Rainbow Hill

by Alex Carreras

  Forgetting about his limp, Ethan marched past Quinn toward the outside. “Do I need to bring a towel to wipe off your seat?” he threw over his shoulder. “These khakis are dry-clean only, and I don’t want to risk using any dry cleaners in Jefferson. They’d probably come back two sizes smaller and a totally different color.”

  “Consider your pants safe.” Quinn’s long strides overtook Ethan’s. “And thankfully so is Mary Jane. She owns the one and only dry cleaner in town, and she’s a nice lady and not used to being mistreated by snobs like you, so by all means keep those pants spotless.”

  Ethan refused to respond to Quinn’s barbed comment. He stopped at Quinn’s Ford truck and waited for Quinn to hit the key fob to unlock the door.

  “I don’t lock so you can hop in.”

  Ethan opened the door, impressed with every dirt-free surface. Admittedly, it had been a long time since he’d been in a real truck, but this certainly didn’t resemble a farm vehicle from his youth. Instead, the interior of a well-maintained and handsome cab resembled that of a Cadillac’s.

  Sliding into the driver’s seat, Quinn turned over the engine. “Does it pass muster?”

  “Just drive.”

  Ethan saw the corners of Quinn’s full and sexy lips curve upward, the same lips he kept imagining kissing. “This thing has air conditioning, right?”

  Quinn chuckled and turned the air to arctic. “Our old doctor is still in practice, would you like me to swing by so he can give you the once over? Probably be a good thing since we’re going to be too busy for anything else later.”

  “I had a physical last month, and I’m fine.” Ethan readjusted the air vents. “Better than fine. Perfect, even.”

  “I can see that.”

  Ethan’s heart stopped. No doubt about it. He ran his hand over his chest just to make sure that he was still alive. “What did you say?”

  “I can see that you take care of yourself. Maybe your internal thermostat runs on the hot side, but other than that, you look great.”

  “Thanks.” He paused, struggling to find the words to return the compliment. All he could come up with was a very feeble “You do, too.”

  “Do you mind if I ask a personal question?”

  Ethan kept his eyes peeled on the road. He was vaguely aware of greenery rushing by. “Go ahead.”

  “Won’t your boyfriend miss you? Or will you invite him to the farm on the weekends?” Quinn shot Ethan a sideways glance. “Maybe he could help?”

  “I-I-I don’t think he… that Randall… would like it out here. At the farm.” Ethan clarified. “He’s a city boy through and through and hates anything remotely resembling countryside.”

  “He sounds like one hell of a guy. Is that why you two are together, your extreme hatred of wide open spaces and fresh clean air?”

  “I don’t hate fresh air and wide open spaces,” Ethan returned. “I just don’t happen to like the smell of cow poop on a hot summer’s day. And I’m sure I’m not the only one.”

  “There’s a whole lot of questionable smells in the city too.”

  Ethan couldn’t argue with that.

  They drove over the curving country roads, listening to a country music station, Ethan’s thoughts swirling. He wanted to ask Quinn if he remembered that kiss they shared senior year during the homecoming football game. Normally Ethan didn’t attend sporting events, but Nikki had insisted due to her raging hormones for the quarterback, Noah Shelton. He couldn’t blame her; Noah had an amazing throw accompanied by an amazing backside. Unfortunately for Nikki, Noah had a girlfriend and was the president of the God Squad and didn’t believe in premarital anything, but Nikki was satisfied with the view. Ethan hadn’t judged her too harshly; he felt the same way about Quinn. He had grown into a man seemingly overnight, and Ethan had fallen head over heels in lust. He dreamed of running his hands over Quinn’s broad chest, kissing his lean abdomen, of cupping his hefty buttocks in his needful fingers. That year, night after night, Ethan jacked off until he’d rubbed his dick raw and his palms callused over. But he knew that his fantasies would never become a reality, Quinn being one hundred percent hetero. But would a straight guy kiss another guy like that? And the bulge in his jeans didn’t exactly say “I like girls”. Now that Ethan knew the truth, what was he prepared to do about it? That was the million-dollar question.

  Ethan cleared his throat, hoping to attract Quinn’s attention. It worked. “Earlier when you brought up the thing about last seeing each other…”

  Quinn answered, keeping his eyes firmly on the road. “Yes.”

  “I just want to assure you that there will be none of that.”

  Ethan thought he saw a small smile starting to form across Quinn’s lips. “And what is that, exactly?”

  “I wasn’t the only one there and please don’t act like you don’t remember because I can tell you do. You’re not as sly as you like to think.”

  The smile happened. “Oh I do think I’m sly,” he responded, shooting Ethan a casual glance. “And if memory serves me, that was one hell of a kiss.”

  Heat flushed Ethan’s cheeks, and he went to open his mouth to agree, but Quinn beat him to it. “But you’re right. We shouldn’t play with fire. If we’re going to make this a viable business, we have to keep out relationship a platonic one. We don’t want to muddy the waters and lose focus, do we?”

  Oh brother, did Ethan want to, but he shook his head no instead. “I totally agree,” he mumbled, disappointed.

  “So glad you brought it up. Clear the air since we’re going to be living and working together. Being together twenty-four seven, a lot of emotions can happen to a couple….” Quinn allowed the word couple to linger in the space between them. “A couple of guys,” he finished.

  “Plus I have a boyfriend.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  “Randall.”

  “Randall.” Quinn repeated, slowing to take a turn. He chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “That your boyfriend goes by Randall. Randy sounds much sexier.”

  “He has a very successful design business in the city, and a childish name like Randy might work out here in the sticks but not in the city. Randall says successful. It says he has arrived.”

  “We have too.”

  Taken off guard, Ethan looked around, surprised that they were already headed down Main Street. The town appeared more quaint and polished than he remembered. They passed a florist shop with an upmarket appeal, a modernist arrangement absent of baby’s breath taking center stage in the shop’s front window.

  “Wasn’t that a tacky florist when we were kids that had more plastic flowers than real ones?”

  “Time hasn’t stood still, Ethan. Two guys bought the place about a year ago, and they’ve grown quite a business.”

  “Two men? Gay men? Here in Jefferson?”

  “What, do you think gays aren’t allowed to leave the city? Not everyone wants to be crowded into a gay ghetto, you know.”

  “I didn’t say that. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

  “We also have a few lesbian couples too.”

  Ethan made a derisive noise. “That’s not exactly surprising.” He indicated two Subaru wagons parked along the street. “And that’s them now.”

  Quinn shook his head. “You’re an ass.”

  Ethan shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

  Finding an empty parking space along the street, Quinn maneuvered his truck into the tight space, Ethan impressed at his expert driving skills. After turning the key and shutting down the engine, Quinn began to point out the changes that had occurred in the town recently.

  “On Gatlin Street, the Kane Mansion is now a B-and-B that gets a hefty nightly fee.”

  “I thought that place was demolished years ago.”

  “A retired couple from Boston refurbed the property,” Quinn shared, continuing, “and now they live in the spring house. They did a gorgeous job. I can drive by after we eat. Show it to you.”


  “I’d love that.”

  Quinn opened the door and stepped out onto the street, Ethan following.

  He locked the vehicle remotely. “Hungry?” Quinn turned and headed toward the diner that still hadn’t changed one lick since Ethan’s childhood, smudged windows and all.

  Memories flooded Ethan’s brain as the glass front door chimed their arrival. All heads turned to look, and some smiled a friendly welcome, Ethan recognizing a few faces.

  He could only imagine the rumors that would no doubt start swirling the instant they slipped into the false security of the high-backed, forest green Naugahyde booth.

  “Two?” the curvaceous waitress with yellow-blonde hair the color of straw asked, plastic-covered menus clutched to her ample breast.

  “Yes. Booth,” Quinn requested.

  She winked. “Whatever you want, handsome.” Her purr was palpable.

  Quinn’s sophisticated but still rugged good looks had always attracted the attention of females, Ethan recalled, and a few males. It appeared that nothing had changed.

  Slipping into the booth, the aroma of freshly scrambled eggs and buttered toast sent Ethan’s stomach rumbling. They leisurely perused the extensive and varied menu and ordered before getting down to business.

  “I know you’ve been ambushed,” Quinn began, “but as I said before, this is a great idea. As you can see, this town is not the same town as when we were growing up.”

  “Except for this place,” Ethan whispered, looking at two old ladies, with blue tinged, teased up hair, sipping iced teas through straws and eyeing neighboring tables. “I think those two gossips have never left that table. Their polyester-clad asses are hermitically sealed to the seat cushions.”

  Quinn chuckled, looking in their direction. “They’re harmless. Plus, if we let them know what we plan to do with Oak Hill Farm, this entire town will know in less than five. Those two old tongue-wagging biddies are the best source for advertising.”

  Ethan arched his brow, thinking. “I never thought of it that way. A very effective marketing strategy. I’m impressed.”

  Quinn lifted his chin and returned the arched brow. “Glad you think so.”

  If Quinn delivered that look one more time, Ethan would give the entire diner something to talk about. Quinn’s five o’clock shadow at noon and that sparkle in his chocolate eyes were driving Ethan past thinking inappropriate thoughts, straight to five-alarm fire in his y-fronts. He exhaled slowly, hoping to rid himself of some pent-up sexual frustration as he coached himself to get a grip.

  “What needs to get accomplished first? Where do we start?”

  Quinn leaned against the back of the booth, settling in. “I already started repairing the old calf house and the storage barn. Still needs a few coats of paint, but the structures are sturdy.”

  “I can paint.”

  “You bet your ass you can. We start tomorrow.”

  Ethan pictured Quinn, shirtless and sweaty, stroking paint on a barn wall, with rivulets of perspiration racing down his strong, tanned back dampening the waist of his faded jeans. He feared he would pass out and slide under the table, but a massive glass of ice water was placed in front of him in the nick of time. He guzzled its contents as Quinn kept talking.

  “Since the storage barn is a larger space, I was thinking that it would be the perfect place for a retail space. I’ve started drawing up some shelves I plan to build…that is if you agree. There are also two rooms in the back of the barn that could be turned into classrooms, or working studios for a couple of artists. We could lease out the space. It would be interesting.”

  “You have put thought into this.”

  “Of course. This could really be lucrative if we stay focused and explore every possibility. It would give our fathers something to live for, to get excited about again. They’ve lost their spark for living since their wives died, my dad more than yours.”

  “I just think he hides it better. I see this sadness in his eyes, a distant look on his face I never recognized before.”

  Quinn nodded slowly, dropping his gaze to the surface of the table. “I see that same look with Dad, but I’m convinced that we can snap him out of it if we keep him busy. Give him a future and a sense of purpose. Every man needs one.”

  “How about you? Do you need a sense of purpose?”

  “I’ve always had one.”

  “But why did you leave your job, your life out west to come here and do this?”

  “How could I not? If I didn’t, the end result would be knowing that my father was committing suicide, slowly. Painfully. I lost one parent, and I’m not ready to lose another.”

  “I had no idea he was so bad off,” Ethan said. “He was always such a stable and strong man.”

  “Mom kept him that way. She lifted him up and kept him going.” Quinn’s voice sounded strained with emotion. “I hate to see him this way.”

  Ethan wanted to reach out and take Quinn’s hand, assure him that everything would be all right, but he wasn’t sure that it would be. “I’m sorry” was all he could muster.

  “Not your fault. No reason to apologize.” Quinn shrugged. “But what we can control is the vision and renovation of Oak Hill.”

  “This is still a little rough,” Ethan began, “because I haven’t had a lot of time to figure this out, but first thing Monday, I’ll hit some of the local shops to see what’s selling in the area. We shouldn’t offer things that all the others sell. Keep our products unique, if not entirely exclusive. I remember going to a craft fair when Mom was alive, and I was actually pretty surprised with some of the talent. There was this incredible potter, and I think I still have his card up in my room…uh, Frank’s room, that is.”

  “I’m sure we can get your room back if you really miss it.”

  “I’m fine,” Ethan assured. “I’m a grown man and don’t need it anymore.”

  “I hit a craft fair last week also. Collected a few cards. Needlepoint, quilts, ceramics. Really cool stuff. Some of those quilts were selling well into the hundreds, and people were lined up. Those ladies are astute businesswomen.”

  “Don’t let the coral lipstick and roller-set hair fool you. They like cold hard cash just like the rest of the world.” An idea hit Ethan when he spied an ornately carved decorative wooden spoon hanging on a wall. “I heard that Edward Cunningham became a furniture maker. He’s selling in Los Angeles and New York.”

  Quinn crossed his arms over his chest and smiled, obviously reminiscing on a distant memory. “Damn, no shit.” He let out a small laugh. “He was always cutting class and getting stoned behind the dumpsters by the basketball courts.”

  “I guess it worked for him because New York Magazine dubbed him the modern day Michelangelo of handcrafted furniture.”

  “Go figure. Who knew that killing brain cells would get you ahead in life.”

  “Don’t say that too loudly, or all the mothers in hearing distance will take you out back, hog-tie you, and chuck you into the Dumpster.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  Quinn nodded in the direction of the approaching waitress, two plates piled high with food clutched in her hands. Once plates were set on the table, she turned to Quinn and smiled. “Here you go, sweetheart.” Quinn winked, coaxing a giggle from the woman before she headed to take another order.

  “Let me work on Cunningham,” Quinn said. “He owes me several favors.”

  Ethan wondered if he wasn’t the only guy in high school that had shared a kiss with Quinn.

  After picking up his fork and shoveling a generous portion of creamed chip beef into his mouth, Quinn still managed, “Keep it clean, Stokes. I see where your thoughts are headed.”

  Ethan blushed, stabbing at his Mexican omelet.

  “I covered for that stoner too many times,” Quinn clarified. “If it wasn’t for me, he would’ve never graduated high school and never got into art school.”

  “Have at it. Edward Cunningham never said a word to me.” Ethan began
to lightly butter a crusty piece of five-grain bread, the smell intoxicating. “I don’t think he liked me.”

  “He was too baked to talk.”

  Ethan chuckled and took a bite of bread. He chewed, getting lost in the dense texture and succulent taste. “Damn, this is the best bread I’ve ever tasted.” He took another bite, filling his mouth. “This is nothing like I remember. Didn’t they used to serve those mushy potato rolls that got stuck to the top of your mouth and the only way to dislodge it was to drink a glass of water to wash it down?”

  “You’re right, they did. But that was before they hired Antonio. He’s from Rome."

  “Italy?” Ethan asked in disbelief.

  Quinn jerked his head toward the kitchen, and Ethan followed his lusty gaze. A surly, dark-haired man with a body that screamed better-naked-than-clothed was standing by an eight-person counter, wiping his hands on a dishcloth.

  “Is that him?” Ethan asked, spying the Roman’s generous bulge hiding behind his baker’s apron.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “He’s tastier than his bread.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Quinn repeated, but this time with more of a throaty growl added in.

  “Maybe we should ask him to sell his goods.”

  “I’m sure it wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Realizing what he had said, Ethan half sputtered, half choked a response. “You know what I mean.”

  “Amigo, do I ever.”

  “Get you mind out of the gutter, Kincade. Keep it clean.”

  “I’m trying, but it’s really hard while looking at that.”

  “Hello, boys.”

  Nikki Carmichael’s squeaky cadence cut through their slobbering silence. Ethan tore his gaze away from Antonio to see his local BFF, her curly blonde hair springing outward at every angle, a Cheshire cat-like grin painted across her freshly glossed lips.

  “I knew I’d find you two here.” She looked at Antonio. “That boy is fine.” She sighed. “And that accent.”