When we heard the grandfather clock strike nine-thirty, Sam looked up at me, and said, "Why don't you go on out to the machine barn and hitch up the mower. If you will hand me my cane and follow me out to the back porch, I'll show you where I want you to mow."
I followed Sam as he hobbled along, wincing with each step, but he had a smile on his face when he got there. He held up his cane and used it as a pointer to direct me. "Now, you see that metal gate over yonder, not far from that stand of pines?”
"Affirmative, sir,” I reported. For a moment I had a flashback of our survival training up in Washington State. Something about those tall ponderosa pines brought back a memory of the time I was placed in a covered pit and left there in the cold for two days with bugs crawling all over me. When I peered up, all I could see was pine trees. So I had concentrated on how they were rustling in the breeze to keep me from screaming in terror. Then I swallowed hard and brought my thoughts back to the present, and said, "Yes, sir. I see the gate you're talking about."
"Why don't you go over to the machine barn. It’s that one right there.” He turned and poked his cane in the air at a white metal building. "Now, I figure you know this, but I'm going to go over it anyway. Don't use the bush hog, use the sickle mower and watch your turning radius. That there sickle on the side can be a problem when it comes to turning and backing up."
I shook my head, and said, "Thanks for telling me. It's been a while since I mowed a field of hay."
Sam smiled and clapped me on the back. "Go on now and get the mowing done because this afternoon I want you and Rachel to clean out the stable."
I went down the steps and started walking in the general direction of the barn when I heard Sam holler. "The key to the tractor is hanging on a nail over the workbench there in the shop. You can't miss it. Oh, and lunch will be ready around twelve thirty."
My breath hitched. Did that mean I would have to eat lunch with Rachel? It took less than two seconds for me to turn and face Sam, catching him before he went back inside. I told him, “Thanks for the offer to have lunch but I packed my own — it’s in the truck with my chaps and spurs.” Sam nodded and waved, and I went on about doing what I was told. But just knowing I would have to work around Rachel later in the day, I could already feel the anxiety rising in my chest.
I hitched up the mower to the big green John Deere and wondered how the hell Rachel could muster the strength to do all this by herself. By the time I had backed the tractor out and headed toward the hay field, I saw Rachel off in the distance, riding back toward the house. I could see she was looking straight at me; she even raised her hand and waved. But I lowered my head like I didn’t see her and pushed the throttle on the tractor up a notch or two. As the tractor and mower cleared the area between the fence post and open gate I was trying to convince myself she was just my boss and I should forget about our past — for the good of both of us.
Chapter Seven
Rachel
After seeing how he paid me no attention, I vowed to myself Kent Walker was going to notice me! So after finishing lunch with Daddy and Sally, I decided to exchange my baggy t-shirt for something more alluring. Before I started upstairs, I kissed Daddy on the cheek, and said, "Cleaning the stable is a hot job, so I think I'll put on a tube top and maybe I'll get some sun on my shoulders." Daddy nodded, more interested in the news on the TV about the damage done by a severe thunderstorm. But Sally glanced over with a sideways smile, and I figured she knew what I was thinking. I ran upstairs and peered out my bedroom window. I could see Kent below outside of the barn pushing a wheelbarrow of wood chips.
Noticing how his muscles rippled under his tight t-shirt and how his back tapered toward his slim waist making a perfect v-shape, I pulled on a sports bra and my old pink t-shirt over my head. The cool breeze from the ceiling fan had stimulated my sensitive nipples, and I could feel that warm, electrical sensation building at the base of my spine. There was no doubt in my mind I wanted Kent inside me, but I knew that in the long run just having sex would not be good enough. He and I had been soulmates one summer before our senior year, and I wanted to have that same relationship again — but this time as mature adults.
By that time, Kent had dumped the wood chips in a pile behind the stable and was heading back inside. I peered wantonly at his body, and my eyes were fixed on how his tight jeans fit around the bulge under his belt buckle. One thing I had learned soon after high school even though I was known to be a bookworm, was that a sexual climax felt good and it relieved tension. So I had learned how to pleasure myself by reading and experimenting with my body.
I had to admit while I was standing there watching Kent, I got caught up in my desire and began massaging my breasts. At first, it tickled a bit as I ran my fingertips around my large brown areolae, but moments later I started tugging at my hard nipples, and a moan escaped my parted lips. I was about to orgasm just stimulating my nipples and fantasizing about how it would feel to have Kent's hard cock inside me.
My hands fluttered down to my belt buckle, and I unfastened it. The need to quench my desire was rising, and my breaths started to come in hitches. My hands couldn't move fast enough to unzip my jeans and reach inside my white panties. As I slipped my hand under the elastic band and ran my fingers through the dark curls over my mound, my hips started rocking. My clit was begging for my attention. Just as I started parting my swollen lips, I heard Daddy's voice at the bottom of the stairs. "You okay up there?"
I swallowed hard, cleared my throat, and said, "Yes, Daddy. I was just in the bathroom. I'll be down in a minute." I zipped up my jeans and pulled on my red tube top and blew a lock of hair out of my face. I didn't want to alert Daddy to what my plan was, so I slipped a flannel shirt over my shoulders.
When I got down to the stable, I walked over to Kent and placed one hand on my hip. I thrust out my chest, knowing my nipples were still hard, and let my flannel shirt fall open before I said, "Looks like you’re doing a great job Kent, let me get the water hose and help ya."
Kent let go of the handles on the wheelbarrow and gazed over at me. He didn't try to hide how he was looking me up and down. I was sure I saw a glimmer of desire in his eyes when he shifted his weight and adjusted his cowboy hat. Then with a bored tone in his voice, he said, "I'm finished with all five stalls on this side." He gestured inside the stable to where he had been working, then pushed the full wheelbarrow away.
I stared at his back for a moment then walked toward the water spigot and picked up the hose. While I brushed and squirted the floors, I could hear Kent walking behind me making trip after trip with the wheelbarrow. I couldn't help but feel hurt, and I wondered what had happened to the Kent Walker I used to know. I figured he must have found someone else and had lost interest in me.
Moments later as I unraveled the hose so I could pull it further inside the stable, I head Daddy holler at me from the back porch. "How are things going out there?" I smiled and waved, and Kent must have heard him too because he gave him the thumbs-up signal.
I wasn't sure how much Kent had told Daddy and wondered if he knew more about what was going on with Kent than I did, but I didn't want to raise suspicions by asking. I could see the two of them were getting along and seemed to be developing a healthy working relationship.
After we had finished cleaning out the stable and Georgie-B had returned to his clean stall, Kent turned to me. "I'm going to feed the horses and start cleaning the tack," he said.
I nodded in agreement, glad that Kent was proactive without me have to test his responsiveness to my role as his boss. But I was curious, so before he got too far away, I asked, “Kent where are you living now that your folks have moved away?”
He turned, scowling, and asked, “How did you know about my parents?”
I almost laughed but was afraid I would hurt his feelings. “I heard about it from Sally. She knew your mother, and it came out in conversation a long time ago.”
“Oh,” Kent said, as he turned to go about his bus
iness. Then over his shoulder, he finally answered my question. “I live in a campground in Meeteetse.”
“It’s quiet…” I didn’t say another word because he was walking out of earshot.
My arms ached from all the work I had been doing. So I sat down on the trunk in the tack room — the one Daddy had used when he was still rodeoing. I picked up the copy of Gone with the Wind I had left there from the day before. I often read when I took a break. So I leaned back against the wooden wall, pulled my knees up to my chest and opened the book. Since my assignment to write an essay on Margret Mitchell’s themes for my online course was due in a week, I needed to finish the last few chapters.
I had barely started before I heard footfalls and Kent appeared at the door carrying Georgie's show saddle, the can of saddle soap stuffed inside his pocket. Daddy had asked Kent to clean the tack covered with silver plating. I wondered why all the sudden he was concerned about polishing tack no one used. All Georgie's rodeo show items had been carefully stored for years in the trunk and looked as good as new.
Kent stopped in his tracks when he saw me, and I thought I noticed a moment of panic in his eyes. Then he walked over and placed the saddle on a stand and began rubbing the soap into the leather. I couldn't help but stare at him and noticed a musky masculine scent was filling the room. His voice was deep when he asked, "You still read?"
"I haven't been able to kick the habit," I replied, feeling my cheeks flush — hope rising. Were we about to break through our icy awkwardness, I wondered? "I'm taking an online course —”
"Still the same bookworm, just like back in high school," Kent said with no inflection in his voice. I could feel the corners of my mouth draw down. Did he believe my yearning for knowledge was a useless habit I hadn't outgrown?
I could feel my anger building. "I'm sorry my thirst for knowledge offends you, Kent." As soon as the words left my lips, I regretted it. I wanted to help not feed his anger with my frustration. Kent turned and fixed his sparkling green eyes on me. I stared back at him as the heat rose in my cheeks.
“I have no reason to be offended by you, Rachel. I was just making an observation.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry,” I was quick to reply, in a soft pleading voice. I felt my eyes begin to sting as Kent turned back to his work.
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” he said in a voice that was soft — almost a whisper.
I sat holding my book as he polished the saddle horn until I could see Kent's reflection in it while the silence between us continued. He glanced over at me then away again as though he was begging me to say something. So I swallowed hard, and asked, "What happened to you, Kent?"
“I don’t know what you mean,” he replied wiping his hands on the towel.
I asserted myself this time when I exclaimed, “You do know what I mean. You aren’t the same guy anymore!”
I watched him as he clenched his jaw. “It has been eight years, Rachel” he said. You can’t expect things to be the same."
I stood up and put my palm on my forehead as Gone with the Wind fell to the floor. “Of course we’ve grown up. But that’s not what I'm talking about. You’ve been avoiding me, and you’re acting like we are strangers.” All my pent up emotions were beginning to boil over. I started to cry.
Unmoved by my tears, he glanced down at the floor and shook his head. “It’s nothing for you to be concerned about, Rachel. I prefer to keep my problems to myself.”
For a moment I felt sorry for Kent, but that sorrow soon morphed into indignation. So I dried my tears on the sleeve of my shirt. Then I shrugged my shoulders, and said, “We used to be friends, Kent...close friends. I know we haven’t seen each other in years. But please don't be afraid to tell me why you have put up a wall between us. Was it the military, another woman, or something else? I’m willing to listen!”
He slung the towel over his shoulder then turning to face me. Placing both hands on his hips, he said, “You had your chance, Rachel — eight years ago.”
I sat on top of the wooden trunk with a ‘thud’ as if his harsh words had pushed me down. He was clenching his jaw, and his eyes were two slits. Then he paused for a moment and gazed down at my heaving chest. He licked his lips before he threw the towel on the stand, and announced, “It’s quitting time!” and disappeared around the corner.
Moments later I heard the door of his truck slam and listened while the sound of its motor diminished into silence. I bent over and picked up my book and clutched it to my chest. By the time I got back inside the house, I was heartbroken. I knew I had been wrong to assume Kent had outgrown his teenage anger at me. Was it possible to find that fun, carefree guy I once knew, or should I give up trying?
Chapter Eight
Kent
My heart felt like a tom-tom drumming inside my chest. I figured Rachel knew she was driving me crazy sitting there on that trunk in the tack room reading, trying to look innocent and then tearful. She didn’t know it, of course, but my frustration over her was pushing me into my 'buzz zone' — that's what I called it when my anxiety level would rise to the point that I was in danger of having one of my PTSD fits.
I had to get away from Rachel before I made a move on her. She was so fucking sexy I wanted to throw that stupid book across the room and yank down the red tube top designed to drive me nuts so I could suck her hard nipples. Her tight jeans accented her legs, spread just enough for me to see that sweet 'v' in between them. And if I was a betting man, and I was sometimes, I would wager her pussy was hot and sticky, ready for me to give her what she wanted.
But the truth was, my feelings for her ran deeper than just sex — even if I didn’t like admitting it to myself. I wanted to show her she was still the love of my life by taking her right then and there. On a second thought, though, I didn't want our first time to be hard and fast — leaving the wrong impression. And the reality was, hard and fast was all I knew! But, I dunno? Maybe that was what she deserved for pushing me away in the first place.
As I turned the truck around and headed away from Pitchfork Ranch my attention was turned to my hard cock that had been impatiently waiting for a release all afternoon. The air-conditioner in the truck didn't work, so the windows were rolled all the way down.
I flipped on the radio, and 'Small Town Boy Like Me' was playing when I unbuckled my belt and unzipped my fly. Then I cranked up the volume, gripped the wheel with one hand and my throbbing dick with the other. I didn't want to cum, even though with a few quick strokes of my wrist I could have. I wanted the feeling of excitement to last for a while. So I kept slow stroking and listening to Dustin Lynch. He was telling me what it was like for a small town boy to have the woman of his dreams — and I believed him.
"Yeah, she likes my t-shirt..." I was still singing when I pulled up at the stoplight at the junction of Greybull and Highway 120. The chick driving the semi next to me looked over, and her jaw fell slack when she noticed how I scooted down in the seat a bit — singing and giving myself a hand job. She started craning her neck, trying to get a better look. So I grinned and raised my hips up off the seat so she could see what she was missing.
By the time the light turned green, she was grinning ear to ear. After she slipped the diesel into gear and revved up the motor, she blew me a kiss and dramatically licked her lips. If I hadn’t found Rachel, I would have tried to get her to pull over for a few minutes of fun in her sleeper with a horny cowboy. Instead, I tipped my hat and drove past her. Zipping up my jeans, I headed toward the campground in Meeteetse.
I pulled up to my camper parked in the slip nearest the river and away from the families on their way up to Yellowstone. After snatching a beer out of my fridge, I popped the top. Then I headed out to the woods nearby and picked up a few sticks and dead limbs. After carrying them to the fire pit, I squirted them with a little charcoal lighter. Within moments a few tiny flames built into a raging bonfire.
I sat back in my lawn chair, kicked off my boots and chugged down a
nother beer. Wyoming was known for its steaming hot summer days. But by the time the sun slipped behind the distant mountains, the temperature had usually dropped at least thirty degrees, rendering the evenings cool or chilly.
The fire felt warm as I peered into the fire and watched how the flames licked the charred timbers. By that time I had roasted a few hot dogs and lost count of the beer cans I had emptied. Something about the fire and the smoke caused a flurry of emotions to start rising to the surface, and I was transported back in time and dropped off in the Syrian Desert.
****
The moon was full, shining like a tawny dinner plate over the sand. Not the best time for night maneuvers, but we had no choice — the situation was critical! We were inching closer and closer on our bellies to the walled compound, a recently identified hideout for terrorist leaders who were holding two US citizens hostage. Marcus was on my right side and Dave on my left and the others were fanned out, waiting for Cap's signal.
Our team was only fifty yards out when I felt the force of helicopter blades cutting through the air behind us. By the time I heard the sound of the chopper’s motor, a spray of bullets struck the ground. The first spray missed, but the second one hit Marcus in his back.
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