Country

by Jeff Mann

  “Why is that?

  “That’s a long, sad story. He’s terribly shy. He pretends not to care in order to keep his distance, especially from strangers. He might warm up to you eventually. Introverts like him take time. They need to get to know people before they open up.”

  “He’s an introvert? He sure has a cocky walk and a rough-and-tough look for an introvert.”

  “All defense mechanisms. He comes across like a street-hellion, the quintessential bad boy—well, he once was one—but he’s very bashful. His muscles may be hard as rocks—the boy works out frequently in our little gym—but his feelings are as delicate as lace. You should know that if you’re going to live here for a while. Lucas was far too sensitive for his own good even before….”

  “Before?”

  Phil took a long sip of wine. “Lucas has a complicated history. An unfortunate one. As much as I love to gossip, I think it’s his place to tell you, not mine.”

  “Sure. I’m not trying to pry. I just met you all. I’m just a guest here.”

  “I think you two might get along eventually. After all, you’ve been through some unfortunate times as well.”

  “Yeah.” Brice sighed. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “Yes. And it’s for folks like you that I created this place. If Lucas does allow you to get closer, if he decides to tell you what he’s endured, I suspect that’ll encourage you to give him the empathy he needs.”

  Brice suppressed the urge to blurt, “I’ll take any opportunity to get closer. The guy’s a walking porn star. A walking sex-god. I’ll give him empathy, all right. Empathy right up his tight little ass! Besides, how much shit could he have gone through, as young as he is?” Instead, he said, “You don’t need to tell me anything. It’s none of my business, obviously.”

  “I’ll tell you this much.” Standing, Phil walked to the fire and poked at it a bit before turning to Brice and taking another sip of wine. “Lucas is very smart. He was doing so well in high school. But then, when he’d just turned seventeen, his father died in a mining accident, so his mother, my only sibling, Kim, needed Lucas at home. Or, rather, she begged him not to quit school, but he did anyway, despite the money I offered to send to support them. Kim and Lucas can both be too prideful for their own good.”

  “So your sister is poor? I thought your family had a lot of money. You said your father had left you a huge inheritance.”

  “He left me a huge inheritance. Kim didn’t get a penny. Daddy was a fearsome snob and disinherited her when she married a coal miner. Odd how he found my homosexuality infinitely less offensive than her choice of a mate. Well, at any rate, Lucas took to working at the Walmart in Elkins, but it turns out he was involved in….”

  “Uh-oh. Drugs?”

  Phil shook his head. “No. I’ve said enough. Lucas will tell you the rest, if he decides that he wants you to know. Let’s just say that he got himself into serious trouble. Certain illegalities.”

  “Illegalities? Damn.”

  “Damn, indeed.” Grimacing, Phil shook his head. “More recently, he and his mother have had a horrible falling out, thanks to her backward fundamentalism. I’m really the only person he’s willing to interact with. Well, me, and Doris Ann, and Grace and Amie down at the store. I’m hoping that having you here might help. I don’t know what would become of him if something happened to me. He’s turned into a total recluse. Hates to leave the compound. At least he’s studying for his GED. That shows some hope.”

  “Yeah, sounds like evidence that he’s thinking about the future. I’ll do the best I can with him. Least I can do to repay your hospitality.”

  “Thank you. He badly needs a friend. Be careful with him, please.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “I believe you. You’ve suffered. You’re not likely to cause further suffering, especially with a boy as fragile and wounded as Lucas. Reminds me of what Mr. Oscar Wilde said, something about only being interested in those who know beauty and those who’ve known suffering. Well.” Phil drained his glass. “I assume your luggage is in your truck out front?”

  “Yep. I didn’t bring all that much.”

  “Let’s get you settled in Laurel Cottage. It’s not far. King-size bed and bathroom upstairs. Kitchenette, fireplace, living room and half-bath downstairs. Big porch with a view over the valley. You’ll love it here at Rump-Ranger Ranch.”

  “Sounds wonderful. Sounds god-sent.” Brice finished his drink as well. “Lead on,” he said, pulling on his cap and jacket and picking up his guitar case.

  In half an hour, having unpacked, settled in, and promised to show up for the breakfast bell, Brice was alone in his new home. Beyond the bedroom window, fresh snow was falling. It was only eight pm, but Brice, exhausted, back aching, took a pain pill, stripped, climbed beneath the quilts, and switched off the light. He rolled onto his side, grabbed a pillow, and hugged it to his chest, as was his wont.

  Already, Brice knew, he was smitten by Lucas’s good looks and eager to discover the details of the boy’s mysterious history. Already, in his mind’s eye, Brice was removing Lucas’s clothing, holding him tenderly, and kissing away whatever dark years of damage he might have suffered.

  Fragile and wounded, Phil called him. Brice hugged the pillow closer. Hell, maybe focusing on Lucas’s wounds will distract me from my own. He fell asleep to the mournful sound of winter wind soughing around the cabin’s high eaves.

  BRICE WOKE TO THE THOUGHT OF LUCAS AND THE sound of rain on the roof.

  I wonder if his chest is hairy. Or his ass. I hope so. Just how many tattoos does he have? I’ll see him today, for sure, and get to look into those long-lashed eyes. It’s amazing, to have something big to look forward to for the first time in months.

  Brice’s memory of Lucas’s compact body soon shifted into erotic imagination: Lucas naked, arranged in an assortment of sexually submissive angles. Brice was well into a self-stroke session when a distant bell started clanging in the direction of the lodge.

  “Breakfast,” Brice muttered, dropping his dick and climbing out of bed. “Maybe breakfast with Lucas.” He pulled on clothes and boots, stomped down the stairs, donned jacket and cap, and headed out.

  A light coating of snow covered the shrub-lined walkway. A cardinal, bright shot of intense crimson, flew overhead. All about the cabin, tree limbs were lined with white powder. Shivering, Brice zipped up his jacket, his breath clouding before him, and walked briskly toward the lodge.

  As soon as he stepped inside, his stomach growled, responding to the delicious scents. When he descended to the dining room, he found two places set but no one around. On the sideboard sat coffee cups and a carafe. On the sound system, peaceful space music played.

  Shit. No Lucas. Brice hung his jacket and cap on a wall hook before knocking at the half-open door to the kitchen. “Hey, anyone here?”

  “Good morning, honey!” Doris Ann appeared. “You pour yourself some coffee, and I’ll fetch you a plate. You like buttermilk biscuits and sausage gravy?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am. That’s one of my favorite breakfasts.”

  “Good. Give me another minute, and I’ll scramble you some eggs too.”

  Soon a contented Brice was gobbling. When he finished the first helping, Doris Ann set him up with a second, which he downed just as rapidly.

  “That was wonderful. Thank you.” Brice scraped his plate bare. “Where’s everyone else?”

  “Mr. Philip ate early and drove down the hill. Lucas don’t always eat breakfast, though I’m surprised he isn’t here for this one, since he loves my biscuits.”

  “Are there any other folks staying here?”

  Doris Ann shook her head. “Not now. We’ve had passels of poor kids here, on and off…and me run off my feet trying to feed ‘em. But since that sweet Lisa reconciled with her family and went back home to Cincinnati in November, it’s just been Mr. Philip, Lucas, and me. And now you. Can I get you anything else?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m stuffed
. I’m just going to sit here and finish this cup of coffee.”

  Doris Ann nodded, turning toward the kitchen. “If Lucas shows up, tell him to come on in and help himself. They’s lots left. If you need any lunch later, come back by.”

  “No need for lunch,” Brice said, rubbing his belly. “Not after all that.”

  “Well, dinner then. I’m off tonight, but Lucas is making chicken and dumplings. They usually eat at seven, but Mr. Philip will be mixing drinks and setting out crackers with his favorite fancy cheeses at five sharp.”

  “That all sounds great. I won’t miss it. Thank you again. It was all just delicious.”

  “You’re welcome, honey. I love to cook for folks. It’s my one true talent. That, and quilting.” With a wave, Doris Ann disappeared into the kitchen.

  Brice sat back with a sated sigh and let his mind wander. If I stay here very long, I’m going to balloon. Where the hell is Lucas? I wonder if they have Internet here. They must, ‘cause Phil exchanged e-mail with me. I’m afraid to check my messages, though. If Steve drops me, I’m fucked forever. If he doesn’t, though, maybe he can find me a new label. Then maybe I can start writing again. Been over a year since I wrote a new song. I’m nothing without an audience.

  Brice rose. He was about to pull on his coat when footsteps sounded upstairs. Lucas? He hung his coat back up, poured himself another cup of coffee, and hastily took a seat.

  The stairs thumped, and then Lucas appeared in the doorway. He paused, staring at Brice as if he were an unwelcome intruder.

  “Oh. Hey. You’re here.” Lucas entered, averting his eyes, and poured himself coffee. To Brice’s disappointment, the boy’s shapely arms and torso were swathed in a baggy sweatshirt, though tight camo pants displayed his delectable rump.

  “Hey, Lucas. Good morning to you.” Brice mustered the sort of smile he’d so often flashed at fans from onstage. “Doris Ann said to come fetch your breakfast in the kitchen. Sausage gravy and biscuits. They’re great. She said you favored them.”

  “Yeah, I do.” Lucas hesitated, scanning the tables in the room and frowning. The only place already set was right across the table from Brice. “Guess I’ll sit here then,” he said, putting down his cup. In another minute, he’d fetched a piled-up plate and was digging into his breakfast as if he hadn’t had a decent meal in days.

  “Good, huh?” Brice grinned. “You seem pretty hungry.”

  Lucas looked up and scowled. “I am. I have a big appetite. You making fun of me?”

  “No, I’m not.” God, he’s prickly. “I have a big appetite too. So what are you up to today?”

  “Chopping wood.” Lucas wiped his mouth. “Then I’m gonna make dinner.”

  “That’s what I hear. Chicken and dumplings, Doris Ann said.”

  “Yeah. So? Nothing girly about cooking. All the guys in my family are good cooks.”

  “You’re a real thorn bush, ain’t you? I’m just trying to make conversation.” Brice sat back with a sigh. “I think it’s great that you can cook. I’m a decent cook myself, when I put my hand to it. A man should be self-sufficient, right?”

  Lucas glared at Brice for a split-second, then dropped his eyes.

  “Thorn bush, huh? Maybe so. I ain’t the best for social skills. Seems like a waste of time.”

  “How about I save you some time by helping with the wood?

  “Help?” Lucas cocked his head, as if the concept confused him.

  “Help.” Jesus, what pretty blue-gray eyes. “I’m not bad with an axe. I used to gather wood with my Daddy all the time.”

  “Why d’you wanna help?”

  “Simple enough. If I don’t pitch in here and there, I’m going to feel like a great big parasite. I don’t want to wear out my welcome, right?”

  Lucas stuffed another bite into his mouth. “I get by all right by myself. I’m used to doing things on my own.”

  “You sure? I’d appreciate the company. I’ve been alone a lot lately.”

  “I like being alone.” Lucas sopped up the last of the gravy with the last of a biscuit. “Especially out here in the country.”

  “Me too. But only so much. Don’t you get tired of it?”

  Lucas shrugged. “Not really.” He gulped the last of his coffee, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and stood. “Look, Mr. Brown, I don’t need no help with the wood, though it’s kind of you to offer.”

  “You sure? I—”

  “I’m sure. See you around.”

  Lucas turned and stomped back up the stairs. Brice sat back, dull disappointment heavy inside him, sipped his coffee, and heard a door slam. After a few minutes, he rose, carried the dirty plates into the kitchen, and headed back to his cabin, with no idea whatsoever of how to spend the day.

  THAT EVENING, BRICE AND PHIL MET IN THE great room for drinks and snacks before dinner. To Brice’s great regret, Lucas did not join them.

  “Sometime he gets in a nasty mood and simply doesn’t show up,” Phil said, mixing a pitcher of whiskey sours. “The boy’s probably up at his cabin drinking and brooding and listening to that abominable industrial music he savors. It sounds like the mating music at a marriage of baboons, if you ask me. So, give me more of the hideous details of your Nashville trauma. Those trashy periodicals gave you a tarring and feathering, didn’t they? And do you ever hear from that loose-lipped Judas, Zac Lanier? That man needs a thrashing of the first order.”

  They had several rounds of drinks as Brice shared the humiliating details of his ruined career. They enjoyed a big meal of chicken and dumplings in the downstairs dining room, and then bowls of bread pudding, also the product of Lucas’s culinary skills. Still the boy didn’t show up. At evening’s end, Brice bade Phil a good night and trudged back to his cabin. He fell asleep convinced that Lucas was avoiding him.

  Brice slept fitfully and woke late. In the lodge’s dining room, no one was about, though Doris Ann had left a note saying that oatmeal was ready in a pot on the stove. Brice had a bowl, along with a cup of coffee, then headed upstairs to check his e-mail in the cozy library that overlooked the pool.

  “No more bad news yet,” Brice muttered, shutting off the computer. He was examining the shelves for a book to browse through when Lucas appeared outside, a heavy-looking tool belt buckled around his lean waist. Brice raised his hand and gave the boy a smile, but Lucas ignored him, shifting his gaze to the pool deck and walking away.

  “Man, do I have ageless charm or what?” Brice muttered to himself, watching the boy’s fetching form disappear around a corner of the lodge. “Always attracted to the ones I can’t have. It’s an unerring gift. It’s my mutant power.” He pulled a book with an interesting title—Greek Homosexuality—off a shelf, slumped into a leather armchair, and flipped through black and white photos of erotic images adorning Greek pottery.

  “‘Men courting youths.’ Shit. Just reminds me of what I’m missing,” Brice groused, slamming the book onto a side table. “I need a long hike. Or a cold shower.” Pulling on his coat and hat, he stepped out into the chilly air, determined to walk himself into exhaustion.

  AFTER A LONG WALK ALONG the valley road and back, followed by a short nap, Brice returned to the lodge, expecting the cocktail-hour company of Phil at least, if not of Lucas. Instead he found another note, this one from Phil, who explained that he was spending the evening with his bridge club at Radclyffe’s Roost and encouraged Brice to help himself to the vegetable beef soup Doris Ann had left in the fridge.

  Brice did so. Feeling grim, he also helped himself to four bottled beers, some leftover bread pudding, and, back in the great room, a big glass of Scotch. He was sitting on one end of the big couch, staring numbly at the black ashes of the fireplace and heartily wishing that the last several years had never happened, when a door slammed behind him and Lucas entered the room.

  “Hey,” said Brice, watching the boy’s unsteady movement toward the bar. Been drinking. Boy that lean can’t handle his booze as well as a big guy like me. “What’s up
?”

  Lucas said nothing. His back to Brice, he sloshed out bourbon into a glass and took a long sip before turning to regard Brice.

  “Nothing’s up. Still here, huh?” He squinted at Brice, as if the few yards between them had been quadrupled.

  “Still here, yes. Do you mind?”

  “Why should I mind?” Lucas gave his customary shrug. “I don’t give a shit. Go or stay, I don’t care.”

  “I’ll stay then.” Brice scratched his jaw. “Have a seat. I’d appreciate the company.”

  “Hell, why not?” Lucas sat heavily on the opposite end of the couch. “So, let’s have a talk, Mr. Brown. I want to know how much Uncle Phil told you about me.”

  “He didn’t—”

  “Look, be honest. I hate liars. I can generally tell when folks are lying.”

  “Okay.” Brice rested his chin in his hands. “He told me you’d dropped out of high school, started working at Walmart, and then got into some kind of trouble. ‘Illegalities.’ That’s all he said.”

  “So discreet. ‘Illegalities.’” Lucas sipped his drink and snickered. “So well-spoken. Such a gentleman, unlike my own redneck self. I was in prison, Mr. Brown.” Lucas glared at Brice. “For several years. Are you shocked?”

  Brice looked Lucas in the eye. “Not really. A couple of hunting buddies from my high school years went to prison. Two for dealing pot. One for beating his wife. Honestly, as hot as my temper is, I’m lucky not to have ended up there myself.”

  “So you still want my company?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” Lucas cupped his hands behind his head. “Why would a celebrity like you want to spend time with an ex-con piece of poor white trash like me?”

  “You’re not trash.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. So why?”

  Brice shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. Even through the baggy sweatshirt, he could make out the kid’s biceps-bulge. “I told you. I’ve been alone a lot.”

  “I don’t think that’s the real reason.”