He wasn’t what he considered to be a horny guy, constantly thinking about sex and panting after women. Hell, no. He’d tapped into that side of his nature for a few months while he worked in Medford, Oregon. It had ended in disaster, and he’d sworn never to have sex again. And he’d been just fine for six years, never feeling frustrated or overcome with yearnings when he was around a woman. He’d been content with his work, happy to spend most of his time tending to animals. Slade Wilder was a great employer, fair, levelheaded, and always willing to do anything he asked his men to do. The bunkhouse wasn’t exactly the Taj Mahal, but it wasn’t a bad place to live. The kitchen was fairly large and well equipped with appliances. They had only one full bath, but there was a second sink and toilet for urgent use. In the living area, they had a state-of-the-art flat-screen television with surround sound, Dish Network, and a Netflix account that Slade provided free of charge. Wyatt couldn’t enjoy the sound system, but he greatly appreciated the closed captions at the bottom of the screen when he watched the news or a film. Life was good. It was great. So what was he bellyaching about?

When he reached the barn, he didn’t go inside, choosing instead to walk around the building and adjoining paddock to head for the creek. He knew the water would be cold, but right at the moment, freezing his nuts off sounded like a stellar plan.

When he reached the creek bank where he knew the water was deep, he took off his boots and clothes. Then he dived in. The shock that came with plunging into the icy water was worse than he expected. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe, and his heart felt as if it might stop. Not a risk taker by nature, he almost scrambled back out, but his common sense forestalled him. The cold wouldn’t kill him, and maybe if he stayed in long enough, it would shrink his aching balls. He’d read about men doing this to control their sexual urges. If it had worked for them, maybe it would work for him.

Before he got out of the water, he paddled to keep his head above the surface until his body began to feel numb. Then he stood on the rocky bank shivering and feeling like an idiot because he hadn’t thought to bring a towel. A night breeze blew along the creek corridor. He hadn’t noticed it when he was dry, but now it felt like an arctic blast. He tried squeegeeing water from his skin with his hands, but that didn’t work. He finally opted to use his T-shirt to rub himself halfway dry and then just pulled on his shorts and jeans. After donning his boots, he headed back to the ranch proper to get his coat.

He still wasn’t warm when he entered the hay barn, and he hadn’t stopped to consider that the huge, round bales wouldn’t provide him with a flat surface to lie on. He found a couple of horse blankets to pad the crevice between two bales and settled in for the night. The moment he started to feel halfway warm again, he heaved a sigh of relief. With any luck, maybe now he could sleep.