by A. J. Thomas
As Christopher watched the other men around Doug and noticed they didn’t hesitate to get physical when trying to steal the ball, he smiled to himself. He wasn’t allowed to feel jealous, but he was thrilled that the only thing they got to touch was Doug’s clothes. Tonight, at least, Christopher would make a point of touching every single inch of Doug’s skin.
A soft sound, like a cross between a moan and a puppy-dog whimper, drew Christopher’s attention back to the FBI agent. Agent Belkamp was staring at him with outright lust in his eyes.
“What?”
“A casual weekend thing?” Agent Belkamp asked dubiously.
“Yeah.”
“Whatever.”
“Technically,” Christopher said as he looked down to try to hide his blush, “today is the start of his weekend.”
“I’m scheduled to transfer back to the FBI field office in LA in about four months,” said Agent Belkamp. Christopher felt a tiny bit of pressure over his right butt cheek and forced himself not to squirm as Agent Belkamp tucked a piece of paper into his back pocket. “If you go back to California, you should give me a call.”
“What do you mean if?”
“I mean, if you do walk away from him, I’d like a chance to get to know you.”
Christopher couldn’t look at him. Between thinking about Doug’s muscled chest and shoulders, and the dark FBI agent before him, he knew he was probably turning pink. He had to find something to say, something that didn’t broach any kind of personal territory. He remembered the boy in Peter’s truck. “Oh, shit, I forgot. Doug Heavy Runner might not be the only one who had a key to Peter’s house.” He told Agent Belkamp about his two encounters with the young man.
“You think he had a key to the house too?” Belkamp asked, scribbling down as many details as he could.
“Well, yeah. How many people do you know who keep their house keys and their car keys separate? He was wearing a black leather biker vest that matched the one on Peter’s body in the coroner’s photos. Doug said he boxed up all of Peter’s personal property, but the box wasn’t where he’d left it in the house.”
“The kid was wearing the vest your brother died in?”
Christopher nodded. “Creepy, right?”
“Very. Fuck, maybe it was his birthday….”
Christopher froze. “No. If you’re talking about the carvings on Peter’s arms, those weren't about the kid. His estimated time of death was on my birthday.”
Agent Belkamp stopped scribbling on his notepaper and looked up at Christopher. He shook his head sadly, but didn’t say anything.
“We done?” asked Christopher.
“What, you got hot plans for the night?” Agent Belkamp teased him.
“Very hot,” Christopher confirmed, shooting a sideways glance back to the basketball court.
The FBI agent chuckled and folded up his notebook. “We’re done. Go on, have fun. Leave your phone on, though, in case we need to get in touch with you about this kid.”
“Will do.” Christopher turned back to the basketball court and hurried toward Doug.
Doug saw him coming and passed the ball off to Agent Shaffer. They headed back toward the station, neither one saying anything until they had left the park well behind.
“I’m sorry,” Doug finally whispered.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like I’m in the closet back home, and I don’t have to work here when this is over.”
“Are we… are we still on for tonight?” Doug asked.
“Yes!” Christopher caught the sound of his own overenthusiastic voice and nearly groaned. How desperate could one word possibly sound? “Do you want to come by my hotel later?”
“No,” said Doug. “I want to have dinner with you.”
“Dinner?”
“Yeah.”
“Like a date?”
“No,” said Doug smoothly. “Not like anything. A date. I guess we don’t… that is, if you want to just keep things simple, we don’t have to…. I just figured if I’m going to take you up on that offer to fall asleep inside of you, I might as well feed you first.”
Christopher nearly tripped. “I offered that?”
“Begged for it.” Doug smirked.
Christopher squeezed his eyes shut. He had already slept with Doug more times than he had slept with any single person since college, and technically, they had gone out for dinner too. Why was the idea of a date so nerve-racking? His stomach started tying itself in knots just at the mention of the word. He wasn’t sure if he was feeling hopeful or terrified. Maybe both. He swallowed hard. “Dinner sounds great.”
Doug followed Christopher back to his hotel, where Christopher changed into fresh clothes and then got back into his car and followed Doug’s truck out of town. Doug drove south down the highway. For a few minutes, Christopher wondered if Doug was taking them back to Missoula. He followed Doug’s truck as the highway curved around the mountain range and descended into a long, narrow valley. Doug turned right and drove on down a worn two-lane road that seemed to go on and on through nothing but light green fields. Christopher tried to see where they were going, but there was nothing out here. Every few minutes they passed a fence dividing the sections of field, and large metal cattle guards set across the road between the fence posts.
For twenty more minutes, Doug kept driving, taking two more right turns and eventually leading Christopher on to a bumpy dirt road. Finally, they drove through a large log gate with a black lacquered mailbox posted to one side. Christopher slowed down as his car rumbled across another cattle guard, and took the chance to look around. Down the single-lane dirt road, there was a gigantic and empty-looking farmhouse set in the middle of one of the green fields. Doug parked right in front of the house. This was Doug’s house, Christopher realized.
Christopher climbed out and stared around at the vast landscape. A large barn sat north of the house and several small sheds and building dotted the fields around the barn. All around the buildings, grass grew tall, unkempt, and wild. It rolled and swayed in waves as a cool breeze swept down off the pine-covered mountains. The house itself looked like it was in good repair, but all of the windows were dark and most of the shutters were closed.
“Wow,” said Christopher, when Doug came toward him. “How can you afford a place like this?”
Doug laughed and took him by the shoulders. Instead of the kiss he was expecting, Doug spun him around. “See that grove of oak trees over there?” Doug pointed to a spot by the mountains far to the west.
“No,” Christopher said honestly.
“It’s about seven miles. It’s easier to see in the fall when the leaves change. That creek is right about in the middle of my land. Everything from the mountains just there, down to Little Crane Road to the south is mine. The highway is the eastern boundary.”
“Was that the road we drove in on?”
“No,” Doug laughed. “That was Isabelle Lane. My great grandfather named the road after a daughter they lost to measles. This ranch has been in my family for five generations altogether.”
“This is a ranch? A real ranch? With cows?” Christopher asked, looking around again.
“It used to be a ranch. As for the creek….” Doug pointed to the spot again. “Oak isn’t a native tree. When my family bought the land, they planted oak trees along the creek, so they could tell which direction the creek was in from anywhere in the pastures. By late August, it’s the only water source that’s not dry.”
“The lighter green against the pine trees?” Christopher asked.
“That’s it.”
“So, everything here”—Christopher gestured out into the grass land—“everything we just drove through, that’s all yours?”
“Yes. I inherited it when my mom died, two years ago. It hasn't been a working ranch in years. We sold off the last of our cattle after my dad died. My mom leased it as grazing land, until the end. I keep thinking I’m going to sell it and move on, so I haven’t bothered with letting a
nyone else lease it.”
Christopher took in the sheer size of the ranch around them. Doug’s ranch extended farther than Christopher’s vision, and it was all empty and pristine. He remembered how proud he’d been when he had closed on his first condo. Owning a thousand square feet of building seemed pathetic compared to all of this. “Damn.”
“It’s not that impressive when you realize that every acre is overgrown and useless. There isn’t enough water to use it for farming, and it’s hard to raise cattle up here. I should have just put in on the market from the start.”
“Really?” Christopher noticed that Doug hadn’t taken his hands off his shoulders yet, so he risked leaning back against Doug’s chest. The warmth and familiar muscles made him think about how he had ended up in this same position in the shower on Monday night. “I think,” he whispered, “that if I had something with this much history attached to it, it would take a lot to convince me to sell.”
“Your folks still alive?” asked Doug.
“I wish I knew. Peter was all the family I had. We never dreamed we’d have any kind of home. I never imagined something like this could actually exist as a kid.” From the way Doug tensed behind him, he wondered what he had said that pissed him off. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “Guess that was a bit personal.”
“Your only family just died. I think I can forgive a little baggage.”
Christopher turned in Doug’s grasp and looped his arms around Doug’s neck. “Doug, I don’t have a little baggage. I have an entire set of matched and monogrammed luggage. Just because I don’t whine about it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.” Christopher wanted to add that any man who had panic attacks that left him reaching for a gun in the middle of the night probably had just as many issues as he did, but decided it wasn’t worth mentioning. Christopher dipped his head down and touched Doug’s lips in a soft kiss.
Doug returned the kiss for a second, and then he rubbed his nose against Christopher’s. “You want to take a shower while I start on dinner?” Doug asked.
“You’re going to cook? Something other than french fries?” The only thing Doug had eaten at the Hay Loft had been fries, even though Christopher had ordered enough wings to share. The only thing he’d seen Doug eat other than fries was the curry they had for lunch the day after they met, and a bagel.
“I can make fries if you want. They wouldn’t go with dinner, but I’ve got some potatoes, I think.”
“Whatever you’re making will be fine. Think maybe you could take a shower with me, and then I can help you cook?”
Doug shook his head and grinned. He squeezed Christopher’s hips, caressing the dip of skin where Christopher’s abs began. “There will be time. If you want to wake up with me inside of you, you’ll have to spend the night.”
Christopher dropped his forehead against Doug’s shoulder. It was nice, being with someone nearly as tall as he was. He took a deep breath, trying to pull as much of Doug’s scent into his lungs as he could hold. “I can’t believe I said that….”
“You sounded pretty turned on by the idea at the time. I’m not even sure it’s possible, but if thinking about it gets you that worked up, I am totally willing to give it a try.”
Christopher tried to bury his face deeper in Doug’s neck. He couldn’t count the number of times he had thought about waking up to sex in the mornings. The few guys he had hooked up with had always been up for a quick round of sex in a hotel room, and even though some of them had asked him to stay, he never had. The last relationship he’d been in was back in college, and even then, his boyfriend had typically gone back to his own place after sex.
“It might even take a few tries, before we get it right.”
“A few tries?”
“Yeah. I’m off until Sunday morning. Are you busy this weekend?”
Christopher shook his head. “I am totally free.”
“Good. Come on, I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”
After a quick shower, Christopher found his way into the large farmhouse kitchen. Doug was setting the table with plates full of food. Separate plates of salad and crusty bread were already on the table. “Damn. You went all out. I thought I smelled chili, but that is not chili.”
“Nah,” said Doug modestly. “It’s ten minutes of playing with a can opener and Minute Rice. Sit down. You want a beer?”
When Christopher took a bite of the spicy rice dish, he shut his eyes as a surprisingly smooth blend of Middle Eastern flavors filled his mouth. “Ten minutes? Fuck, I’d like to see what you could manage with a whole afternoon. This is incredible! Where did you learn to cook?”
Across the dining nook, Doug blushed beautifully. “I missed the food in Miami. I’ve tried to copy some of the food from my favorite restaurants down there.”
“It’s really good,” said Christopher, before shoveling more into his mouth. When he finished the bite, he dug into the pile of rice and chickpeas curiously. “So, what kind of cowboy doesn’t eat meat?”
When Doug remained silent, Christopher was worried he had the wrong idea. For an entire minute, Doug didn’t say anything. “Does it bother you?” Doug asked finally.
Christopher shook his head. “No. Lots of Delgado’s girls have been vegans or vegetarians. I just doubt any of them have awards from the Future Farmers of America framed on their walls.”
Doug tried not to laugh as he finished chewing. “I’d guess you’re right….”
“So you’re a vegetarian cowboy?”
“Vegan cowboy,” Doug corrected him. “I still wear a leather holster and stuff, because there’s just no good substitute, but I don’t eat animal products.”
“Why not?”
“You’re going to think I’m some kind of fucking pansy if I tell you.”
“I will not,” Christopher promised. When Doug glared at him, he cocked his head to the side. “Okay, I might. But I won’t say so out loud.”
“Fine. We’ll see. When I was twelve, I got the job of bottle-feeding a new calf whose mother had died. He needed to eat every four hours for months. He followed me around thinking I was his mom until he was over a year old. At two years, he went to the slaughterhouse as part of a herd sale. We got our beef for the year back in the bargain.” Doug shook his head sadly. “Every time my mom cooked something with that beef, I ended up wondering if I was eating my calf. My dad said I was too old to be going through that shit, so we spent the whole fall hunting. He wanted to drive home the whole natural-order thing…. I ended up quartering so many deer and elk that we had more meat than we could give away. By Christmastime, I couldn’t even take a bite of turkey without feeling as if I was going to be sick. So now I tell the guys at work that I’m addicted to fries, or that I’m a peanut butter junkie, just so I don’t have to put up with all of the PETA jokes they’d make.”
“They would, too,” Christopher agreed. The men he had met on Monday night had definitely been a steak-and-potatoes kind of crowd. “How do you stay in the shape you’re in, though? You must lift. You look like you would put half of the guys in the weight room at my gym to shame.” Christopher felt his stomach flutter at the slight blush that coated Doug’s cheeks. “I mean, without protein shakes and stuff.”
“I work out. I lift heavy and get plenty of protein from vegetables.” Doug stabbed a chickpea and held it up triumphantly. “You run ultra marathons without energy bars and fancy gels. You found an alternative that works for you. But I bet there are a lot of runners out there who never go more than a couple miles and who are absolutely convinced they can only do it with an expensive energy bar before their run.”
“There are,” Christopher had to agree.
As they ate, they traded half-veiled compliments back and forth, then talked about Elkin, the fire, and the FBI investigation. It wasn’t until the conversation wove its way back around to the house that Christopher remembered to tell Doug about Peter’s truck and his strange encounters with the boy named Micah.
“Did you catch his la
st name?” Doug asked.
“No. Honestly, listening to that asshole talk about Peter as if he was some kind of gay role model was sickening, so I just got the hell out of there. Although, sixteen is a bit too old to fall into the age range Peter preferred.”
“I can track the kid down,” Doug offered. “I’ve got to anyway, if I’m going to find out about your brother’s truck.”
Christopher scooped up the last bite from his plate. “I pushed Special Agent Belkamp in that direction this afternoon. After totally outing us both, of course.”
“What did you say to him, anyway?” Doug asked with a laugh. “Even his partner noticed that he was blushing.”
“He asked what we did over the weekend,” said Christopher innocently. “And when I was too vague for him, he asked me to elaborate. So I did.”
“You elaborated?”
“Yes.”
“In detail?”
“He stopped me before I got into you bending me over the counter in the hotel bathroom, but yeah. I half expected him to start jacking off right there in the park.”
“You’re mean.” Doug pointed his fork at him.
“I can be. The guy bugs me. It’s his job to track the kid down, so I figure why not let him do it? Then you don’t have to give up any of your weekend.”
Doug took a sip of his beer and smiled. “Well, I would hate to cancel my plans. I suppose you’re right.”
“Of course I am.” Christopher scraped the last of the spice sauce up with his fork. “That was really good. Is there more?”
Doug took his plate and went to the stove. “Actually, I made extra. After watching you put away five orders of wings, half of my fries, and six beers, I figured you might have a healthy appetite.”
Christopher practically bounced when another plate full of spicy rice and chickpeas was set in front of him.
“Do you like hiking?” Doug asked suddenly. “I was going to go hiking or maybe climbing this weekend. Want to come?”
“I’ve never been climbing. There are incredible climbing spots, I’ve heard, right outside San Diego, but I’ve never been. I don’t have the gear, though.”