by V. L. Locey
He laughed. My cock pulsed. I glanced around the compact log cabin for something to remark on other than his cum gutters or the dip above the swell of his ass cheeks.
“I’m more a coffee man,” I decided to go with. He appeared a moment later, in frayed jeans, his chosen shirt of the day on his shoulder, fingers combing through his hair.
“I can see that. You’re like this combination of the Marlboro man and Sam Elliott in Roadhouse minus the long hair.”
“I’m flattered.”
He gave me a wink that did nothing for the problem I was having with my dick. It felt like I was fifteen again, with my cock leading the show. I wasn’t able to process the reaction to Bishop. I’d not been this wildly attracted to a man since Devon. It was disconcerting to say the least.
“Thanks for coming to get me.”
“Part of the job,” I replied, keeping my hands in my raincoat pockets which ensured the front was hiding my crotch. The light in his eyes dimmed a bit.
“Sure, yeah, of course.” He hustled around, grabbing worn hiking boots, then thankfully pulled his shirt down over his head. A plain white tee with some sort of worn out logo for a walkathon to benefit the Pacific Life Association. “I’m stoked to have some help. We’ll head out as soon as the rain blows over.”
“They have an old Chevy van,” I tossed out as he bounced around on one foot while trying to tug a boot on the other. A small log in the fireplace snapped and spit. The heat felt good with the cold rain running down my neck. The warm air was thick with that coconut scent of his.
“Right, that’s Veers. Okay, let me grab a hat and we’re off.” He yanked a Dodgers cap from the back of the couch, pulled on his other boot, rooted around for his rucksack, drank the rest of his tea, and then slid his arms into a well-weathered yellow slicker. He looked adorable. Kailey had had one just like it, smaller of course, that she loved to wear with her yellow rain boots. Devon and I would take her out to the park after a downpour and—“Nate, are you okay?” I snapped back to the present with a jolt. Blinking at the man in the safflower rain slicker, I nodded with a vigor that I didn’t feel. “You zoned out a little there.”
“Lack of sleep. Let’s go.” I spun from Bishop, ears burning with shame, gut churning up my coffee, and barreled out the door. Thunder boomed. A second later the sky lit up. I glanced skyward and reveled in the cold rain hitting my face. If only the deluge could wash the memories away...
Once we were in my truck the silence grew until it was nearly painful.
“Does this happen often?”
I glanced to the right. Bishop was looking out at the storm, his nose and cheeks damp from our sprint to the pickup.
“Sure, we can get some bad weather. Cold front meets warm front, vice versa.” I turned the key, the engine rolled over and the stereo came on. “Spring storms can be real bitches.”
He chanced a peek my way, his teeth working his lower lip. “Actually, I was referring to the momentary look of panic on your face when you saw my raincoat.”
“Oh.” Fuck. The man was too astute. “Just a memory.”
I stared straight ahead, the high beams slicing through the steady rain. A man had to pay attention to the road out here. God only knows when a moose will step out in front of you and—his hand came to rest on my right thigh. My sight flew from the sloppy dirt road to his fingers on my leg then to his face. I’d never seen a more earnest, beautiful sight.
“I know we don’t know each other well, but if you ever want someone to talk to, I’m a good listener as well as an excellent talker.”
Just like that his hand left my thigh. I nodded once, lips firmly pressed, in case some part of me, way down deep, decided that talking about Kailey with Bishop was a good idea.
He turned up Gordon and hummed along to “Carefree Highway” which was one of the most important songs of my life. God only knows how many times the lyrics had made me weep yet I played it over and over, rolling in the poignancy of the song like a dog finding a gut pile.
Bishop chatted amiably as we made our way back to my cabin. I grunted and bobbed my head when there was a lull. When we parked outside my home he had to be as relieved as I was to know the awkward ride was over. His students greeted him warmly. He dropped down on the sofa between Paula and Veer, and they instantly started talking about bones, claws, frills, and other dino related gossip. I slipped into the kitchen, pulled out my largest frying pan, a dozen eggs, and a jar of bacon bits. As they caught up, I cooked. I needed the distance to settle myself. Damn memories. They crept up on a man from behind like a mugger.
When the eggs were ready, I plated and delivered them. The kids dove into the simple fare as if starved. Bishop thanked me softly, his gaze touching me in ways that made me acutely aware of him and his warm coconut scent. I lingered in the kitchen, eating at the island, reading a book as I let the now unfamiliar sound of laughter seep into my soul. It had been ages since my home had people in it. I’d not realized just how much I missed that human touch.
“That hit the spot,” Bishop announced as he entered the kitchen with a stack of plates. I closed my book, a boring literary fiction about some Canadian returning home to find himself, and looked up at the professor. “I read that, or tried, last year. What do you think about it?”
“It’s pretentious and stuffed with so much profound insight into the human condition that I want to chuck it out the window.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, that was my feeling as well.” I went to stand but he waved me off. “Sit, finish your coffee. I can stack these in the dishwasher as thanks for a great meal. It was really kind of you.”
“Part of the job,” I tossed out as blithely as I could. His jaw tightened. I got up and joined him by the sink, rinsing out my mug.
“You do that a lot,” he mumbled as I passed my cup to him. I glanced up from the mug to him, questioningly. His gaze grabbed mine and held it. “Use your job as an excuse for being gracious, or polite, or caring. I highly doubt cooking for us is part of your job. You did it because you’re a kind man who for some reason does not want others to know he has a soft spot.”
I stared at him, stunned that he had read me so clearly. As I floundered for something to say I found myself lost in the differing colors of blue in his eyes. There were flecks of deep aqua around his pupils, a blending of blues like a summer dawn.
His eyes dropped to my mouth. He moved closer. I leaned in just as his sight flickered back up to touch mine. My eyes fell to his mouth. The tip of his tongue darted out to dampen his lips, a light pink temptation between two pillows of strawberry. I had to taste his lips to see if they were as sweet as the fruit they were—
“Is there more coffee? I’ve been up since last night and my brain is fried. Oh cool! A pot!” Veer, the Middle Eastern student with the van and the buzzed head, lumbered into the kitchen. Bishop and I jumped back. I shoved my mug into the top rack and shakily moved to the coffee pot to refill Veer’s mug. “Prof, you need to come settle this debate once and for all.”
Bishop ran a hand over his face, chuckling as he turned from me to face his student. “Are we hashing out the theory of there being living microbes inside an eighty million-year-old Brachylophosaurus again?”
“Yes! Try telling Paula that it’s impossible for collagen to survive that long unless the specimen was preserved in an exceptionally cold environ.” And with that announcement, Veer latched onto Bishop and hauled him back to the living room. The professor gave me one long over the shoulder look before he dove into the conversation.
I flung myself at the sink, cranked on the taps, and threw some cold water on my face. Pity I couldn’t soak my balls in the icy cold water. As the storm moved off, the excited group in the living room were talking about tents and cooking supplies. Seemed they were planning to sleep out by the dig site. I made a mental note to ride out in the evenings to check on them. Despite what Bishop seemed to think, keeping the guests here safe was a part of my job. It wasn’t like I was going to go out t
here daily just to see Bishop the man I had almost kissed over a dirty coffee mug. Shit. I had no clue what to do with this attraction that was brewing between us.
The rain stopped around seven. I stood on my wet steps, my head a cauldron of confusion, and watched the dino gang head off into the fog that was laying low along the land. After letting the chickens out, I headed right to the horse barn, meeting up with Kyle who was chucking hay bales down to the hands with such force he knocked David Little Shield right off his feet.
Once I checked on my hand, I climbed up into the hayloft between square bale bombings. One of the best places in the world, in my humble opinion, was a hay loft. There was something about the smell of hay and the symmetry of the neatly stacked bales that put me at ease. Pigeons cooed from the rafters and back in the corners the scurry of tiny rodents could be heard in the lull of conversation down in the stables.
“I got this,” Kyle grunted as he hefted two bales to the opening in the floor.
“You almost knocked David into a coma,” I said, reaching out to lift the bale from his left shoulder. His tight face softened as what I said sank in.
“Sorry,” he called down to the guys below then dropped a bale down after checking to see if anyone was directly under him.
“Want to talk about it?” I asked as we worked side by side. Kyle shook his head, sighed, took off his brown hat, and sighed once again. I didn’t push the big man. He would speak if he wanted to. If not, that was his business. Far be it for me to force someone to divulge something they wanted to keep to themselves.
“My younger brother Will got himself into some shit, legal shit.”
“Bad legal trouble?”
He dropped down to rest on a bale. I did the same but across from him. The aroma of horses and hay blew up from the open trap door, stirring up fine particles of dust and dander.
“Bad enough. He’s been in and out of juvenile detention for a couple of years now. Nothing he does is ever really bad...like he’s not killing people or raping or shit, just petty stuff. Stealing mostly, some drinking, smoking pot. My mother gave up on him when he turned eighteen a few years ago.” He lifted pained brown eyes to me. “Part of his parole is that he has to have a steady job. I was wondering if we could sign him on here.” Kyle wasn’t what I’d call model handsome. Not like the Cali professor with the bun. He was an ordinary man with a pleasant face. Strong and dependable, hard-working, quick to laugh, and even quicker to fight if he felt the need to defend a friend. Just ask anyone at the Hollow Wind Ranch. “A few months ago, he went and got into a fight with a bartender when they carded him. Guess the asshole threw a punch. Landed in jail for assault. I posted his bail and got him a lawyer who got him a lesser charge with only a few months. Time served and all that shit but now he’s ready to get out and needs a job.”
I contemplated while rubbing the whiskers on my chin. “I’ll have to discuss it with Landon. Normally, I’d say yes right off but with his prior record and all...”
“No, hey, I get it.” He sat up a little straighter. “He’s not a bad kid, not really, just...lost or something. Always hung with a bad crowd. If we can get him away from those asshole buddies of his maybe he’ll see there’s more to life than drinking, dope, and chasing women.”
“I’ll call Landon over the weekend with the weekly update, and we’ll discuss Will. I’ll do what I can for him, but if Landon isn’t comfortable with it, well, then we’ll have to pass on hiring him.”
“Thanks, and yeah, I know it’s a longshot.” Kyle offered me his work-hewn hand.
We shook and then we got back to work. Horses didn’t feed themselves. I also had my rounds to make yet. Checking on the cattle, moving through the herd as they gathered to eat, helped me spot any signs of illness early. We also had to get ready for the last round of insemination to take place. Walking through the cows to see which ones were showing signs of standing heat morning and night was part of my routine this time of year. Maybe I should have Perry just report back on how the dino group was doing. He’d be out there in the mud with the other fossil fans. It would save me time after my evening cattle check. I actually went as far as to call Perry over then stood there staring at him.
“Did you need something, boss?” he finally asked when the moment grew cumbersome.
It was right on the tip of my tongue. Instead, something moronic tumbled out.
“Make sure to double the rations on lactating cows.”
He looked at me as if I’d lost my fucking mind. “We have been.”
“Right, I knew that. Just checking.” I gave him a stupid smile then went and hid with Tiberius. My horse seemed disinterested in me at the moment. Fresh hay and oats were more important.
“You up for nightly rides?” I asked while he munched. His left ear twitched. I took that for a yes. I had to wonder what had held me back from simply letting Perry be the watchdog for the fossil brigade.
Maybe it was something with strong arms, sky blue eyes, and lips the color of ripe strawberries?
Yeah, maybe it was.
Chapter Five
Five days had passed with me making a daily sweep of the dig site. I had to admit it was pretty damn fascinating to watch this small team of fanatic fossilists painstakingly working on removing what Bishop was relatively sure was a Triceratops, which was not to be confused with any of the other Ceratopsians such as Centrosaurus, Koreaceratops, who was a swimming dino, Pentaceratops, or good ole Styracosaurus. I had zero knowledge of any of them but Bishop and the bone gang sure did. Every day after my last cattle check, I’d saddle up Tiberius and head out, stopping only once on Sunday to visit the lone oak pasture. I’d sat by the tree for a bit, fingering the wildflower stalks that were shooting up before tying a new hair ribbon around the cross that I’d had Kyle make two years ago.
Usually, I would spend hours by the lone oak, lost in the memories of a life that was as faraway now as the world those dead reptiles Bishop was so fond of was. Tonight, it was a short visit. New ribbons—yellow ones to match her hair—then I was back on the four-wheeler. Tiberius had come up lame. Probably too many miles after years of being a lay about. I gave him a cold therapy treatment then wrapped the slightly swollen cannon. Hopefully, the rest and the icing would see him improved in the morning.
So it was wheels and not hooves that carried me across fields of new growth. The Tetons were still snow-capped, shrouded in fog now that the days were warming. All the little creeks were heavy with melt off. Water splashed up over my boots, dampening my pant legs, when I forded a muddy stream on the Polaris. I followed our fence line for a space, stopping once to inspect where all three lines of barbed wire were down. Sitting on the four-wheeler, I looked the area over. McCrary land buffeted up against ours here for a few miles then veered off. Leaving the machine idling, I got off to inspect the fence.
Taking care to lift the top strand—barbed wire digs in deep—I noted how clean the break seemed to be. Making a mental note to myself to send a couple of the men up here to fix it, I walked back to the Polaris, chewing on this discovery. We’d had “incidents” in the past with fencing being cut or our cattle wandering into the Hollow Wind pastureland. It happened. Livestock did break out on occasion. And there was never any proof of wrongdoing. The lost cattle had been rounded up after they’d been spied by Clint Sully. Black tends to stand out among the red cattle, although the McCrary’s had been mixing their line with Angus so that means of identification was becoming less and less reliable. Still, I had to wonder if it had been anyone other than Clint who had been in charge would those beefers have ever come home? It warranted keeping an eye on. I climbed back onto the four-wheeler and gave her some gas.
It was hard to explain the feeling in my chest when I saw the green tarps that served as tents over the excavation area. It felt like a flock of pine warblers were trying to break free of my breast. I knew now that the giddy sensation was because I was going to see Bishop. I finally confessed to myself my attraction to him last night a
s I lay in bed, dick in hand, and beat off to the fantasy of him laying me down under one of those green tarps and fucking me into the dirt. I had come so hard my toes had cracked when they dug into the mattress. You know it was a good orgasm when your toes crack.
Bishop sat alone under one of the tarps, his head down, his attention on the raft of bones buried within the ground. He glanced up, dirt smeared over his nose, his hair pulled up into that silly bun. He stole my breath. Then he smiled and the pine warblers inside me took to wing.
“Where’s the prehistoric pit crew?” I asked after parking well away from the site. He sat back on his haunches, firm ass on his heels, and waved his brush in the general direction of Copper Falls.
“They were dying for some pizza and beer, so I gave them the night off. There was mention of a movie as well. Your man went with them.”
“Good.” I stepped under the tarp, careful with where I put my big feet. The area was marked off with string and stakes in a neat grid pattern. Bishop sat in one of the squares, precisely situated between what looked to be a pile of big rib bones and what could have been vertebrae. Around him lay water bottles, chisels, brushes, and a hand-drawn map of the dig site. “He needs to be with people his own age.”
“That’s what I told him.”
“You’re not much older than they are. Why didn’t you go too?” I dropped down into a crouch, eyeing up a pick with a fine hook.
“I’m an ancient soul,” he replied then slowly stood, stretching tall, his tank top hiking up to show me that tempting strip of belly. “Also,” he said as he stepped lightly over the strings and bones to stand before me. “I was hoping you’d show up tonight.”