A voice drawled, “I’m not sure there’s room for two gunslingers in this town.”

Josh slowly raised his head. Doc Holliday, aka Trex, stood at the other end of the
hall. Black hat, dark three-piece suit, a gun at his side, and a delicate
handkerchief tinged with blood that was the clue to the character—Holliday had
died of TB. The western garb fit perfectly on that tall, athletic body. The
real Holliday never looked so good. Josh wanted to drool.

Josh smiled, but Trex didn’t break character, his gaze resting steady and dangerous
on Josh’s face. Okay, two could play. Josh scowled like a man who gazed into
the sun all day and chewed the stump of cigar in his mouth. He rested a hand on
his toy six-shooter. “You want to try me?” The words were out. What did I just
say?

Trex/Holliday sauntered toward him, spurs jingling. He came face-to-face with Josh and
cracked a hint of a smile. “Show me what you got.”

He’d called his bluff. “Uh, oh, I….”

Trex reached up and slowly took the unlit stogy from Josh’s teeth. He slipped a hand
around Josh’s neck and—holy crap!—he pressed a hot mouth over Josh’s lips with
a hint of warm tongue. Their hats bumped and Josh’s fell backward. He grabbed
for it, their teeth knocked together, their noses squashed, and Trex pulled
back, laughing. “I guess we know that cowboys didn’t spontaneously seduce each
other. Too much shit to get in the way.”

Josh knew his eyes were wide, and he was having trouble keeping his breath even. “Doing a
little cowboy experimentation, are we?” He reached down, grabbed his hat from
the floor, and put it back on.

Trex waved a hand down Josh’s body. “Hey, you come in oozing cowboy charisma, you gotta
expect some admiration.”

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