Rough Rider Quotes

Seriously? There was a condom brand called Rough Rider? Why not just go with F**k Her Hard and be done with it?

Jack: "For Christ's sake, it wasn't like I was on vacation. I've been in Iowa, in cornfield hell! Keely: Did you just say you got cornholed in Iowa?

You actually fucked her? What, did her forked tongue feel exceptionally good on your dick or something?" —Keely to Jack after meeting his ex-girlfriend.

Sometimes you're so nice, I can't believe I ever hated you." —Keely to Jack

No one can make you feel inferior without your permission.

I half expected you to whip out your dick and pee on me as you snarled at him and marked your territory.

Umm. Wow. Did it grow? Because it looks bigger." "Kissin' your red-hot love flower made this stem grow big and hard just for you, baby doll." AJ managed to meet his eyes. "Love flower?" "Thought maybe you wanted some kinda sweet-talkin' love words first.

You're playing with fire askin' that question, darlin'." "Why's that?" "'Cause my very explicit answer would make you blush like a virgin and run screamin' for the Black Hills.

Let me grab my toothbrush and toothpaste and I'll go. Get your eyes off my junk and you'll see that I have your toothbrush and toothpaste in my hand. Oh shit. She raised her gaze only high enough to see, yes indeed, Chase was holding her oral hygiene supplies.

Trojan, Durex, Lifestyles, Trojan Magnum (oh yeah, my three foot cock definitely needed those), Contempo, Vivid and Rough Rider. Seriously? There was a condom brand called Rough Rider? Why not just go with Fuck Her Hard and be done with it? I stood in the "Family Planning" aisle of the grocery store, trying to decide which condom brand was more effective. Family Planning…give me a break. How many people came to this aisle because they were planning a family? They came to this aisle to AVOID planning a family. --Carter

Now we do what parents with little kids do. We fall into bed, exhausted, with thoughts of raunchy, hot sex the furthest thing from our minds.” “That’ll work. But if you snore, I’m punching you in the nose.

I missed you, you dickhead. I missed you so goddamn much. Don't you ever ever ever take off and leave me like that again, do you hear me?

Back off, perv! I have a black belt in taekwondo and I will fuck you up if you take another step toward me.” Chase raised his hands in surrender, trying really, really hard to keep his eyes on hers. “Whoa, there, crouching tiger. Let’s just take this down a notch.

She’d rather be anonymous in a big city than infamous in a small town.

You ever heard the phrase 'nice guys finish last'? It's true. Been true my whole life. So, maybe it'd be nice for me for a change, if someone thought I was worth fightin' for.

That I’m gonna have your sweet little body every which way I’ve fantasized about? Absolutely. That I’m make you forget any other man who’s ever touched you? Without apology. That I’m gonna cause your body to sing and sigh and weep with pleasure? Guaranteed. That I’d ever hurt you? No. That I’d ever share you? Bring another lover into our bed? Hell no. Fuck no.” His lips were a whisper away; his eyes flashed a dangerous glint. “You’re only ever mine. My hands on you. My mouth on you. My cock in you. Understood?

And if you share that humiliation, there’s the chance the person will use it against you at the first opportunity. Or they’ll cut you out of their life entirely. So how do you ever trust someone? Without giving them the power to destroy you?

Channing, come back here.” “No,” she tossed off over her shoulder. “I’m warnin’ you, girl, you don’t want to make me mad.” “Tough shit, tough guy. Suck it up and walk it off.” People around them stopped and stared, nudged each other and chuckled, giving Colby a wide berth. “Last chance,” he yelled. Channing flipped him the bird without turning around. In fact, she ran away from him like her boot heels were smoking. He was going to paddle that sassy little ass but good.

Should I tell her that I can’t sleep, I can’t eat and I miss talkin’ to her? Or just sittin’ with her? That I miss the secret way she smiles at me? That I constantly think about the way she smells, the taste of her mouth, the feel of her skin, and the sound of her laughter?

I know it’s stupid, but I’m just so crazy in love with her I wanted everyone to know it. To see how lucky I am. To brag that this…perfect woman is mine. That she picked me. That she loves me.” “What do you care that the whole world knows that?” Colt said. “Jeez, Carter, the only important thing is you know.” Colby and Cord both gave Colt an odd look.

It was a pleasure to deal with a man of high ideals, who scorned everything mean and base, and who possessed those robust and hardy qualities of body and mind, for the lack of which no merely negative virtue can ever atone.

Kiss me. I love the way you kiss me. Like I'm the only thing in the world. When I'm kissin' you, sweetheart you are the only thing in my world

I'd feed you the cake just to watch your lips wrap around the fork. Then I'd watch your beautiful throat muscles work swallowing the sticky sweetness, fantasizin' about smearin' chocolate frosting down your neck so I could lick it off. Slowly. And when I finished feedin' you, I'd press my mouth to yours for a thorough taste of you and the cake.

Lord, I’m gettin’ addicted to your kisses, AJ. I feel plain, damn drugged when you’re kissin’ me. I feel plain, damn lost myself when you ain’t around.

A dirty and mean sense of humor first thing in the morning. I may learn to like you yet.

At the very least he should have to suffer somehow, right? I mean, months of being sick, being hormonal, being fat, being so desperately horny and then wanting to chop off Brandt's hand or his dick if either so much as touched me again.

Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out. Literally. It might fall and crush you.

You looking for a firsthand demonstration of my heterosexual prowess, cowgirl? Because I'm more than up for a challenge.

God, she loved this man. She loved his gruff, sweet, thoughtful sides. And his edgy side. She wasn’t in love with the perfect Cord McKay she’s been fantasizing over forever, but the real flesh and blood man. The real man. Flaws and all.

Right now, AJ. I wanna pin you against the wall and fuck you hard enough to rattle the stalls. Then I want to bend you over the railing’ and take you from behind, sinkin’ my teeth into that spot at the base of your neck that makes you scream my name.” AJ swallowed. “Um. Let’s start with just one and work our way down the wish list, okay?

Depends on if this is an ass chewing session or a rational discussion. I've had enough shit flung at me today that I'm feeling like a monkey.

That bitch fate had a nasty sense of humor.

You shouldn't ask questions like that, sweetheart. You'll never get the truth out of a man with a hard-on.

Why the fuck would I marry you? I don't even like you.

Not until Theodore Roosevelt resigned his prestigious position as assistant secretary of the navy in 1898 to fight with the Rough Riders in the Cuban dirt would there be a rich man as weirdly rabid to join American forces in combat as Lafayette was. The two shared a child’s ideal of manly military glory. Though in Lafayette’s defense, he was an actual teenager, unlike the thirty-nine-year-old TR.

Credit should go with the performance of duty, and not with what is very often the accident of glory.

I'm here. Right here, right beside you where I've always been and where I'm always gonna be. I ain't goin' nowhere. I love you. Come back to me. Please.

You told me, girlfriend. Will your boyfriend be jealous we're tossing bitchy banter back and forth?

I’d rather be alone and be happy with my own company than be somebody I’m not so I can fit in with people whose company I despise.

Why, Jack-off... You actually have a sense of humor! You should share that playful side more often. Guys really go for it.

Everyone who was ever a guest of Theodore Roosevelt was astonished at the range and diversity of his knowledge. Whether his visitor was a cowboy or a Rough Rider, a New York politician or a diplomat, Roosevelt knew what to say. And how was it done? The answer was simple. Whenever Roosevelt expected a visitor, he sat up late the night before, reading up on the subject in which he knew his guest was particularly interested.

It's hard to have a serious conversation with you when you're wearin' lighted cocks on your head." AJ defiantly thrust out her chin and the penises bobbled. "We aren't having a conversation. You're give me tough-guy attitude. If you won't acknowledge me in public, you don't have the right to chastise me for anything I do in public or in private. And now you lost the right to do anything to me in private either, bucko." "Quit bein' so goddamm childish." Her eyes narrowed to silver slits. "Quit bein' such a goddamn dickhead." "You're the one with dicks on your head, baby doll." "Yeah? I can take mine off any old time I please, but you wear your dickhead like a second skin. Or should I say as a second foreskin?

I love you, Caro. I ain't an easy man to love. I'm grateful every damn day that you see past what's on the surface and know the man I am down deep. It's never scared you - even when it's scared me. You give me more happiness and love in one day than I ever thought I'd have in a lifetime. Thank you.

Her skin beaded from his steady, gentle touch.

Every woman wants a cowboy.

Then there was Micah Jenkins, the Captain of Troop K, a gentle and courteous South Carolinian, on whom danger acted like wine. In action he was a perfect gamecock.

Cause you got the sweet face of an innocent and the body of a high-priced whore.

Your father would never hurt me. Fighting revs him up. I know how to handle him and what he needs.

Yeah. But it feels like I've been waitin' for her forever.

A sitting president—the man who led the Rough Riders on a suicidal charge, who hunted bears, who had conquered a crippling childhood illness, who had beaten depression and grief and a million other obstacles—was scared of what people might think.

You're about to meet the business end of my shotgun, comin' on McKay land and insulting me and mine.

Most of the men had simple souls. They could relate facts, but they said very little about what they dimly felt.

Again, it was proposed that we should go up the mountains and make our camps there.

You are so bossy, Mr.McKay.

They included Lieutenant Colonel Theodore Roosevelt and his Rough Riders,

And then…he cupped her face with both hands, lowered his own and paused. Hesitated. His mouth hovering a hair's breath away. His soft, warm breath caressing. Teasing. And she held her own. Waiting. Willing him to commit himself while the kiss hung between them, a sweet promise suspended in time.

There are lay ers to loving me. In the beginning, I am quite easy to love. My surface is smooth, my smiles tender. But as time undresses, my insides are revealed to be rough and ragged. It will become awfully difficult to love me. At times, borderline impossible. Many have left; for people would rather see a car accident unfold from afar, than be the shotgun rider. Until you. Only you can see all you see, know all you know about me, and still look at me like this.

Love...love is the only thing that doesn't hurt. So many people are afraid of it. I think I was five years ago. Afraid that loving you would hurt me, one way or the other. But love doesn't hurt. Abuse hurts, and loneliness hurts, and jealousy hurts, and lies hurt. But love? Love heals. Love puts back together things that were broken before. Which is what you've done for me. So promising you, that's easy. I don't want to be anywhere else but with you. No matter what.

Like you were a work of art that I wanted to lock away because no one would ever appreciate your rare beauty like I would?

We did everything possible to keep up the spirits of the men, but it was exceedingly difficult because there was nothing for them to do.

What will your family think, me showing up on their doorstep with my suitcase in hand?" "I'll carry your suitcase," he said.

your

Of course, really, those that stayed were entitled to precisely as much honor as those that went.

The amazing thing about being a bike rider is that you always know from the first turn of the pedals what sort of a day you are going to have.

I was going to say I don't have a way into the house, but I have you." She grinned. "Oh Master of lock picking.

Claiming her as his. He was rough, demanding and possessive. He wanted her to feel his brand of love. Complete. Encompassing. Reverent. Carnal.

Oh yeah?” Grady pulled out another chuck of wintergreen Skoal and stuffed it under his lower lip. “There ain’t a bull in the world that can’t be rode, sweetheart—” “Or a cowboy that can’t be throwed,” Janice finished with a smirk of her own. Although one of the top contenders, Grady needed to be taken down a peg or two and Janice hoped Dirk would be the one to do it. -ROUGH RIDER

Then imagine”—he told her, pushing harder, half hoping she shoved him off and walked away, half hoping she told him to take her right then—“because I talk as dirty as I fight, and I fuck as hard as I play.

The cat purred and stared at him. "You like that idea, don't you? Yes, you do, kitty kitty." "You are totally cooing at my cat right now." "Am not" "It's turning me on." "I'm totally cooing at your cat.

As the room slowly empties, the adrenaline drains from me, leaving me exhausted and discouraged. One thing they never tell you about this job is how much it’s like your first roller-coaster ride—thrilling highs, lows lower than a snake’s belly. Then it’s just me, staring at the Rough Rider portrait above the fireplace and hearing footsteps as Carolyn, Danny, and Jenny gingerly approach the wounded animal in the cage.

His lips brushed over hers. She let out a sigh of relief and joy and pleasure. He pulled her tighter against him, taking her mouth with his own. She melted into him and the kiss, heart pounding, desire sparking along her nerve endings like a string of lit dynamite.

You’re going to let me fuck you with my hands. You’re going to let me fuck you with my mouth. You’re going to let me fuck you with my cock.” He paused. “You’re going to let me fuck you with any other random thing I decide will bring you screaming orgasmic pleasure.

(Speaking about ponies engaging in a game of running around and chasing a ball with "imaginary riders") Along with everything else about it, it seemed to be a parable for life. Going forwards and backwards and round in circles, striving ever forward only to have to run like crazy backwards to get the ball again, realizing that your enemy is after the same goal and you're actually helping him toward it and getting roughed up and possibly killed while you're at it but still feeling the comradeship of being in the game all together.

Hell...” His voice was thick, rough. “Mallory, you’re...” “What?” I whispered, feeling my body burn for two very different reasons. “You’re beautiful.” His gaze dipped, tracking the lacy edges of the bra. “Never thought I’d see you like this. So freaking glad I have. You’re so beautiful, Mallory.

Maverick texted her throughout the day making sure she was okay, and who knew that the word fuck could sound so sweet? I'm fucking worried about you. He'll fucking pay if he hurts you. IS IT 5OFUCKINGCLOCK YET? That one came complete with a winky face.And when a big tough biker dude sent you shouty caps and a winky face, it could make you smile.

Hank Knight asked questions about Jesse Rose and an item that was taken from her crib the night she was kidnapped. His questions led our lawyer to believe Hank had knowledge about the crime and possibly where Jesse Rose is now. I think he got too close to the truth. Too close to the kidnapper's accomplice. And if I'm right then you can help me prove it.

I ended my statement to the colored soldiers by saying: "Now, I shall be very sorry to hurt you, and you don't know whether or not I will keep my word, but my men can tell you that I always do;" whereupon my cow-punchers, hunters, and miners solemnly nodded their heads and commented in chorus, exactly as if in a comic opera, "He always does; he always does!

Lord, I don't know what came over me, sweetheart. I hope I wasn't too rough with you." He inched her away from him and searched her rosy face. "Stop babbling, Mr. Sinclair. I loved every minute of it." Her lips curved in a seductive smile that made Rider's Mr. Happy rear to attention again. "Lord, woman, you keep this up and I'm going to die a young man." "But a very,very happy young man!

When I was a kid an older guy sat out front of a gas station in Old Town, FL. His favorite story involved roughing up a couple of guys because "you could tell they weren't from around here." The gruesome details were implied as he'd pull out a straight razor and a plastic bag containing Red Devil lye. "Deliverance", the end of "Easy Rider", and every "wrong turn" horror movie would later make more sense because of those childhood stops for gas and a Yoo-hoo.

Major General Leonard Wood Leonard Wood was an army officer and physician, born October 9, 1860 in Winchester, New Hampshire. His first assignment was in 1886 at Fort Huachuca, Arizona where he fought in the last campaign against the fierce Apache warrior Geronimo. He was awarded the Medal of Honor for carrying dispatches 100 miles through hostile territory and was promoted to the rank of Captain, commanding a detachment of the 8th Infantry. From 1887 to 1898, he served as a medical officer in a number of positions, the last of which was as the personal physician to President William McKinley. In 1898 at the beginning of the war with Spain, he was given command of the 1st Volunteer Cavalry. The regiment was soon to be known as the “Rough Riders." Wood lead his men on the famous charge up San Juan Hill and was given a field promotion to brigadier general. In 1898 he was appointed the Military Governor of Santiago de Cuba. In 1920, as a retired Major General, Wood ran as the Republican candidate for the presidency of the United States, losing to Warren Harding. In 1921 following his defeat, General Wood accepted the post of Governor General of the Philippines. He held this position from 1921 to 1927, when he died of a brain tumor in Boston, on 7 August 1927, at 66 years of age after which he was buried, with full honors, in Arlington National Cemetery.

Approaching the trail, he broke through the thicket a short distance ahead of the Empath. Causing the Empaths horse to startle as the surprised rider jerked on the reins. Cap was equally surprised to find a young girl before him instead of an older, experienced male Empath. Cap brought his horse to a quick halt. The young girl pulled a small knife from her boot and cautioned him. "I don't know where you came from, but I'm not easy prey.” Her voice shook slightly with fear as she raised the knife. Not sure how to proceed, they stared silently at each other. Cap had always believed that Empaths didn't carry weapons. This pretty, chestnut haired girl couldn't be more than 18 years old. Her long straight tresses covered the spot on her jacket where the Empathic Emblem was usually worn, causing Cap to doubt she was the one he sought. Not wanting to frighten her any more than he already had, Cap tried to explain. "I'm Commander Caplin Taylor. I’m looking for an Empath that is headed for the Western Hunting Lodge.” "My name is Kendra; I am the Empath you seek.” She answered cautiously, still holding the blade. A noise from the brush drew her attention as a small rodent pounced out, trying to evade an unseen predator. Cap was just close enough to lurch forward and snatch the dirk from her hand. Her head jerked back in alarm. "Bosen May has been mauled by a Sraeb, his shoulder is a mass of pulp." Cap spoke quickly not wanting to hesitate any longer. That was all Kendra needed to hear. She pushed her horse past him and headed quickly down the trail. "Wait!" Cap called after her, turning his horse around. Reining in the horse, she turned back to face him annoyed by the delay. "Are you a good horseman?" Cap asked, as he stuffed her dirk in his jacket. "I've been in the saddle since I was a child." She answered, abruptly. "Okay so just a few years then?" Cap's rebuke angered her. Jerking the horse back toward the trail, she ignored him. "Wait, I'm sorry!" Cap called after her. "It's just that I know a quicker way, if you can handle some rough terrain." "Let’s go then." Kendra replied, gruffly, turning back to face him. Without another word, Cap dove back into the brush and the girl followed.

He had been a timid child in New York City, cut off from schoolboy society by illness, wealth, and private tutors. Inspired by a leonine father, he had labored with weights to build up his strength. Simultaneously, he had built up his courage “by sheer dint of practicing fearlessness.” With every ounce of new muscle, with every point scored over pugilistic, romantic, and political rivals, his personal impetus (likened by many observers to that of a steam train) had accelerated. Experiences had flashed by him in such number that he was obviously destined to travel a larger landscape of life than were his fellows. He had been a published author at eighteen, a husband at twenty-two, an acclaimed historian and New York State Assemblyman at twenty-three, a father and a widower at twenty-five, a ranchman at twenty-six, a candidate for Mayor of New York at twenty-seven, a husband again at twenty-eight, a Civil Service Commissioner of the United States at thirty. By then he was producing book after book, and child after child, and cultivating every scientist, politician, artist, and intellectual of repute in Washington. His career had gathered further speed: Police Commissioner of New York City at thirty-six, Assistant Secretary of the Navy at thirty-eight, Colonel of the First U.S. Volunteer Cavalry, the “Rough Riders,” at thirty-nine. At last, in Cuba, had come the consummating “crowded hour.” A rush, a roar, the sting of his own blood, a surge toward the sky, a smoking pistol in his hand, a soldier in light blue doubling up “neatly as a jackrabbit” … When the smoke cleared, he had found himself atop Kettle Hill on the Heights of San Juan, with a vanquished empire at his feet.

I suck at this spillin’ my guts stuff. I always have. You know that probably better’n anyone.” “Yeah, well, it’s a lousy excuse. It always has been.” Trevor slowly lifted his head and gave Edgard an incredulous look. “How is that smartass answer supposed to help me?” “Oh, so now you want my help?” “Well yeah, since it’s obvious I f**ked up and it’s obvious you think you know how to fix it.” “Fine.” Edgard pointed to the cell phone clipped on the dash. “Call her. Say, ‘Baby, I’m sorry I was an ass**le. I love you’, but for Christsake don’t qualify it.” “Qualify it, meanin’ what?” “Don’t tack on, ‘I was an ass**le because I’m under stress’, just apologize. Period.” They stared at each other. “That’s it?” “Sometimes the smallest gestures have the biggest impact.” “Can’t be that easy,” Trevor muttered, snatching the phone. He faced out the driver’s side window but didn’t lower his voice.

After a while, Trevor said, “Know something funny? Chassie wants us to talk. She thinks it’ll help if we get everything out in the open.” “So she doesn’t realize that was our issue? That we couldn’t be open?” Trevor frowned. “First time you’ve said ‘we’ in that old argument, Ed. You always blamed me for us not holdin’ hands and shit.” “I’ve learned the hard way maybe you were right about the kinda baggage other people hide when they’re showing a different face to the world.” When Edgard didn’t elaborate, Trevor demanded, “You gonna explain that comment? Or you gonna sit there with that smug-ass look and make me guess?” “Trying to explain it when you’re in a piss-poor mood would be a waste of breath.” Edgard gave Trevor a cool once-over. “And for the record, I’m not acting smug. I’m just as screwed up about all this with Chassie as you are.” “Right. I’m sure you’re happy as shit.” Seething, Edgard snapped, “You never had the balls to tell me how you felt when we were together every goddamn day, so don’t you ever f**king presume to tell me anything about the way I feel now when you haven’t seen me for three and a half f**king years.” “I didn’t mean—

There must be the keenest sense of duty, and with it must go the joy of living; there must be shame at the thought of shirking the hard work of the world. —THEODORE ROOSEVELT, The Rough Riders and An Autobiography

After the Spanish American War, the United States appointed military governors for Puerto Rico, the Philippines and Cuba, as well as the Panama Canal Zone, which had been wrested away from Colombia. Leonard Wood was a physician who served as a line officer when he commanded the Rough Riders during the Battle of San Juan Hill, for which he was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. In 1898, he was appointed the Military Governor of Santiago de Cuba. Major General John R. Brooke served in the United States Army during both the American Civil War, where he was seriously wounded and later in the Spanish American War. After the war with Spain he was appointed to be the Governor of Puerto Rico after which he became the first Military Governor of Cuba, a position he held from January 1, 1899, until December 23, 1899.

Teddy Roosevelt or Theodore Roosevelt Jr. captured my imagination. As a child he had debilitating asthma, which he overcame by leading an active outdoor lifestyle. As a young man he attended Harvard College, the undergraduate institution, which is served by the faculty of Arts and Sciences and wrote books relating to history. In 1882 he wrote The Naval War of 1812, establishing himself as a serious historian. He was the Assistant Secretary of the Navy under President William McKinley and later served with the Rough Riders, during the Spanish American War. In 1898 Roosevelt was elected Governor of New York, and then in 1900 he ran for the office of Vice President with William McKinley. Less than a year later, he became the youngest President, following the death of President McKinley on September 14, 1901 As President of the United States, he became the leader of the “Progressive Movement.” Among his accomplishments was the establishment many national monuments, forests and parks. He was responsible for the building of the Panama Canal and sent the U.S. Navy around the world establishing the United States as a world power, setting the stage for the United States to become the leading country of the free world. Unfortunately, this blog only scratches the surface of his accomplishments but you can see his influence in my award winning book “The Exciting Story of Cuba.” Theodore Roosevelt is ranked 4th of our 25 Presidents.

The men worked hard and faithfully. As a rule, in spite of the number of rough characters among them, they behaved very well. One night a few of them went on a spree, and proceeded "to paint San Antonio red." One was captured by the city authorities, and we had to leave him behind us in jail. The others we dealt with ourselves, in a way that prevented a repetition of the occurrence.

Generally the thunder-storms came in the afternoon, but once I saw one at sunrise, driving down the high mountain valleys toward us. It was a very beautiful and almost terrible sight; for the sun rose behind the storm, and shone through the gusty rifts, lighting the mountain-crests here and there, while the plain below lay shrouded in the lingering night. The angry, level rays edged the dark clouds with crimson, and turned the downpour into sheets of golden rain; in the valleys the glimmering mists were tinted every wild hue; and the remotest heavens were lit with flaming glory.

Day an' night they set in a room with a checker-board on th' end iv a flour bar'l, an' study problems iv th' navy. At night Mack dhrops in. 'Well, boys,' says he, 'how goes th' battle?' he says. 'Gloryous,' says th' Sthrateejy Board. 'Two more moves, an' we'll be in th' king row.' 'Ah,' says Mack, 'this is too good to be thrue,' he says. 'In but a few brief minyits th' dhrinks'll be on Spain,' he says. 'Have ye anny plans f'r Sampson's fleet?' he says. 'Where is it?' says th' Sthrateejy Board. 'I dinnaw,' says Mack. 'Good,' says th' Sthrateejy Board. 'Where's th' Spanish fleet?' says they. 'Bombardin' Boston, at Cadiz, in San June de Matzoon, sighted near th' gas-house be our special correspondint, copyright, 1898, be Mike O'Toole.' 'A sthrong position,' says th' Sthrateejy Board. 'Undoubtedly, th' fleet is headed south to attack and seize Armour's glue facthory. Ordher Sampson to sail north as fast as he can, an' lay in a supply iv ice. Th' summer's comin' on. Insthruct Schley to put on all steam, an' thin put it off again, an' call us up be telephone. R-rush eighty-three millyon throops an' four mules to Tampa, to Mobile, to Chickenmaha, to Coney Island, to Ireland, to th' divvle, an' r-rush thim back again. Don't r-rush thim. Ordher Sampson to pick up th' cable at Lincoln Par-rk, an' run into th' bar-rn. Is th' balloon corpse r-ready? It is? Thin don't sind it up. Sind it up. Have th' Mulligan Gyards co-op'rate with Gomez, an' tell him to cut away his whiskers. They've got tangled in th' riggin'. We need yellow-fever throops. Have ye anny yellow fever in th' house? Give it to twinty thousand three hundherd men, an' sind thim afther Gov'nor Tanner. Teddy Rosenfelt's r-rough r-riders ar-re downstairs, havin' their uniforms pressed. Ordher thim to th' goluf links at wanst. They must be no indecision. Where's Richard Harding Davis? On th' bridge iv the New York? Tur-rn th' bridge. Seize Gin'ral Miles' uniform. We must strengthen th' gold resarve. Where's th' Gussie? Runnin' off to Cuba with wan hundherd men an' ar-rms, iv coorse. Oh, war is a dhreadful thing. It's ye'er move, Claude,' says th' Sthrateejy Board. "An

Is it any wonder that I loved my regiment?

Every book of tactics in the regiment was in use from morning until night, and the officers and non-commissioned officers were always studying the problems presented at the schools.

He could handle his former lover under his roof for a couple of days. No sweat, right? But when Trevor’s eyes caught Edgard’s, the punch of lust whomped him as sharply as a hoof to the belly, making him just as breathless. Dammit, don’t look at me that way, Ed. Please. Edgard banked the hunger in those topaz-colored eyes and Trevor silently breathed a sigh of relief. The blank stare was a reaction they’d both mastered during the years they’d spent together on the road. If sponsors, promoters or fans caught wind of his and Edgard’s nocturnal proclivities they would’ve been blackballed. Or would’ve been beat to shit on a regular basis if the other rodeo cowboys suspected he and Edgard weren’t merely traveling partners. There’d been no choice but to become discreet. Nothing discreet about the way Edgard had eyeballed him. “Trev, hon, you comin’?” “Go on. I’ll be right in after I take care of this motor.” He retreated to the barn, needing to find his balance after being knocked sideways. Edgard was here. Trevor’s gut clenched remembering the last time he’d seen the man. Remembering the misery on Edgard’s face, knowing his face reflected the same desolation when they’d said goodbye three and a half years ago. Crippled by pain, fear, and loss, Trevor hadn’t had the balls to wrap Edgard in his arms one last time. He’d snapped off some dumbass comment and done nothing but sit on his ass in the horse trailer like a lump of moldy shit and watched him go. No. Let him go. He’d gotten drunk that night. And every night after for damn near six months. He’d f**ked every woman who’d crossed his path. Sex and booze did nothing to chase away the sense he’d made a huge mistake. Or on the really bad nights, his all-too smug relief that he’d never really felt “that way” about Edgard and he was glad the too-tempting bastard was gone for good.

Trev, there’s—” “Hang on.” Metal grinding on metal screeched in the cold air. Then, “Motherfuckin’ piece of shit.” Chassie glanced at Edgard who’d gone completely still. “That’s not the way to talk in front of company, hon.” “Who’s here?” Trevor spun around and froze. A beat passed. Then Edgard said softly, “Hello, Trevor.” No one spoke; no one moved. Trevor roared, “You motherfuckin’ piece of shit.” He threw the wrench and bulled toward Edgard. Crap. Maybe they weren’t friends after all. Instead of tackling the man and pounding him into the ground, Trevor slapped Edgard on the back. Clasping him in a bear hug, lifting him in the air, practically swinging him in a circle. Whoa. She’d never seen her husband so…exuberant. From seeing an old friend she’d never even heard of? Chassie’s eyes met Trevor’s in confusion and he hastily set Edgard down. “Ah. Sorry, man. It’s just…” Trevor turned away. As he composed himself, Chassie fired a sardonic look at Edgard. “Well, I reckon he’s happy to see you after all.” For Christsake, Edgard was here. Standing in his goddamn front yard. Next to his wife. How was he supposed to deal with this situation? At least he’d stopped himself from laying a big, wet kiss on him. Kissing another man. In front of his wife. Fuck.

What the f**k is this?” Trevor didn’t rise to the bait, as he hadn’t for the last several days. Calmly, he asked, “What?” “This.” Edgard threw the pristine, custom-made saddle on the ground within Trevor’s peripheral view. Shit. How had Edgard found it? And why in the hell had that bastard gone snooping around instead of figuring out what was wrong with Meridian like he’d promised? “Trev? I asked you a question.” “You know damn good and well what it is, Ed.” “I figured you would’ve gotten rid of it by now.” “Well, I didn’t.” Edgard practically growled, “That don’t tell me why you still have it. That don’t tell me nothin’.” Trevor turned his face toward the opposite fence to gaze across to the mountains. His reasons for keeping the saddle seemed sentimental, sloppy and stupid now, but he’d be damned if he’d share those reasons with anyone, least of all Edgard, the man responsible for those feelings. Bootsteps made a sucking sound in the muck of the corral as Edgard closed the short distance between them. “I ain’t gonna drop it. Answer me.” “Fine. You said I could do whatever I wanted with it. So I kept it.” “You didn’t use it at all, did you?” Trevor shook his head, keeping his eyes averted. “Why not?” “I have plenty of other saddles, saddles I like better.” “That’s a piss-poor excuse. Try again.” He stayed mum, wishing the damn mud would open up and swallow him like a sinkhole. “Were you hoping if you kept it I’d come back?” Trevor’s heart said yes but his mouth stayed tight as a rusty hinge. “Answer the f**king question, Trevor.” Edgard’s arrogant streak snapped Trevor’s forced patience. “What do you want me to say? It’s obvious I saved the goddamn saddle.” “Why?” “Because it reminded me of you, all right?” He kicked a chunk of mud and stalked away. “Fuck this and f**k you.” Edgard rattled off something in Portuguese, something Trevor vaguely remembered as being a plea. Or was it a threat? Dammit. His feet stopped. Trevor’s gaze zeroed in on Edgard, who’d circled him until they were standing less than a foot apart. “Tell me why.” Be cruel, that’ll nip this in the bud once and for all. “I didn’t keep the f**kin’ thing because I had some girlish goddamn hope you’d come back lookin’ for it like Cinderella’s lost glass slipper, and we’d pick up where we left off after you left me.” He locked his eyes to the liquid heat in Edgard’s, not allowing the man to look away. “Especially after you made it crystal clear you weren’t ever comin’ back.” Angry puffs of breath distorted the air between them. Several beats passed before Edgard retorted, “But I am here now, aren’t I?” “What? Am I supposed to be flippin’ cartwheels about that fact? I don’t know what you want from me, Ed. Take the saddle back if that’ll make you happy. I’ve got no use for it. I never did.” Angry, disgusted with himself, Edgard, and the whole uncomfortable situation, Trevor spun and walked toward the barn. Edgard laughed—the taunting, soft laughter that was guaranteed to raise Trevor’s hackles and his ire. “It’s that easy for you? To get pissed off and walk away?” “Yep. You’ve got no right to act so goddamned surprised since it’s a trick I learned from you, amigo.” Not two seconds later, the air left Trevor’s lungs as Edgard tackled him to the ground. Trevor rolled to dislodge the man from his back; Edgard countered, took a swing and missed. Trevor bucked and twisted his shoulders, but Edgard anticipated the move and used the momentum against Trevor to try and shove Trevor’s face against the fence. Before Edgard cornered him and held him down completely to land a punch, Trevor rolled again and pushed to his feet. A noise echoed behind him, but he ignored it as he fisted his hands in Edgard’s shearling coat, dragging him upright until they were nose to nose.

Edgard’s backside rested against one counter; hers on the one across from him. She gulped her beer, cautioning herself to be tactful and calm, but what burst forth from her mouth was, “Are you in love with my husband?” He visibly paled. And knocked back an equally big swallow of Budweiser in lieu of answering. “I’ve heard Trevor’s side. I talked to Channing and to Colby. So that leaves you.” “And if I say yes, Chassie? What then?” “I’m totally thinkin’ we have a gunfight in the street to determine who’s tough enough to win Trevor’s affections,” she said lightly. That brought a slight smile. “You are a smartass.” “And you are avoidin’ the question, amigo.” “Jesus, do you know how hard it is to look at you and answer that question?” “No harder than it is to look you in the eye and ask it.” “Touché.” Edgard picked at the label.

He noticed her eyes were a rich, warm brown, the same color as his favorite horse. "Yes?" He realized he'd been staring. At least he had the sense not to voice his thoughts. He doubted she would appreciate her eye color being compared to that of his horse's hide even if it was his favorite.

Warning signs went unheeded as the ferocious kisses continued, kicking Trevor’s need into high gear. But the unfamiliar prickle of Edgard’s beard on his cheek began to rouse him from that dark desire. Coupled with the low-pitched masculine moans—not Chassie’s feminine sighs—and Trevor broke away, knocking Edgard’s hands free. “Stop. No.” “Yes,” Edgard grabbed Trevor’s shirt. “This is why I’m here. Because it’s still there, Trevor. This need didn’t go away just because I did.” “It don’t matter.” “It should. God. Please let it matter.” “Ed—” “Don’t. Just…don’t.” Edgard gently rested his forehead against Trevor’s and retreated into silence. The heat of their bodies, the cold air, the confusion, the passion, the anger, the guilt, all swirled in Trevor’s head until he didn’t know which way was up. Unable to squirm either closer or away, damn near unable to breathe, Trevor squeezed his eyes shut and gave in, leaning against Edgard, just for a moment. Finally he dredged up a semblance of sanity. “I love her, Ed. I’m not with her because she was my second choice.” “I know. Why do you think it hurts me so bad, meu amore?” My love. That single, familiar endearment could prove to be his undoing. Another pause lingered before Trevor said, “I can’t do this. I swear to f**king God I cannot do this again.” “We’ll figure something out this time.” “No.” “Look at me.” Trevor shook his head. “Goddammit. Look. At. Me.” Heart thumping crazily, Trevor pulled back and caught the golden gaze that’d haunted his dreams since the day they’d gone from friends to something more. Edgard curled one hand around Trevor’s face, keeping the other fisted in his shirt. “Tell me how to fix this.” “We can’t and talkin’ about it ain’t gonna change nothin’.” “We were always better at f**king away our problems rather than talking them out, eh?” No hint of a smile graced either of their faces.

Stop.” “You don’t want me to stop, you stupid, stubborn bastard.” Edgard snarled and devoured Trevor’s mouth in another possessive, bruising kiss. Before Trevor could break free from the temptation, a distressed gasp somewhere to the left speeded up the process. Trevor shoved Edgard away. He spun so fast he lost his balance. But the damage had been done. Chassie stood in the shadows in absolute shock. Chapter Seven Not happening. Not happening. Not happening. Her body, her will, her consciousness appeared to be floating in another dimension, as this one shifted and twisted into the surreal. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Not happening. Not happening. Not happening. She had not witnessed her husband in the arms of another man. She had not seen him kissing another man like he was everything in his world. She had not heard the details of how they’d been together, what they’d been together. She had not imagined how badly they wanted to be together now. Not happening. Not happening. Not happening. The mantra she’d used during her childhood to vanquish nightmares wasn’t working this time.

Isolation. Desperation. It fit Edgard’s mood, not only today, but for the last year. Gruffly, Trevor said, “Thanks.” “You’re welcome.” Silence filled the truck cab. So many things had been left unsaid. Again. Maybe they were doomed to be stuck at that impasse. Unable to go back; unwilling to move forward. The events of last night seemed so far away, in that surreal state where Edgard questioned whether it’d really happened.