if he wore nothing but chaps, he could make ten grand a night at the gay clubs in Dallas. He’d look right at home driving the herd down Main in Fort Worth, too, tipping his hat to women in sundresses and giving them that shy little grin. God, did women hurl their thongs at Wes every day? What about men? How many men saw him and wanted to hit their knees, run their fingers up the those tight, denim-covered thighs?
