“Because we’re the same. I knew right away. Another man wouldn’t pick it up, but I knew.”
“Pick up on what?” Luke frowned, looking concerned. “How do you know I’m not just desperate from being here alone all winter? The men in the gold mines would rub up against anything that moved after a few months. Even the horses weren’t safe.”
Sam laughed. “You like men. I like men. It’s that simple.”
“If you think it’s simple, you’re crazy. Did you do the outdoor chores?”
“Yes, the animals are fed. I got up early, but you looked like you needed more sleep. I wore you out last night.” He paused, looking at the angry man before him. “What did I do? Don’t you like me?”
A long, low growl issued from the other man. “I’ll be glad when you’re on your land and I’m on mine.”
“You didn’t think that last night.”
“You’re old enough to know better than to be talking out loud about this stuff. You do it, but you don’t talk about it. How old are you, boy?” Luke asked.
“Nineteen,” Sam said.
“You can’t be. You need to be twenty-one to take up a claim,” Luke replied.
Sam cut his pancake into quarters, dipped a piece in molasses, and ate it. “I lied. And I had the money for the filing fee. That’s all that mattered to the man at the land office.”
“Where’d you get the money to come out here?” Luke asked.
“I earned it. I saved because I wanted to get out of Boston.” That was as much as Sam was going to say about his life.
“You’re from Boston too? Why didn’t you say so before? I told you I grew up in Jamaica Plain.”
Sam shrugged.
“Where about did you live?”
The South Slope of Beacon Hill, but he wasn’t going to tell Luke he was a Boston Brahmin. He’d left Boston to get away from all that for a while. “Charlestown.” He hadn’t planned to lie, but he didn’t want Luke to know his background. “My father works in a tannery.” Why the Sam Hill had he said that? Because Luke wasn’t the kind of man who’d have much patience with a rich boy. At this point Sam would do anything to make Luke like him.
“You’ve got a funny accent, you know that? Did your family come over from England?”
They had. On the Mayflower. “Yes. My grandmother has an English accent.” That was true. His maternal grandmother went back and forth across the pond every couple of years. He reached his hand out again but didn’t touch Luke. “At least while we’re stuck here through these storms, can we be together without worrying what anyone thinks? The whole town knows you took me in out of the storm. Lots of men bach it together. It’s no big deal.”
“Only while they’re looking for wives.” Luke took a long slurp of his coffee.
“That again? I am not looking for a wife, and neither are you.”
“You will eventually to make your life easier,” Luke said.
“Trust me, Luke. It would not be easier. I like ladies a lot, but I’ve never wanted to bed one. I never have and I never will. Can’t we just be easy with each other, please? It’s more than a coincidence that I knocked on your door in a storm. It was meant to be.”
Finally Luke smiled. “Now you’re talking nonsense, boy. What if I were a toothless old man with dirt under my fingernails? Would it still have been meant to be?”
“If you were a toothless old man, I’d have taken it as a sign to keep moving, storm or no storm.” They both laughed. Sam grabbed Luke’s hand, and this time he didn’t pull it away. “Do you like me even a little?”
Averting his gaze, Luke mumbled, “More than you realize.”
Happier than he’d felt in a long time at the declaration, Sam asked, “Can we be easy with each other? Can we enjoy the time together while we have it?”
Watching him carefully, Sam noted Luke’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, and he shook his head a couple of times. For a moment he seemed to be in pain as a frown crossed his brow. Why was it so hard for him to accept affection and intimacy? Shrugging one shoulder, Luke finally said, “Sure, why not. But when spring comes, we have to get to work and stop any tomfoolery that’s been going on.”
Clapping his hands like a child, Sam leaped up and leaned across the table to kiss Luke on the cheek. “Yes, sir. No tomfoolery come spring.”
Luke pushed him away. He grabbed his mug and drained the coffee. “Do not kiss me. You got that? No kissing.”
“Got it,” Sam said, but he had no intention of abiding by it.
While the blizzard blew, isolating the little house as if they were entirely alone on the prairie, they finished their breakfast. When they were done, they went back to bed without either needing to speak. Sam lay on top of Luke, head to tail while they sucked each other’s cocks. Long after they had satisfied each other, they lay in the same position. Sam’s face nestled in Luke’s hairy groin, resting comfortably. The smell of Luke’s juices filled his nostrils, and the taste of his cock was still in Sam’s mouth. He sighed with happiness. Maybe life could be good in De Smet.
For three more glorious days the storm raged, beating its fury against the solid logs of the little house. There was no one in the world but them, two men, different from their neighbors, who had found each other by some miraculous chance. When they were not satisfying each other, they lay naked in each other’s arms, sometimes on the bed, sometimes on the floor after an especially ferocious tussle had landed them there.
With his head on Luke’s shoulder, the bare boards beneath his hip not bothering him in the slightest, Sam curled his slender body into Luke’s much more muscular one. With little nibbling kisses, Sam worked his way across Luke’s neck, grasping the man’s thick cock at the same time. He pumped it fast and furiously until Luke spent, gasping, his body tense and sweaty. “I love the smell of you and the taste of you,” Sam whispered against his ear.
After half a minute of silence, Luke spoke. “Why do you say dumb shit like that?”
“Because I’m young and not jaded, and I’m never going to end up that way.”
“You probably will,” Luke said.
“No, sir. When the black-eyed Susans and wild columbine start growing on the prairie, I’m going to pick bunches of them and bring them to you. I’m going to cook your meals every day, because I’m the better cook.” Sam smiled, noticing the beauty of Luke’s blue eyes. “If you cut yourself on a plowshare, I’ll bind your wound and kiss you better.”
His cheeks flushing at the words, Luke turned his face away. “You jabber too much. You daydream too much. You’re always sweeping the damn floor. Come spring you’ll be on your land, and I’ll be on mine. We’ll be too busy to see each other.”
Sam grabbed Luke’s face. “Look at me. I’ll never be too busy to see you. I’m going to make you my darling man. You’ll see.”
For a moment Luke remained stoic. Then he smiled despite himself.
* * * *
The storm had to end, and for the first time since September, Luke didn’t want it to. The house was warm, they had food, and he had the sweetest young man he’d ever met in his life to keep him company. Would they be able to go over to Fuller’s without giving themselves away? His heart thudded with fear. Sam didn’t seem able to behave himself when they were alone, always touching him and holding his hand. Always pecking him on the cheeks and biting his ear, though Luke still refused to kiss him on the mouth.
“You stay here. I’ll go over to Fuller’s for the news,” he ordered.
He didn’t expect Sam to stick up for himself and was surprised when the young man said, “Hell, no!” Sam pulled on his heavy coat and threw Luke’s at him.
Angry, Luke snatched the coat up off the floor where it had fallen and followed Sam out into the still, bright morning, pulling it on as he went. Sam turned to him with that wide, intimate smile he bestowed on Luke after they’d made love. “Isn’t it beautiful out?”
If the townsmen noticed that look, Sam and Luke would be hanging from the near
est tree. “Don’t do anything stupid, do you hear me? I’ll whup your ass if you do anything stupid, boy.”
“I won’t do anything stupid,” he promised with a grin Luke didn’t trust.
The atmosphere in Fuller’s was glum. No one was playing checkers. The men stood around speaking to one another in quiet grumbling tones. Sam wandered off around the store while Luke spoke to Fuller. “Any news of the train?”
“That’s everyone’s first question, and the answer is the same as last time. The train is stuck until spring. Everyone’s going to have to manage on the supplies they’ve got.”
Luke nodded. He didn’t need to buy food now, and the shelves were completely bare anyway. He turned with an angry glare when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He was going to kill that boy. But it wasn’t Sam.
“Ingram,” he said, looking into the man’s thin face.
“Sorry, Chandler,” Ingram said, removing his hand. “I just wanted to thank you again for the hare. We had a good meal of it, and Cecily can make a bonnet of the skin for our youngest girl.”
He was too jumpy. He needed to settle down. Forcing a smile, he said, “I’m glad you could use it. It was Smith that shot it.” He looked over at the young man, who held several items in his hands, including a bolt of plain white cloth. What the hell did he want that for?
Sam wandered over, smiling brightly as he placed the items on the counter. “How are you, Mr. Ingram?”
“Much better after hare stew.” Ingram patted his belly as if he were still full from the meal of several days ago. “We thank you again for such a generous gift.”
“You’re very welcome, sir. You have four lovely daughters. You must be proud of them.”
“I am.” Ingram nodded, then added quietly, “We had a son too, but he died shortly after birth.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir.” Sam took off his hat as if the funeral were just about to take place. As dumb as it seemed for a moment, it was the right thing to do. How come this boy of nineteen, whose father worked in a tannery, knew exactly what to say and do? Luke hadn’t a clue how to act in most circumstances. It was probably because he’d spent most of the past fifteen years in the company of uneducated men like himself.
Fuller began to sort the items on the counter, writing each one down in the ledger. “One pair of scissors. One reel of white cotton thread. One measuring tape. One packet of fine needles. One iron curtain rod.” He pulled the bolt of fabric toward him. “How much muslin do you want, Smith?”
Sam looked at Luke. “Luke, how big is that window?”
Luke looked at him, uncomprehending. “What window?”
“On the house. I’m going to sew curtains so we don’t have to have that burlap sack hung on a couple of nails. Curtains will look much homier.”
Without responding, Luke turned and left the store. I’m gonna kill him. “Luke, how big is that window?” Single men baching together don’t care about curtains!
With a look up at the clear blue sky, Luke judged it safe to go for a ride. He hurried across the street and into the stable, where he tacked Pretty Girl as fast as he could. Excited to be going outside, she snorted and whinnied. Sam was crossing the street with his purchases when Luke rode out of the stable. He threw the young man an angry look and rode off at full speed, heading for his claim. Sam was young. At nineteen he could move on if he had to, but Luke wanted to settle down. He was done with traveling.
An hour later, the sky still blue and cloudless, Luke stood outside his claim shanty, looking at his land. The snow was deeply drifted in some places, and in others he could see patches of bare, frozen ground. Where he’d grown up in Boston, the snow tended to stay where it fell, but here on the wide-open prairie, there were drifts as big as hills one day, and the next they were blown away with the wind.
He imagined his one hundred and sixty acres shimmering with golden wheat under a blazing sun. If all went well and prices were good, he could have a fine crop and more money in the bank to make him feel secure. He unfastened the padlock on the door of the claim shanty and looked inside. The air was as frigid as outside. The little house already had a stove, so he’d left his behind. The place looked as barren and cold as it felt with no furniture and no one living there. The problem was, with him there alone, it would always be cold and barren.
What the hell was he going to do? He couldn’t live here with Sam. If Sam didn’t live on his claim, he would lose it. Making curtains for the house! Luke could kill him for that stupidity. What must the men in Fuller’s be thinking? He’d get beaten up just like he had at the White Horse Tavern, and it wasn’t as if that was the only time. There was the man who had lured him into an alley when he was barely fifteen and then beaten him. He’d stood up for himself pretty well on that occasion, but there’d been others over the years. What if the storekeepers in town refused to serve him? He’d never be able to get supplies or get Pretty Girl shoed or vetted when she needed it.
The silence of the prairie, windless that day, settled suddenly around him. The shanty was temporary, just until he could build a house, but even a nice house with curtains and rugs on the floor would feel as empty as the shanty stood now. He couldn’t stand to live alone forever, but the way the laws and attitudes of men worked, he couldn’t live with a man either, not unless they were brothers and everyone knew it, like the Wilder brothers in town.
If anything bad happened to Sam because of Luke, he’d kill the men who did it, and he’d end up on the gallows.
The loneliness of the shanty and his own thoughts would drive him crazy. Outside again, he stood wondering in which direction Sam’s claim lay. That was when he saw on the horizon a wall of white moving toward him. The prairie was so vast and flat that it was possible to see miles into the distance with no hindrance. The storm was moving directly toward him even though the sky above was still blue. Without a moment’s pause, he mounted Pretty Girl and set off at a gallop toward town, the storm behind him.
The town was in sight when the sky went black. The storm hit Luke, knocking him off Pretty Girl and knocking the breath from his lungs. The power of the wind and the weight of the wall of snow felt as if a house had collapsed on him. This had to be the worst storm yet. Attempting to get to his feet against the strength of the wind, he floundered about on the ground, still breathless from the fall. “Pretty Girl!” he screamed. He had no idea where the animal was or if she could hear him. The storm thwarted several more attempts to get to his feet.
Out of nowhere a kick to his midsection brought the White Horse Tavern beating flooding back. Stretching out his hand, Luke located the horse’s leg and grasped it tightly. “You hurt me, Pretty,” he mumbled, managing to get to his feet by holding on to the animal, using her as both a windbreak and a support. His chest hurt too much for him to attempt to mount her. Instead he hung on to her bridle. “Home, girl. Go home, girl. You can do it. Take me home.”
Luke didn’t know where he was or if Pretty Girl was leading him out onto the open prairie to die, but at least he wouldn’t die alone. They’d be together. The wind behind them pushed them forward but in its own direction. God only knew if it was the right one. Pretty Girl held him upright, the pain from her kick agonizing, making breathing harder still.
“Luke!”
Had the horse said his name? Was it like those people lost out in the freezing cold who start hallucinating when they were dying? He felt an arm wrap around his shoulders, and when he turned, he saw two beautiful brown eyes. “Climb on your horse. Come on. I’ll help you.”
“Sam?”
“Who did you think would come after you?” With Sam’s help, he managed to mount, leaning forward over the horse’s neck. Then, climbing up on Pip, bareback as usual, Sam led Pretty Girl.
Close to town, the animals’ instincts took over, carrying their masters home. When Luke opened his eyes, he found himself inside the stable. Had he fallen asleep? How was it even possible to fall asleep on a horse in a storm?
Sam helped him
dismount, and he sat on a bale of hay while Sam tended the animals. Now they must go outside again to get to the house. Although it wasn’t far, he didn’t think he could have held on to the clothesline to follow it if Sam hadn’t been there to assist him.
Inside the house at last, Luke sank into a chair at the table. “When the wind struck me, I fell off Pretty Girl’s back, and while I was trying to get up, she panicked and kicked me accidentally.”
Sam hung up his coat and hat and helped Luke remove his. “Show me where,” Sam said, helping him get his shirt off and unbutton his flannels. A large purple bruise was already spreading across his chest. “Do you think your ribs are broken?”
“I’ve had broken ribs before, and they don’t feel broken now, but it sure as hell knocked the wind out of me.”
“Come on.” Sam helped him to his feet and led him to the bed. He pulled Luke’s boots off and made him comfortable leaning back on both pillows. “Do you have any whiskey, Luke?”
“I don’t hold with hard liquor. It makes men act like idiots. I don’t mind a beer now and then, but just one or two.”
Sam laughed. “My mother would love you.”
“I doubt it,” Luke said. Not if she knew what I was doing with her son. “Up on the shelf over the sink there’s a bottle of Dr. A.W. Allen’s Southern Liniment. It even works on horses.”
“What about stubborn mules? Does it work on them too?” Sam grinned.
“What are you talking about, boy?” But he knew exactly what Sam meant.
Sam fetched the bottle and sat down on the bed beside him. The pungent smell of the liniment filled the air when he uncorked the bottle. Sam poured some into his palm and began to massage it into Luke’s chest. Feeling exhausted and stupidly helpless, Luke let him. Aside from that, it was very pleasant to have someone else minister to him when he was used to taking care of himself. He wanted to enjoy the moment.
“What the heck made you go off like that? There’s no predicting these storms.”
Winter Hearts Page 6