Red Dirt Christmas by N.R. Walker
Publication date: 11 December 2015
Travis had been here for just over a year. We were technically engaged, not that we’d told anyone. He was happy just knowin’ I’d said yes, and I had some head-clearin’ stuff to work through. Knowing I was good enough for Trav was one thing, but knowing if I was good enough to be a husband and father was somethin’ else entirely.
Life at Sutton Station had never been better. Business was strong, Trudy and Bacon’s little baby, Gracie, was a few weeks old now and as cute as a button, Ma’s health was good, and my relationship with Laura and Sam was in a pretty good place. And Travis? Well, life with him was still all kinds of perfect.
But, to Travis’s dismay, Christmas at the Station was just another day. Another day of getting up before the sun, feeding animals, fixin’ what needed fixin’, and checking water troughs all while tryin’ to keep out of the blistering heat.
And this year weren’t much different. Only that it was Travis’s first Sutton Station Christmas. The fact we didn’t go all out with decorations and celebrations baffled him, and if I was bein’ truthful, it disappointed him too.
Which was why I had to make it a special kind of Christmas…
N.R. Walker’s Bio:
N.R. Walker is an Australian author, who loves her genre of gay romance.
She loves writing and spends far too much time doing it, but wouldn’t have it any other way.
She is many things; a mother, a wife, a sister, a writer. She has pretty, pretty boys who live in her head, who don’t let her sleep at night unless she gives them life with words.
She likes it when they do dirty, dirty things…but likes it even more when they fall in love.
She used to think having people in her head talking to her was weird, until one day she happened across other writers who told her it was normal.
She’s been writing ever since…
N.R. Walker’s Internet Links:
Unique Excerpt for NR Walker’s ‘Red Dirt Christmas’
I undid his jeans and pulled them down his thighs. It was always a pretty clear indication on Travis’s well-bein’ when there were no sex jokes, especially when I was kneelin’ in front of him trying to get his jeans off. I ran the shower with the cold only, which was lukewarm at best. The thing about livin’ in the desert and livin’ off rainwater was that the rain-tanks sat on the baking ground like everything else.
“Remind me when you’re feelin’ better about looking into puttin’ tanks underground,” I mumbled, helping him into the already-too-small shower.
“Huh?” He looked confused.
“Later,” I told him. “Just put your head under the water. Do you feel sore or itchy anywhere?”
He took a second to answer. “Nope. I didn’t get bitten by anything, Charlie. I just feel sick. And hot. Really hot.”
“You have heatstroke, Trav,” I reminded him. “It can cook your brain if you’re not careful.”
He leaned forward and rested his forehead on his arms on the shower wall, and I stood outside the shower but quickly ran the soap over his back and shoulders. I figured cleanin’ off the dust before he got into bed would be a good idea. The red dust swirled around his feet and I scrubbed down his legs as well.
“Well, I ain’t near dead enough to know that I like your hands on me in the shower,” he mumbled.
I snorted out a laugh. “You must be feeling a bit better.” Then I asked, “How much water have you drank today?”
He seemed to think for a while. “Dunno. A bit. Two water bottles, I think.”
“Open your mouth, drink the water,” I instructed. “Small mouthfuls.”
He did that for a while and then I shut the water off and towelled him down before tying it around his waist. “Come on, into bed.”
“I feel a bit better.”
“Don’t argue with me on this, Trav. Into bed. Please.”
He hardly argued. With no more than a miserable pout, he took himself, slow and steady, to our room and sat on the bed. I switched on the ceiling fan and made him lie down, and Ma came in with a pedestal fan and the bag of ice, and when he was sufficiently fussed over, he closed his eyes and dozed. I sat beside him, movin’ the ice pack around and wipin’ him down with a wet cloth.
There weren’t nothin’ worse than watching the person you love bein’ so sick.
“Remember when I busted my knee?” he asked. His eyes were still closed. “You sat there like that.”
“I thought you were asleep.”
A Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words Must Read Series any time of the year:
Red Dirt Heart Series:
- Red Dirt Heart (Red Dirt, #1)
- Red Dirt Heart 2 (Red Dirt, #2)
- Red Dirt Heart 3 (Red Dirt, #3)
- Red Dirt Christmas (Red Dirt, #3.5)
- Red Dirt Heart 4 (Red Dirt, #4)