines.

"Hi, Stone," Valentine greeted, swinging off the Goldwing, the move accentuating his long, thickly muscled legs. "Hope you're having a good day."

"Was my day off, so... cleaning and other chores," Stone replied. As Valentine started toward him, a big smile on his face, he knew he had to set the guy straight. "Look, man, I think maybe you got the wrong idea about me." Stone lifted a hand, palm out in placation. "I've nothing against two guys together or whatever. What people do in their relationships is their own thing, but I'm not gay." Seeing Valentine pause at the bottom of the two steps that led to the ground and cock his head as he looked up at him, Stone quickly added, "Hell, I don't even consider myself bisexual. Never been attracted to a guy before."

Valentine shrugged and grinned before bounding up the steps to stand before him. "Until now, you mean."

Confused, Stone blurted, "What?"

Taking Stone's lifted hand in his good one, Valentine stated, "You said you'd never been attracted to a guy before. Until now." He squeezed Stone's palm before using his thumb to massage it, causing tingles of awareness to trickle up his arm. "You've never been attracted to a guy before now." With a roguish wink, Valentine claimed brazenly, "Because I know you're attracted to me."

With his body reacting to Valentine's nearness and touch—albeit sluggishly and with confusion—Stone wasn't certain what to say to that... because it was true.

Except—"How do you know?"