Markey walked around Bryson in a tight circle before he beamed. The blue-eyed boy had come to mean the world to Bryson. He spent plenty of time with the toddler, hoping to educate himself on children just in case he was lucky enough to have any of his own. Not that he was using Markey. The child was a joy to be around.

"Ucle Byson smells good."

"Why, thank you." Bryson ruffled the kid's blond hair. "At least someone has a vote of confidence for me."

"I didn't mean anything by my question," Dresden said, resting his hand on his neck and letting his gaze sweep over Bryson. "It's just that Milo is...unique."

"Very," Noah agreed as he nodded.

"I happen to like unique." Bryson headed for the door. "Don't wait up for me."

Markey grabbed his shoes and raced toward him. Bryson turned toward the four-year-old. "You can't go, buddy."

"Oh, man." Markey's shoulders slumped as his bottom lip slid out. "I wanna go."

Bryson looked to the toddler's father for help, but Dresden just shrugged. Bryson felt guilty for turning Markey away and it seemed Dresden wasn't going to bail him out of this situation. "What can I say, he worships his uncles."

"Come on, Markey," Noah said as he held his hand out toward the cub. "You can help me feed your cousins."

Markey's eyes lit up as he abandoned his shoes and hurried to help Noah. Bryson made a break for it before the kid came back. He loved the tyke to death, but wasn't willing to take him along while Bryson tried to hit on the new waiter.

He hurried down the front steps and was making his way to his truck when he spotted Jed pulling in. Bryson waved, but Jed whistled for him before Bryson could make his getaway. If he didn't know any better, he would say fate was conspiring against him.

"Can you help with these bags?" Jed asked as he got out and pocketed his keys, heading toward the ass end of his truck.

"No can do. If I go back in there, Markey will jump me."

Jed frowned as Bryson climbed in behind the wheel of his own truck, backed up until he could turn it around, and then took off down the driveway. With five kids in the house, making a clean break wasn't always easy. Bryson usually had one or two clinging to him like Velcro. Any other time he wouldn't mind. Not today. Today was for Bryson to find out if the waiter liked him as much as Bryson liked Milo.

Bryson parked outside the tavern and sat there, staring at the building as if willing Milo to come outside so he could talk to the guy without anyone around. As big as Bryson was, there was no hiding the fact that he was shy as hell when it came to intimate things like flirting.

But he'd been dazzled by the short, slim man the first time he'd laid eyes on Milo. Bryson couldn't get the guy off of his mind. "Just go in there and say hi," he grumbled to himself.

Bryson clunked his forehead against the steering wheel, groaning. He felt like the town freak seeking out the prince. His heart wouldn't stop racing and his palms were as wet as an overrun creek. He feared he had sweated big stains over his armpits and would embarrass himself if he raised his arms.

Every fear of screwing this up came to mind. Did his breath smell? Did he look dapper enough? Did he cut himself shaving and have red dots patterned all over his face?

Bryson groaned once again.

Not that his confidence was low or anything, but Milo made him feel things that Bryson had never felt before-like wings of butterflies flapping in his gut-and he wanted to smile just thinking about the guy. The man was pure perfection and Bryson was afraid of saying something to make himself look like an idiot.

Sucking in a lungful of confidence, Bryson stepped out of his truck. He hoisted his waistband up, nodded, and then moved toward the door.

The noise level was pretty low when he stepped inside. It was still early, though, and not too many people were in the place. He spotted Jack-Noah's father-in a back booth with a couple of other older gentleman.

The old-timer looked like he was enjoying himself. His grin was wide and his eyes sparkled with merriment as he spoke to the men seated around him.

The television was on, the sound so low that Bryson couldn't hear it. His boots crunched over peanut shells as he stepped further into the tavern.

He did a quick scan of the place and his heart sank when he didn't spot Milo anywhere. A part of him was relieved.

A small part.

On one hand, Bryson wanted to talk to Milo, but on the other hand, he couldn't get his stomach to settle down long enough to gather a clear thought. His nerves were stretched tight at the prospect of seeing the waiter.

"Wuz up?" Clayton said as he walked down the length of the bar. Clayton Calabria and Harland Macy were co-owners of this bar. It meant Bryson could drink for free-not that he took advantage of that fact.

"Nothing." Bryson scooted onto a stool and relaxed his elbows on the counter. "How are things going tonight?"

"Slow, slow," Clayton answered. "But it's only Wednesday."

Though Bryson loved his friend dearly, he wasn't interested in shooting the breeze. He wanted to talk to Milo but wasn't going to ask if the waiter was around anywhere. If Clayton got wind that Bryson liked the human, the man would try to play matchmaker.

That was the last thing Bryson wanted. Clayton couldn't match a bird to a nest. The guy sucked when it came to helping others with their love lives, a fact that had been proven when he tried to help Jed and Noah resolve their difference when the two had first started dating.

Clayton had locked the two men in a cabin, hoping Jed and Noah worked out their problems.

The two men had ended up parting ways. Of course, later they'd gotten back together, but it had been no thanks to Clayton's meddling.

Bryson was the last of the men on the Triple-B ranch to find his mate. Although he was on the lookout for any scent that would give him a clue, he caught glimpses of pity from his friends.

It angered Bryson that they felt he was unhappy just because he was single. The other men tried not to show affection to their mates when Bryson was around, as if he'd go off the deep end because he didn't have anyone to cuddle with.

What a crock of shit.

But he tried his best not to hold it against any of them. He understood their intentions were good-if a bit irritating.

"You're late!" Clayton shouted toward the door.

Bryson turned on his stool to see Milo rushing in, his red hair standing on end and his shirt half-buttoned. He had a tattered yellow backpack slung over his back and an apologetic expression in his emerald-green eyes. When Milo gazed Bryson's way, the human stumbled forward, nearly falling on his face.

"I'm sorry," Milo said as he recovered. His fingers clutched the strap over his shoulder just a bit tighter as his eyes swung from Bryson to Clayton. "I had to take my cat to the vet."

"Is he sick?" Clayton asked.

Milo's fiery red eyebrows dipped together, the skin between his eyes creasing. "No, no. She's pregnant and I could have sworn she was meowing because she was in labor. Turns out, she just had gas."

Clayton chucked his thumb toward the back hallway. "Just go clock in." He turned toward Bryson as he slowly shook his head. "Guy's a bit strange, but a hell of a worker." Clayton scratched at his neck. "Though he is a bit of a klutz."

Bryson grabbed a handful of pretzels from a bowl on the bar and tossed a few into his mouth. Now that Milo was here, Bryson's heart was beating a little faster.

He wasn't sure if he could go through with this.

What if Milo rejected him?

Bryson jerked from his stool when Milo rushed from the back, tripped, and landed on his ass. He started to go see if the guy was okay, but Milo sprang to his feet, glanced around, and then hurried over toward the booths.

Clayton leaned against the back shelf, his lips twisted to one side as he shook his head. "I swear, if he keeps that up, I'll be paying workers' comp."

Bryson sat down, his back to Clayton. He rested his arms on the counter as he watched Milo take orders, clear tables, and try his best to stay upright. He was a walking disaster and Bryson couldn't be more smitten.

There was just something about the guy. He wasn't sure why he thought the man's klutziness was cute.

"Here you go." Clayton set a beer on the counter. "I need to ask you something."

Bryson turned back around and grabbed his beer, taking a sip as he eyed his friend. One never knew what was going to come out of the Clayton's mouth. Bryson braced himself and nodded. He just hoped that Clayton didn't say anything about Milo.

He spotted Milo coming close, placing empty glasses on the bar. Bryson cleared his throat. "Hi, Milo."

The waiter turned, smiled at him, and then made some strange squawking noise when he opened his mouth. Milo's eyes widened before he gave Bryson his back and hurried away.

"Did I miss something?" Bryson asked Clayton as he wondered why Milo had made that noise.

"I told you, he's very unique."

Maybe it was a language Bryson didn't know. It had sounded more like tires screeching or metal scraping together than any noise a human voice should make.

The sound was definitely weird.

Milo tried his best not to look Bryson's way. He was having a hard enough time concentrating as it was. Every time the sexy cowboy came into the bar, Milo felt flushed. Over the past week, he'd been trying to get up the nerve to say something to the guy, but every time Milo opened his mouth, a weird noise came out instead of words.

He refused to embarrass himself any further. At least not on purpose. He wasn't sure what that noise was that left his mouth, but Milo was mortified.

If he had had any chance at a date, that chance was now long gone. Who would want to go out with someone who squawked like a bird?

But Milo knew he shouldn't even think about dating. Not when he was living on borrowed time. Sooner or later, Mr. Quinn McNeal would find him, and Milo would suffer through his father's request.

Who was he kidding? It wasn't a request.

"You got any more of those tiny pretzels?" Jack Cross asked. "They're the only ones I can eat that don't have a shitload of salt on them. I already had a stroke. I don't need a damn heart attack."

"I'll get some from the bar." Milo tucked his serving tray under his arm and weaved his way around the tables. His gaze returned to Bryson who was still sitting at the bar, but Milo forced himself to look straight ahead.

If he didn't, he was going to trip over something.

To his father's dismay, Milo had been a klutz his entire life. It wasn't like he did it on purpose. His mother used to tell him that it was part of his charming personality and that he would outgrow it one day.

Milo would argue otherwise, but she had passed years ago, leaving him with a father who tried to dictate Milo's life. That was the reason he had fled sunny California and headed east. He was just afraid he hadn't run far enough to escape Quinn McNeal's grasping reaches.

His father was a self-made millionaire, owning stocks in some of the biggest companies around the world. But the man's specialty was micromanaging every single aspect of Milo's life.

Milo spotted a fresh bowl of pretzels on the counter and grabbed it, taking it back to where Jack and his friends were sitting. He wished he had friends he could sit around and shoot the breeze with. Having a father like Quinn had dashed any hopes of Milo actually having a happy, healthy social life.

Now all he had was Elyse, his pregnant cat.

He'd found her that way in the trailer park he now resided in. Quinn would have a triple heart attack if he saw the place where Milo lived.

"Here you go." Milo set the bowl down. "Is there anything else you gentlemen need?"

"A hot blonde with really big melons." One of the men cackled as he nudged his elbow into Jack. "That would be great!"

"What would you do with her, Ted?" Jack asked. "You can't even get your willy up enough to piss, let alone please a woman."

Milo tucked his lips in, smiling at the banter between the men. "I won't be far away if you need anything within reason."

"Oh, you're no fun," the man who'd requested a well-endowed woman said to Jack. "Let a guy live a little."

Jack tossed a few pretzels in his mouth. "I do. I didn't say a word when you tried to pick up that baby at the supermarket."

"She wasn't a baby!" Ted insisted. "She was over twenty-one."

"And you're sixty-five," Jack pointed out. "What were you gonna do, be her sugar granddaddy? Give her your retirement check? Whoa, way to live it up."

"You're an ass," Ted grumbled and then chuckled. "But it would have been fun to chase her around the bedroom just to see that young, plump ass bounce around."

The men hooted with laughter as Milo walked away. Since coming to Bear County, he'd met quite a few characters, but none like Bryson Duran. The man was built like a prize-winning ox and had the prettiest deep-grey eyes Milo had ever seen. The guy was massive in size, but Milo liked them big.

Unlike the weasel Quinn was trying to marry Milo off to. His father had no problem with Milo being gay. Surprisingly, that hadn't been an issue. But Quinn insisted on picking out the perfect man for Milo to marry.

Not happening.

Drake Heffenshire was the prince of the country club Quinn owned. He was a Harvard graduate and came from old money. The man was stuffy, boring, and looked at Milo the same way Quinn looked at him, like he was going to run Milo's life.

Again, not happening.

All Milo wanted was to live his life on his own terms. He didn't care about money or status. He just wanted the simple things out of life.

And that pissed Quinn off to no end.

It wouldn't bother Milo in the least to settle down in this semismall town and live an uncomplicated life where he had genuine friends and good times. Now that was the kind of wealth Milo would treasure.

"Hey, Milo." Clayton snapped his fingers. "You here with us?"

Milo blinked and then felt the heat suffusing his face. "Sorry."

Clayton pointed toward the back of the bar. "Go get a case of Heineken from the storage room."

Milo placed his serving tray on the bar and headed to the storage room. It was well stocked back here and it took Milo a good ten minutes to find the case of beer that Clayton had wanted.

The case was too far up on the shelf so Milo made some steps out of boxes. He climbed up, steadying himself, and then reached for the box he needed.

"Need some help?"

Milo shouted as he and the case went flying backward. He threw his arms out-like that was going to do him any good-as he went crashing to the floor. But Bryson caught him before he landed.

Unfortunately, the case of Heinekens wasn't so lucky. He heard glass shattering before the smell of beer filled the small room.