Tribute

snarled at him. “You need a white-noise machine.”
    “I need to get you your own sleeping bag.”
    “Harsh.” He kissed the top of her head. “You’ll be sorry when some wild-eyed mountain dude runs in here with a meat cleaver.”
    “When that happens, I promise to apologize. Now shut up or go away. Crew’s coming at seven.”
    THE ELABORATE BRASS headboard banged rhythmically against the red wall, the sound punctuated by her cries of pleasure. A shaft of moonlight illuminated those blue crystal eyes, glazed now as he plunged into her. She called out his name, nearly sang it while her body surged under his.
    Ford. Ford.
    Yo, Ford .
    He woke with a spectacular morning hard-on, the sun beaming into his eyes and a vague sense of embarrassment that it was Steve calling his name. But at least the realization was already doing the job of deflating the hard-on.
    Ford stuck his head out the window, yelled, “Hold on.” He dragged on the jeans he’d stripped off the night before, then stumbled his way downstairs.
    “Got doughnuts,” Steve said when Ford pulled open the door.
    “Huh?”
    “Hey, man, were you still in the sack?”
    Ford stared at Steve’s affable smile, at the box of Krispy Kremes. “Coffee.”
    “I hear that.” When Ford turned and groped his way to the kitchen, Steve followed. “Great house, man. Seriously. Use of space, choice of materials. Figured you were up since Cilla’d been over to use your gym. Thought I’d try trading doughnuts for some gym time.”
    “Okay.” Ford set a mug in place, punched on the coffeemaker, then opened the box Steve set on the counter. The smell hit him like a lightning bolt.
    “Caffeine and sugar.” Steve grinned as Ford grabbed a jelly-filled. “Best way to start the day, after nooky anyway.”
    Ford grunted, got down a second mug.
    “Things are hopping at Cill’s this morning, so I cut out for the doughnuts. Guys in construction dig on the doughnuts. Hey, man, look at your dog.”
    Ford glanced toward the window, saw Spock running, leaping, nosing down to stalk. “Yeah, it’s cats.”
    “What is?”
    “He’s hunting cats. Magic cats only he can see.”
    “Son of a bitch, that’s just what he’s doing.” Steve grinned out the window, a ringed thumb hooked in his belt loop. “So it’s cool if I catch a workout with Cill in the A.M., or hit it late in the day? Not cramping your style?”
    “It’s fine.” The sugar rush got Ford’s eyes open, and the first hit of coffee did the rest. “I figured you’d sleep in later today. Long day for you yesterday, and you probably didn’t get the best night sleeping in the barn.”
    “I like long days.” Steve took the coffee Ford gave him, then dumped in the milk Ford sat on the counter.“What barn? Cill’s barn? Cill wouldn’t make me bunk in the barn. I got a corner of her sleeping bag.”
    “Oh.” Damn. “I was working late, saw you head out there. I just figured—”
    “I didn’t go out there. Man, it’s dark out there. In-the-sticks dark. I’m a city boy.” He cocked his head. “You saw somebody out there?”
    “I saw a flashlight, the beam. I think. It was late, maybe I—”
    “No freaking way!” He slammed a hand to Ford’s arm hard enough to make Ford stumble back. “I told her I heard something, but she’s all shut up and go to sleep. What time was this?”
    “I don’t know. Ah . . . little after two.”
    “That’s it . Going for the barn? We gotta go check this out.”
    “Crap.” Ford downed more coffee. “I guess we do. I need to get a shirt, shoes.”
    “Can I come up? I’m digging on the house.”
    “Whatever.” It was annoying to feel himself tugged into friendship with the guy who was having sex with the woman he wanted to have sex with. But there didn’t seem to be a way to dig in his heels and hold it off. “So . . . you didn’t bring your own sleeping bag, I guess.”
    “Shit, man, I stay in hotels. Room service, bars, pillow-top mattresses. Cill’s the one for roughing it. You don’t have a spare, do you?”
    “Actually—”
    “Whoa! Holy shit! That’s Cilla.”
    Before Ford could respond, Steve strode into his office and to the sketches pinned and hanging.
    “Super Cilla. Dude.” Steve tapped a finger to a corner of a sketch. “These are awesome. You’re a genius. This isn’t Seeker stuff.”
    “No. New character, new series. I’m just getting started.”
    “With Cill as the . . . what, like, model? Does she