The Cowboy Poet

by Claire Thompson

  ~*~

  When Tyler finally left the magazine‘s offices at around eight that evening, he was beat. Operating in a hangover-induced fog, he‘d cranked out the article on the museum, doing what he knew was a half-assed job, before turning to the boring, tedious job of fact-checking Carl Hick‘s lead article on how charter schools were fundamentally changing the Texas education system. His heart just wasn‘t in his work, and Clint Darrow kept invading his thoughts, despite his best efforts to shut him out.

  Five cups of coffee over the course of the day, along with a greasy hamburger and fries hadn‘t improved matters, and it was a relief to finally stumble out of the concrete and glass building in downtown Austin to the large black-topped employee parking lot. The lot was mostly empty now, though a few of the more dedicated staff were still on the job.

  The magazine was a good place to work, and Austin was a great city, as far as cities went, but it wasn‘t the country, that was for sure, and he found, especially after the last week back in West Texas, that he missed the wide, open spaces and the green plains of home more than he‘d realized.

  During that all-too-brief ride on Lady, his body had leaped awake to the feel of the saddle and the horse‘s easy, powerful grace beneath him. He missed his own horses. He missed the air free of car exhaust and city smells.

  He missed Clint.

  He missed him so bad that he actually thought for a split second that he saw Clint‘s beat-up old pickup truck parked beside his car in the lot. As he got closer, he saw it was even the same model and color as Clint‘s truck.

  He saw someone was slumped in the driver‘s seat, their face obscured by a cowboy hat, tipped down against the setting sun. His heart did a sudden summersault in his chest when he saw the silver band against the black felt of the hat. Either his longing to see Clint had actually conjured the man‘s hat, or Clint Darrow was sitting in the parking lot of Lone Star Monthly, asleep in his truck.

  Tyler walked to the driver‘s side of the truck, his heart going a mile a minute. His mouth was dry and prickles of perspiration popped beneath his arms. What was Clint doing three-hundred-seventy-five miles from home? More to the point, what was he doing parked beside Tyler‘s car?

  Tyler‘s mind was short-circuiting as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing. Even as the elusive and uncontrollable emotion called hope began to balloon inside him, he moved to quash it. He tried to tell himself he didn‘t want to see Clint again. Clint knew his dirty secrets. He had understood and exploited Tyler‘s desperate need to submit, but he didn‘t understand the depth of Tyler‘s shame.

  Maybe this was it then—the chance to really lay it out there. Once he understood the full extent of Tyler‘s humiliation at the hands of Wayne, and how little he‘d done about it, Clint would thank his stars Tyler had turned tail and run.

  The windows were open and Tyler leaned lightly against the door frame, just staring at the man in repose. He looked at him a long time, at the work-roughened hands that rested on either side of him, at the powerful thighs and the sexy bulge at his groin, covered in faded blue denim he knew was soft as calf skin from a thousand washings. He looked at the curling V of chest hair visible at the opening of the denim work shirt and at the slightly pointed chin and sensual lips of the sleeping man.

  He drank in the sight of the guy who had occupied just about every waking moment of his life since he‘d met him. Clint Darrow was never out of his thoughts, either playing front and center when Tyler was alone and brooding on his own stupidity, or pushed down to a steady, aching hum just beneath the surface when he managed to force himself to concentrate on tasks that no longer interested him.

  As if aware of the intensity of Tyler‘s hungry gaze, Clint shifted against the seat, pushing his hat back up on his head as he slowly opened his dark, sleepy eyes.

  He turned toward Tyler, a smile moving its way over his mouth. Hey there, Ty, he rasped.

  Hey, Tyler responded, no other words coming to his aid as his stomach twisted. He wanted to look away but found he could not. He was drawn to this man like a moth to a flame. Heat fanned through his body, a heat that had nothing to do with the temperature outside, and his muscles tightened in anticipation, though of what, he wasn‘t entirely sure.

  Jesus God, I want this man. I want him something awful.

  The words echoed so loudly through his head that for one terrible second Tyler thought he‘d said them aloud.

  They stared at one another for a long while and Tyler realized with a jolt that Clint‘s look was just as hungry as his own, as if he were memorizing the features of Tyler‘s face, as if he might never see him again.

  Finally Tyler found his voice. You‘re a long way from home, he observed. Clint nodded, not helping him at all. What, uh, what brings you to Austin? Tyler added inanely, feeling like a fool.

  You.

  Oh.

  After a long paused, Clint added, You gonna stand there all night or you gonna get in?

  Tyler found that his body was better at taking direction at that moment than his mind, which still couldn‘t quite seem to get a handle on what was happening. His legs were carrying him around the back of the truck to the other side. His hand was pulling open the door and then he was climbing in, settling beside Clint, his own car forgotten.

  Clint was watching him. Tyler wished he would say something, anything, but Clint remained silent.

  I was a horse‘s ass, Tyler finally blurted.

  Yeah, Clint agreed somberly.

  But as Tyler watched, a smile broadened on Clint‘s face and there was a gleam in those dark, sexy eyes. Tyler found himself smiling back, and realized he hadn‘t smiled in a week—his cheeks actually ached with the unfamiliar effort.

  And then he was grinning, and so was Clint. Laughter bubbled up in a rising joy from somewhere deep inside him, pushing its way past his lips. Clint began to laugh too. They laughed for a long time, the kind of freeing, raucous laughter that brings tears and sighs as it subsides, only to be kicked off again by a glance.

  Finally they sat in silence, but it was an easy silence, the tension broken by their laughter. Tyler ventured, You came all this way to see me?

  Clint nodded. Sure did. I never did like to let a man get in the last word. We got us some serious talkin‘ to do, Ty.

  Tyler‘s heart sank. Clint had driven all this way to lecture him about what a jerk he had been. Clint was still laboring under the delusion that Tyler was a better man than he was. Clint just didn‘t understand, and Tyler was going to have to lay it all out. The irony was, once he‘d told Clint the cold, hard truth about himself, Clint would no doubt cut his losses and head home. Yet Tyler realized he was no longer willing to lie, or gloss over his own shameful past and continued sordid longings. If nothing else, he owed Clint the unvarnished truth.

  He turned toward Clint, all the joy of the moment before evaporated in the face of his trepidation.

  But Clint was smiling again. He reached for Tyler‘s face, pulling him close and kissing his mouth. With Clint‘s touch, the dread and sorrow that had been weighing in Tyler‘s heart lifted, and he let himself fall headlong into that kiss, wishing he could freeze this one perfect moment in time forever.

  Chapter 11

  Clint followed Tyler to his apartment house, a sterile looking three-story cement box wedged in between other cement boxes on a busy street not far from the magazine‘s offices. The apartment itself was nice enough, if rather bland, with a beige sofa and matching chairs, and beige wall-to-wall carpeting. There were no pictures on the walls and no personal knickknacks in the built-in shelves along one wall, as if Tyler hadn‘t really moved in all the way yet.

  Clint noticed the empty bottle of scotch whiskey on the glass coffee table and several more empty bottles of booze on the bar that served as a separator between the living room and the kitchen. He said nothing about it, however, as Tyler pointed toward one of the bar stools and said, Can I get you something? I have a few beers in the fridge. I don‘t really cook mu
ch but I think I have some chips and salsa left if you‘re hungry.

  A beer would be fine, Clint replied. Tyler, standing on the other side of the counter, leaned forward suddenly, grabbing the empty bottles from in front of Clint with a swipe of his arm. Sorry. I wasn‘t, uh, expecting company.

  You mean you drank those all on your own? Clint couldn‘t help but ask. Uh, yeah, I guess. Tyler sounded embarrassed, and then added in a more belligerent tone, Is there a law against drinking in your own home now?

  Clint didn‘t rise to the bait, instead merely noting in a mild voice, Looks like maybe you had as rough a week as I did. That‘s all I meant.

  Tyler slid a beer bottle across the counter toward Clint and twisted the lid off a second bottle. Oh. Yeah, I guess you could say that. He took a drink of his beer and set it down. He remained standing, the counter between them like a protective wall.

  Clint wished they were sitting on the sofa instead, or better yet, lying together in the bed in the room beyond, but he could see Tyler was anxious and edgy, the sweetness of that shared kiss in his truck no longer in play.

  Had he made a mistake, driving all this way? Had he believed Jonas‘ staunch assurances that Tyler loved him, not because it was based in fact, but because he simply longed for it to be so?

  Well, he was here now, and even if he made a complete fool of himself, he had to try. There would be no if only¸ not this time.

  He had thought long and hard while driving to Austin about what his plan of attack should be. A number of possible scenarios had passed through his head, from simply showing up at Tyler‘s door and hauling him off to the bedroom, caveman style, to demanding an explanation for his outrageous behavior that morning and refusing to budge until he got a satisfactory answer. But he knew bullying Ty and insisting on answers he wasn‘t ready to give would only backfire in the end. Tyler had to come to him on his own. He had to feel safe enough to find his own way back.

  Clint moved toward the sofa. He settled back with his beer, doubting Tyler would mind if he rested his boots on the coffee table. He noticed the narrow glass sliding door and the small railed-in patio beyond it, lit by the glaring lights of the parking lot, and wondered if Tyler could see the stars at night.

  Leaning over the bar, Tyler called out, Want another?

  I barely started this one, Clint said, shaking his head. He found he didn‘t really have a taste for it, and set the mostly-full bottle on the table.

  Well, I‘m having another, Tyler announced, turning back toward the refrigerator.

  Come over here, Clint said gently, patting the cushion beside him.

  Tyler came around the counter and moved toward him, holding the beer bottle against his chest like a shield. He sat on the edge of the sofa, perched as if he might jump up and run at any second.

  Clint stroked Tyler‘s back, which was rigid with tension. He leaned forward, reaching with both hands to lightly massage Tyler‘s shoulders. He was glad when Tyler set his beer on the table and leaned back a little, letting his shoulders relax some beneath Clint‘s touch. They were both quiet as Clint continued the massage, and then he offered, I almost didn‘t come here. I almost let my own pigheadedness get in the way of seein‘ you again.

  So… Tyler let the word hang before adding, why did you?

  Clint continued to knead Tyler‘s muscles, moving his hand down Tyler‘s back and pressing his fingers along either side of Tyler‘s spine. Tyler let out a deep breath and seemed to relax just a little more. It was Jonas who talked some sense into my head, he replied. Sometimes that‘s what it takes—a friend who can see things we can‘t. Someone to push us along when we aren‘t quite ready ourselves to do the right thing.

  Jonas? Tyler sounded surprised. But I thought you two…

  Are more than friends? Clint supplied, shaking his head.

  Yeah. Tyler nodded glumly. I mean, you‘ve been together so long and all. The way you brought him into our play and us so new…

  I‘m sorry, Ty, if that was a mistake. I love Jonas, but not in a romantic way. We really are just friends. I think maybe we‘re too much alike to ever be more than that. But I should have been payin‘ more attention to where you were at. I guess I thought what you and I shared was strong enough to handle bringin‘ him into the mix. I see now I rushed you. I didn‘t take the time to respect what was right for you. I‘m sorry bout that. I truly am.

  Tyler nodded. I appreciate that, Clint. I thought I could handle it too. I never used to consider myself the jealous type. He shrugged, offering a small smile, then added, Okay. So why did Jonas think you ought to come to Austin? To try to talk some sense into my head about all this?

  No.

  Then what?

  Because… Clint took a deep breath. It was now or never, he realized. He wasn‘t fool enough to repeat Jonas‘ assertion that Tyler loved him, but he could speak his own mind and say what was in his heart. For the first time in his nearly forty years, he would open himself up in the most vulnerable way possible. He would prove to Tyler he meant what he said about everything.

  I think I‘m in love with you.

  Tyler twisted toward him, his mouth dropping open in surprise. Clint rushed on, embarrassed now at his bold confession. That don‘t mean I got expectations. I don‘t. I heard what you said that morning when you left. In fact, I‘ve heard little else in my head this past week. I‘ve tried hard to figure it out, Ty. To understand where you‘re comin‘ from.

  Tyler looked down. Clint continued, You said some hard stuff and it‘s etched into my memory, even if I wanted to pretend you never said it. You told me you felt like a loser, and that‘s the last thing you are. You told me to cut my losses and go back and play my little games with Jonas. If I didn‘t get nothin‘ else from that, I understood I failed to show you what I feel for you is way more just games, Ty. It means everything to me.

  You said you were done being played for a fool, and that my type just wants to take, and to take you over somehow, to make you my object. Your words cut me to the bone, Tyler. I‘m not gonna lie. I let bitterness and hurt get in the way of tryin‘ to understand just what it was that led you to this place. I turned inward instead of reachin‘ out to you. I let you go when I should have followed. Clint reached for Tyler‘s hand, relieved when Tyler let him take it.

  He squeezed it, and laid his heart on the line yet again. After all, what did he have left to lose? I‘m also here as your friend, Ty. I want to understand. I‘m here with open arms and open heart. I‘m gonna stay as long as you let me. Not because I expect you to love me back, but because I want to prove that my words haven‘t been empty.

  He stood, pulling Tyler upright along with him as he reached for him. They moved into each other‘s arms. They held each other wordlessly for a long time, each nestling his head against the other‘s shoulder, arms wrapped tight around each other. Clint felt as if by holding tight, they were anchoring themselves to the world, to this moment. It felt so good, so right, to have Tyler in his arms again. He never wanted to let go.

  If only he could reach Tyler, really get through to him that what they had wasn‘t dirty or shameful, but something to be cherished and experienced with joy. He had to keep trying. Jonas was right—they were worth it.

  With his head still resting on Tyler‘s shoulder, he said softly, If you get nothin‘ else out of our time together, please hear me on this. Our special kind of lovin‘ain‘t about abuse or humiliation. It‘s about strength and the courage to give oneself in a loving exchange of power. I‘m gonna try my best to prove that to you, if I can. If you‘ll let me.

  By mutual accord, they pulled back, but only so they could lean forward again, this time face to face, lips touching. Their kiss was long and sweet, an exploration, a getting reacquainted. They fell back together on the sofa and Tyler turned to Clint, a small, uncertain smile on his face. I missed you something awful, he said.

  Yeah? You and me both. I was half-scared you‘d tell me to go to hell, but I had to take my chances. You mean too m
uch to me to just let you go without a fight.

  Oh, Clint. I don‘t know what to say. Tyler said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  It‘s okay. You don‘t have to say nothin‘. Clint stood and faced Tyler, his hands held palm up. For what it‘s worth, I ain‘t never said those words to another man before. All I got to give you is myself. I don‘t know what else to tell you. If you want me to go, I‘ll turn around now and walk out that door. You won‘t see me again. But if you want me to stay, I‘m here for you.

  He dropped his hands to his sides, feeling as if the world hung in the balance at that moment, waiting for Tyler to tip it one way or the other. He sighed, adding, I can‘t give you much, Ty. I ain‘t got money or influence with anyone but a few cowhands and a herd of bulls. But I got one thing I can give you, something I didn‘t know until we met that I was savin‘.

  And what‘s that? Tyler whispered.

  My heart.

  ~*~

  I think I’m in love with you.

  Tyler rose from the couch, reaching for Clint‘s hand as his words echoed through Tyler‘s mind. They walked together across the room, Tyler leading the way to the bedroom. Neither spoke as they kicked off their boots and shucked their clothing, their eyes never leaving each other.

  They stood naked before one another, and Tyler felt a peculiar twist in his heart. Clint. He wanted to say more, to speak as eloquently as Clint just had about trust and love, but no other words came. And so he said it again. Clint.

  Clint simply nodded, as if he understood what Tyler barely understood himself, as if he could hear the words still locked in Tyler‘s heart. They moved together toward the bed, pulling back the sheets as they lay side by side.

  Clint started to reach for him, but Tyler pushed him back against the mattress. He felt infused by a strange, quiet fire, a certainty, a knowing that he hadn‘t had before. He rolled toward Clint, his body pressed against Clint‘s side as he ran his finger over Clint‘s lips and moved it along his chin. He traced his way along Clint‘s Adam apple and down to his collarbone. He pressed his palm gently against Clint‘s chest, feeling the strong, steady pulse of his heart.