Without speaking and with no gentleness, Luke roughly pried Sam’s ass apart and pushed his cock against Sam’s hole. Sam let out a cry when Luke pushed in with no lubrication. The pain of a dry penetration was sharp and yet also arousing.
“That hurts,” Sam said between gritted teeth.
Luke didn’t respond but kept fucking, slamming Sam’s hips and cock against the rough boards of the wall with every thrust. Between the pain in his ass and the pain in his cock, pleasure rushed through his belly and thighs, spilling over at the same moment that Luke cried out and bit down on his shoulder. Sam screamed at the pain from Luke’s teeth in his flesh. By now he was both confused and angered. With both palms pressed against the wall, he remained still while Luke stepped away. Even the exit was painful without lubrication. Sam turned around to see Luke fastening his trousers. The second he was tidy, he opened the door and left.
Fumbling with his buttons, his hands shaking from the encounter, Sam followed him outside. Luke was striding toward the area he was digging for the root cellar. He picked up the spade and began to work without looking back.
What the hell was that about?
Stunned, Sam went back into the shanty and began to clean up the dinner dishes. His desire to help Luke dig was gone. He’d occupy himself with his own tasks.
When the dinner was cleaned up, he opened the letter from his grandmother. It was dated May 25, earlier than his mother’s letter, and said more or less the same thing. The last line read, Remember who you are. You are not an ordinary young man. You have extraordinary responsibilities, and you need to start accepting them.
Sam tossed the letter into the stove, watching for a moment as it caught light and shriveled to thin black ashes. He reached into his pocket for the other letter, but it wasn’t there. Glancing around, he saw it lying on the floor by the wall where Luke had forced him. As he picked it up, he admitted to himself that he had enjoyed other occasions when Luke had been rough with him. He’d asked him a number of times to take him by force, but afterward they’d always talked and cuddled. Today was different. Never had Luke just walked away afterward as if Sam were some back-alley whore.
The letter read,
Dear Samuel,
I am disappointed that you did not reply to my letter of June 5th. I waited and waited for a response from you but got nothing, and so I must write again to let you know that your father is ill. I’m afraid you have no choice but to return as soon as possible. Need I remind you, you are our only son? Your sisters’ husbands have their own professions. They cannot be expected to look after your responsibilities.
You will note that once again, per your request, I have addressed this letter to “Sam Smith.”
I anticipate your return as soon as possible.
May God bring you safely home,
Your loving mother,
Cora Porter-Smith
Fear overwhelmed Sam for a moment, swiftly followed by skepticism. He would not for a minute put it past his mother to manipulate him to get what she wanted. He loved her, but he also knew her very well. Could he take the chance that she was lying about the illness and that his father was in his usual good health? Perhaps he should reply and try to find out the truth.
The letter followed the others into the stove.
Wandering outside, Sam watched Luke digging. If he went to help him, perhaps it would get him to talk or make him feel better about whatever was bothering him. From the stable he fetched the old spade. The tip was broken, but it should still serve. He joined Luke and, without speaking, began to dig. However, the broken tip made it nearly impossible to get the spade into the packed-down prairie sod.
After several attempts to dig while Luke carried on ignoring him, Luke snatched the spade from him, tossing the new one on the ground at Sam’s feet. Luke began to dig using the broken spade, having only a little more difficulty than before.
In silence they dug on under the hot sun until the heat of the day cooled and the cellar was a square deep enough to stand up in. “What do we do now?” Sam asked.
“Hope it doesn’t rain overnight.” Luke looked up at the clear blue sky. “Which I doubt will happen. Tomorrow I’ll make a door to go over top. The cellar will serve as a storm shelter too.”
“As soon as it’s ready, I’ll start picking the squash and carrots. Then the potatoes after that.”
Luke took the spade from his hands. “Now it’s cooler, I’ll go and let the animals out into the corral to graze.”
“Luke, shall I make us a picnic? We can ride over to Lake Henry and sit there watching the water. We could go for a swim. I doubt there’ll be a lot of people about, and there’re always private spots in the bush near the bank.”
“If you want,” he said, walking off.
* * * *
While they ate their picnic supper, Luke waited for Sam to tell him the truth. He must have read that newspaper by now. It was sitting on top of the boxes of mason jars the whole time Sam was indoors with his letters. He could hardly avoid fessing up much longer.
“Was the supper good?” Sam asked when they’d finished.
Luke nodded. They finished the meal with a jug of Sam’s ginger-flavored water. It was slightly sweetened, and it warmed the stomach going down and yet was very refreshing on a hot day.
Luke stood up and looked around. There was no one at the lake on a weekday. If it wasn’t for Sam, Luke wouldn’t be there either. He would be working until the light was gone, and then he’d go to bed, get up in the morning, and do it all over again. Sam had made everything different—better—so why the hell did he have to lie? They could be so good together even with the cruel reactions of the town.
What galled him more than anything was that Sam knew Holland. Sam had probed him for information after looking at that picture, and all along he knew exactly who Holland was. How could he do that? Lie and make a fool of him. He was just like Holland, a rich man who liked a bit of rough here and there.
I’m an idiot to make the same mistake twice. But he has to admit what he’s done.
Ensuring they were alone, Luke stripped off and walked into the lake.
“Hold on. I’m coming too,” Sam called after him.
Refusing to wait for him, Luke swam with long strokes out into the lake. He took his time, looking back here and there to see where Sam was. The young man was behind him but swimming much more slowly. Sam was a strong, healthy young man but not nearly as strong as Luke, nor as fast.
I love him, but I’m so angry with him.
His muscles ached from an afternoon of digging the rock-solid prairie sod. After swimming strongly for ten minutes, he stopped to tread water and let Sam catch up. The moment should have been idyllic, he and his man out for a swim and a picnic after a long afternoon of work on their land, but all he felt was hurt and disheartened.
He looked around for Sam, but he couldn’t see him. Scanning the bank, he saw their picnic basket and the stone water jug, but no Sam. “Where the hell is he?” Sam’s horse stood beside Pretty Girl, grazing on the fresh grass near the bank.
Suddenly Sam’s head appeared above the water, gasping for air before going under again. A look of sheer terror had transformed Sam’s handsome face to one contorted with fear.
“Sam!” Luke screamed. He launched himself toward Sam, who was about twenty feet away. Just as he got to him, Sam reappeared, gasping once again. Panicked, he grabbed at Luke, pulling them both underwater. For one horrifying moment Luke looked at Sam’s face under the water to see a deadness etched there as if Sam had given himself up to death. With both hands he pushed Sam away to stop his grappling and swam around behind him. Wrapping his arm around Sam’s neck, he pulled him close, and they both came up above water.
“Stop moving. I’ve got you. You’re safe,” he said in a loud, commanding voice. Sam stopped struggling at once, allowing Luke to swim with him toward shore. At the bank he pulled Sam away from the water and onto the grass, where the young man lay, chest heaving, gasping
for breath, before rolling onto his belly to cough up water.
“You’re good; you’re alive,” Luke said, patting Sam’s back. “What the hell happened?”
For a long time Sam lay, drawing deep breaths and shuddering here and there. Luke ran his hands over Sam to see if he was cold, but the evening was very warm and so was Sam’s body. At length Sam sat upright. Only when he seemed fully recovered did Luke allow himself to admit the fear that had raged through him when he thought his man was going to drown. His hands were shaking. The fact that they were both sitting naked in broad daylight seemed irrelevant. Sam was alive and well. Nothing else mattered.
“What happened?” he asked again.
“I got a cramp in my belly. It was horrible. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.” Sam looked directly into Luke’s eyes. “I asked you to wait for me. Why didn’t you wait? I’ve never been a really strong swimmer.”
“You didn’t have to follow me,” he said gruffly. “Why would you swim out so far knowing you’re not a good swimmer? That’s just plain stupid.”
“That’s what I am, then—stupid.”
Luke stood up and began to pull on his clothes. “Get dressed. I didn’t bring a gun, and I don’t want to be out after dark.”
Sam dressed and packed up the picnic basket. They rode home in silence, Luke admitting to himself his relief that Sam was safe, but that didn’t change his sense of betrayal.
* * * *
In bed Luke turned his back on Sam. This was the first time since they had met that he felt lonely.
“Do you want me?” Sam asked very quietly.
“I’m tired,” Luke answered.
“Me too, but I still want you.”
“Go to sleep.” His body was dog tired, but his mind was buzzing. All he wanted was to sleep and forget. At least he’d gotten the root cellar dug. That gave him some satisfaction.
Sam was snuggled in close to his back, making odd noises, sniffing and whining. What the hell! “Are you crying?” He rolled over to face Sam. The moon shining in through the crack in the muslin curtains offered some small light. He was crying. “What the hell’s the matter with you?” Sam moved close to Luke’s chest until Luke had no choice but to take him in his arms. Suddenly it dawned on him. “Did you think you were going to drown in the lake?”
“No,” Sam said through tears and sniffles. “How could I drown with you right there to save me? I was scared, but I knew you’d get me out.”
A lump formed in Luke’s throat, and his eyes brimmed. Sam really had that much trust in him. “Stop crying, then. Be a man.”
“Men cry sometimes.”
“Not the men I know.”
Sam sniffed and went quiet.
“Did you read the Boston Globe?” He had to ask; it was driving him mad.
“No.”
Was he telling the truth? “I thought you’d want to know what was going on in Boston.”
“Not especially.” Sam pushed back the sheet and moved so he was lying on his side with his head resting in Luke’s groin. Just feeling Sam’s warm breath on his cock made it thicken. Sam grasped Luke’s cock in his hand and drew it into his mouth. Luke did not protest, though part of him wanted to. He wanted Sam to tell him the truth. If Luke had to force it out of him, it wasn’t the same as him freely admitting who he was and that he had lied. At that moment, however, the only reality was Sam’s mouth on his cock, bringing him inexorably toward his climax.
Luke moaned loudly when his pleasure rushed forth. He grabbed Sam’s head, twining his fingers through Sam’s long hair. Afterward Sam lay for a long time with his face resting on Luke’s thigh, his lips still touching Luke’s cock. When at last he moved, he kissed Luke’s cock before lying beside him again, nuzzling his way into Luke’s arms like a puppy finding contentment in his master’s lap. He was asleep long before Luke, who lay awake wondering what to do next.
Chapter Eighteen
“That combine harvester saved so much work,” Luke said with satisfaction after their supper was eaten. “The crop is ready to go to the mill in town to sell. I’ll have money to put in the bank. Do you have a bank account?” For the past week Luke had given Sam many opportunities to tell him the truth, but he was still waiting.
“No. Put the money in your account. You did all the work anyway.”
“We own the land together. We agreed to share everything.”
“Only your name is on the claim application, so by law it’s yours,” Sam said. “You’re hot and covered in dirt. Shall I haul some water and make you a bath?”
“It’s not Saturday,” Luke said.
“Let’s break with tradition.” Sam grinned.
“Just haul up a bucket and pour it over me. I’ll strip off.”
The moment Sam left the shanty, Luke looked over at the newspaper. It lay on top of the cedar chest now. The mason jars were full of good things and sitting in the root cellar. All week while Luke worked on the combine, Sam had been canning tomatoes, beans, carrots, ground cherries, everything they had grown that would keep better in jars. The young man’s interest in the combine had lasted a couple of hours before he’d gone back to the shanty to work indoors. Luke had been just as happy to get on with the mowing by himself.
He stripped naked and went outside with the soap from the hand-washing bucket. There was no one within miles who might see him, but the country was changing so fast that there’d be a time before he knew it when he wouldn’t be able to bathe outside. He went around the side of the shanty while Sam brought over a bucket of fresh water.
“Water fresh from the well is freezing cold,” he said.
“I know,” Luke told him. “Pour it over me.” He leaned forward so Sam could pour it over his close-cropped head first. When the icy water hit him, he bellowed, making Sam laugh.
“I told you it was icy.”
“Shut up and go and fill that bucket again.” Luke soaped himself all over while Sam obeyed. The days were cooler now but still warm enough that he was not shivering. Sam returned with another bucketful of water. Slowly he poured it over Luke while Luke rubbed away the soap. “That was a fast bath. We should do it that way more often.”
“Not me,” Sam said.
“No. I guess you’re too refined to take a bath with a bucket of cold water outdoors.”
Brow furrowed, Sam looked at him. “What does that mean?”
“It’s just something to say.” Luke strode inside, tracking water behind him, and found one of the soft linen towels Sam had brought with him. Sam followed him inside, and taking another towel, he got on his knees to dry Luke’s legs. Naked, Luke went to the dry sink to look in the mirror. “I need a shave. I’m going into town tomorrow to take the wheat to the mill. Get me some water from the stove.” They always kept a pot warming on the cookstove.
“You’re bossy today,” Sam said, fetching the water and pouring it into the dry sink. “In fact, you’ve been bossy all week. Bossy and unfriendly.”
Luke made no response. Looking in the mirror, he shaved his face with care and then rinsed off the soap. That done, he pulled on his trousers and boots again. “I’m going out to put the animals in the barn.”
The sun was going down over the vast prairie, streaking the sky with pink and gold. It was beautiful country, a place Luke thought he could live forever and be happy with the man he had fallen in love with. Now everything was different. Sam was a liar. He was a rich boy who would soon grow tired of living the life of a farmer. Sam had said he was an only son, but he was a liar, so maybe he wasn’t. Either way he would inherit a lot of money, and he’d be expected to marry like Holland and live a life Luke could have no part of.
He wrapped his arms around Pretty Girl’s neck and hugged her. “It’ll be just you and me again, Pretty.”
On his way out, he fastened the barn door against wolves and went back to the house just as the light was fading. Sam had lit the lamp and set it in the middle of the table. The pickle jar was there also, filled with Michaelmas d
aises and goldenrod. The curtains were closed, and the dinner dishes were washed and put away.
Sam stood up when Luke walked in. Without pause he said, “Tell me what I’ve done.”
This couldn’t go on. Luke wanted Sam to tell him the truth of his own accord, but he also wanted to get this out in the open once and for all. “You’re a fucking liar, that’s what.”
“What?”
The hurt, confused look on Sam’s face had Luke thinking for a moment that he had genuinely mistaken the Samuel Porter-Smith in the Boston Globe for his Sam Smith. Luke went over to the cedar chest and picked up the paper. He opened it to the picture, carried it over to Sam, and shoved it in his face. “Is that you?”
Taking the paper from him, Sam looked at the picture. His confused expression was replaced instantly with guilt. He met Luke’s gaze but said nothing.
“Is it you?” Luke demanded.
Sam lay the paper on the table, looking again at the picture. “Yes, it’s me,” he said very quietly.
“What?” Luke asked loudly.
“Yes. It’s me!”
Jabbing the picture of Holland with his forefinger, Luke said, “That’s Holland. You’ve known him all along.”
“Yes,” Sam replied. “How long have you known?”
“Since I got that paper last week. Fuller pointed you out to me. By now the whole town will know who you are. They’ll think I want you for your money.”
“I’ll tell them you don’t,” Sam said. “I’ll say you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t know!” Luke bellowed. “How could I? You lied. Your father works in a tannery. You worked in a hotel. Did you think all that up on the spur of the moment, or did you come to De Smet planning to lie?”
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