Sing for Your Supper

by Samms, Jaime

  “You have a hat rack in the yard?”

  “Don’t expect me to drop my hat on the ground, do you?”

  “S’pose not, no.” I took off my own ball cap and hung it next to the Stetson. It hung a little bit limp and sun-bleached, from its original red to blush pink. Jim snickered.

  “Does the job,” I pointed out, maybe a little on the defensive side.

  “Farmer’s hat.” Jim tapped the brim.

  “Nothin’ wrong with being a farmer.”

  “Didn’t say there was. Ranchin’s not farming.”

  “No.”

  Jim merely shrugged and stripped his shirt off over his head and kicked off his boots. His jeans crumpled into the pile on the grass offering a glimpse of fine man, broad pale back and firm ass, long legs and tanned arms as he took a few running steps and arched, long and graceful into the pond with hardly a splash.

  Fuck me. Please.

  I stared after the shadow knifing along under the water and tried desperately to contain the urge to palm my raging erecting, sprung from nowhere and leaving me lightheaded. I was still frozen on the grass when Jim’s head popped back up.

  “Water’s fine.”

  Everything’s fine. Very, very fine.

  The man was not making it easy for me to control my libido. My ass, still tender from my morning bout with Matt, throbbed slightly and I heaved in a lungful of air.

  I waved, to let him know I’d heard, and concentrated on pulling off my worn boots and unbuttoning my shirt. I contemplated keeping my boxers on, but the idea of squishing around in wet trunks, or sweating into my jeans without them while I mucked out stalls didn’t appeal.

  Cold showers, cow births, getting your ass kicked by the huge, admittedly gorgeous straight guy who just hired you… Which doesn’t actually sound that bad…

  “Hot branding irons,” I muttered under my breath. That did it. Because I could still see the red hot iron in my mind’s eye, and feel the feral fear snake through my gut, even now. It worked to get my erection under control even as a deep shudder swept through me. I almost yanked the jeans back up.

  Don’t wimp out. Don’t let him see. He doesn’t need to know.

  Finally undressed, I opted for a shallower dive into the cool water. I popped up half way across the small pond and ran a hand over my face.

  “Told you the water was fine,” Jim said. A few strokes brought him closer. His eyes had shifted again, from dark and suspicious to a lighter, curious shade. I’d never seen anything like the way his eyes shifted colour like that.

  “So. Not a horse man?”

  I blinked. “Uh.”

  Nice. Very smooth.

  I swept my hand through my hair. “Dad raises horses, Uncle has cattle. I worked for Uncle John most summers after I turned ten and full time after high school. That’s almost twenty years experience. I know what I’m doing.”

  “That’s rare in young guys these days. Mostly good for a lot of brawn,” there was a slight pause and Jim’s eyes darkened, his tongue darted out to lick his lips, “not much else.”

  Fuck me. Did I mention? Any time…

  “Right.” I knew I was staring, that straight guys do not stare at other guys’ lips, hoping for another teasing glance of red, agile tongue. Struggling, I tore my gaze away, swiftly turned and dove under the water. I made it to shore with a few strong kicks and hauled myself up onto the grass.

  “Don’t let him see,” I muttered. “Fuck.” I snatched up my shirt and ran the soft cotton over my face.

  “Problem?”

  “Fuck!” with a start, I straightened, holding the shirt firmly in front of my completely out of control hard-on. “No!”

  Jim smirked, shrugged, and ambled over to his own pile of clothes. He didn’t seem the least bit worried about his own half-hard cock jutting into the afternoon breeze.

  I pulled in a steadying breath, which didn’t stop my head spinning, or keep me from eyeing the way Jim’s body flowed into every movement as he bent to pick up his T-shirt and proceeded to use it to wipe the water down his legs. For a big guy, he had a lot of grace. He moved like a man at ease with himself and his body.

  Like someone who knows just what he’s got and how to use it. Fucker.

  We dressed in silence and by the time I was retrieving my hat I had regained some control over my body.

  “You should know,” Jim turned as he buckled his belt, to face me. “Jeb has been on this ranch since I was a kid. Practically raised me after Ma left. He and my father are partners. In everything. This place,” he indicated the barn and fields beyond with a nod of his head, “and life. You got a problem with that, you should haul your ass on out of here now.”

  For a flabbergasted moment I just stared at him.

  “Well?”

  “No! No problem.”

  He stepped close, well inside my personal space and I gazed up at him. “Good.” His eyes were dark again, the glitter gone deep, hot and straight to my dick. “We let folks be who they like around here. Matt knows that. Probably why he sent you. If you can work, you can stay.”

  I nodded, sure I couldn’t force words through my dry throat if my life depended on it.

  Jim reached past me, bringing his body, along with the very masculine scent that the pond water couldn’t wash away, within inches of me. He snagged his hat and plopped it on his head. “I’ll leave you to muck out the stalls, feed the animals. Get to know them. We’ll tackle the fences first thing tomorrow. The bunk room’s pretty much buried under junk, so you’ll have to clean that out before you can sleep there.”

  “S-sure.”

  He backed a step away, a slight grin on his face. “Won’t get the plumbing hooked up till tomorrow or the next day. You’ll have to shower at mine tonight.” He pointed down the long lane I’d recently driven up. “You see the cottage back towards town about a half mile?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s me. After you’re done, you can clean up there. Use my couch tonight. Tomorrow, Jeb and Rob can swamp the junk out of your room and get it ready for you.”

  “I can—”

  “You’ll be busy.”

  “Right.”

  Busy with you, please…

  Don’t even go there, Taylor.

  The never-ending dialogue in my head was getting confusing, and I never listened to my own advice, anyway. I would have been a lot easier to follow if he wasn’t standing so close, looking at me with that expression I couldn’t quite decipher, but was clearly not idle curiosity.

  Chapter Six

  I’d mucked and fed everything that needed mucking and feeding and it was too early to call it quits. Instead, I made a tour of the vegetable garden and decided the tomatoes were in most need of care. An hour and a half later, I had most of the plants staked and caged with rusty old cages I’d found at the edge of the garden. The weeds were giving way to my determined attack when an elderly gentleman hobbled out onto the back porch to peer at me over the rail.

  “Hey there!” he called.

  I straightened and nodded to him. “Hi.”

  “Mighty generous of you to help, but if you don’t mind my asking, what the fuck are you doin’ in my vegetables?”

  I blinked at him a moment, then squared my shoulders and pulled off my gloves. A few steps brought me to the grass beside the porch and I held up a hand to him. “Name’s Taylor Anderson. Jim just hired me this afternoon. He told me to muck the stalls and feed the horses. Did that. I’m just waitin’ on him to go git cleaned up.”

  “Hired you, huh?” He looked me up and down and nodded, as though he’d confirmed something to himself. “‘Nuther one of ol’ Matt’s cast-offs, then.”

  “Cast-offs?”

  Fucking old bastard.

  I dropped my arm to my side and took a step back. “Matt helped me out,” I said, stiffly. “He’s a good man. No need to speak of him like that. I’ll leave your tomatoes alone, sir.”

  I heard him chuckling as I walked off.

 
“Hey!” he called after me, amusement still etching his voice.

  “What?” I turned, irritated at the old guy’s attitude.

  A heavy hand smacked across the back of my head. I whirled, my heart thudding heavily somewhere in my throat, hands raised. Nerves twitched and jangled, making my skin sizzle with fear.

  Jim glared down at me. “Show some respect.”

  I gritted my teeth, still jittery, and backed away from them both. “I apologise. Was there something else?” I tried my best to hide the nerves behind the ire. The old man’s knowing gaze told me he didn’t buy it for an instant.

  “You can tell my idiot son dinner will have to wait. Weather’s moving in and the horses need lookin’ to.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  Jim and I answered at the same time, and his dark eyes smouldered as they met mine. I had no idea what was going through his head, but he was not smiling.

  “Also, Anderson, I could use some help with the cucumbers, when you get a chance. Old knees. Just don’t bend like they used to.”

  “I’d be happy to, sir.”

  “Good.”

  Jim stomped off towards the barn as I hauled the weeds I’d picked away to the compost pile. The back door of the house slammed behind me.

  Jim was waiting at the compost. He watched, arms crossed, ass resting against a fence post, as I worked. “I appreciate you putting in a word for Matt,” he said at last.

  “Wh—” I busied myself with the compost, turning the weeds under while I figured out where that came from. “It was just the truth. He helped me. More than he had to.”

  “More than you put out for?”

  Gritting my teeth around any number of ways to cuss him out, ignoring the way my insides liquefied into humiliation, I stirred, jamming the fork into the steaming pile of shit and hauling it over, burying the fresh, green wildflowers under the crap. “Don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

  “So you don’t deny it.”

  “Matt is a good person.” I stuck to that fact, that decent truth so it didn’t get buried under the rest. “He went above and beyond for me. He didn’t have to do fuck all—”

  “He’s like that.”

  “Yeah.”

  I didn’t notice he’d moved until he had a hand on the pitchfork and I could feel his body heat, even through the humid heat of the day. This time when my heart sped, the blood rushed decidedly south. I didn’t look at him, afraid he’d see the state of my cock in my eyes. Afraid he’d see I wasn’t anything more than a hired hand and a libido.

  “Matt. He’s good people.”

  “No argument here.” My voice lacked any kind of firmness. So much for hiding anything.

  “He doesn’t send just anyone my way.”

  “‘Matt’s cast-off’—”

  “Don’t be puttin’ my father’s words in my mouth. He’s old fashioned. He doesn’t understand.”

  Maybe it only bothered me so much because it was so close to being true, despite what I knew about how Matt and I had left things. “What’s to understand?”

  His hot breath blew over my neck and his body pressed lightly against my back. “Matt would never send you here if he didn’t think you were good people, too. No matter what you might think to the contrary. He’s a very good judge of character.”

  “Good enough to let you know I’m an easy fuck?”

  Fuck. Think you’d have learned your lesson, Anderson.

  I didn’t need to turn or look at him to feel the chill. “You’d like that.”

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  My breath came fast and hard, and damn if it didn’t turn me on, hard as I tried to not to let it. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” I snatched the fork out of his hand and tossed it in the wheelbarrow. Hard to storm off pushing a creaking old barrow, but I managed. “Rain’s comin’ We’ve got horses to look to.”

  “You make friends with that grey yet?” he asked as he sauntered into the barn behind me, as though nothing had happened.

  I swallowed my pride and played his game. “Not enough to ride. Not yet. He’s bitchy.” I turned a glare on Jim as he took a saddle off the rack. “Wonder where he gets it.”

  He actually chuckled. “He’s dad’s horse. Ornery since he doesn’t get out any more.”

  “That little red head looks likely,” I mentioned, wanting to keep my balance under his gaze. I could talk about horses. Just about anything else seemed to slide into innuendo I wasn’t quite sure either of us were comfortable with.

  Jim nodded. His eyes narrowed slightly as he sized me up, probably deciding if I was small enough to ride the delicate animal. “She could use the exercise.”

  Why did I get the feeling he was reluctant to let me ride the pretty little mare? She was friendly and seemed easy-going. “You have another ride in mind, just say the word.”

  “No. Ride Kallie. She doesn’t get enough attention since—She needs to get out.”

  Since what?

  He picked out a saddle for her and dumped it on me.

  “Let’s move out, then.”

  The saddling up progressed in silence. Jim avoided looking me in the eye, and, oddly, also avoided looking at the little red horse I was saddling. He greeted his own with a warm word and quiet, undivided attention. He ignored the red.

  “Ready?” he asked at last, as he swung up into the saddle. He tossed a speculative look at the sky. I followed his gaze. The clouds glowered down, a menacing weight above us.

  The ride was quick, thankfully, though we didn’t escape the rain. The little red proved as sure footed and agile as she looked, and she didn’t show any signs of minding the rain. The other horses came willingly, answering her nicker long before they came to Jim’s calls. She confidently led the way back to the barn, stepping proud around the puddles, just like a lady.

  Wiping down a dozen wet horses took more time than bringing them in had. That task was accomplished mostly in silence, as well. By the time we were done, I was exhausted. My arms ached, and I had to wonder where the fabled Jeb and his willowy, good-with-the-animals nephew were.

  “So.” Jim tucked the curry combs and brushes away as I handed them over. “It’s late.”

  My stomach growled, on cue, and he snickered.

  “I could probably rustle something up.” He looked at me a little sideways. “Unless you’d rather clean yerself up and head into town and the diner.”

  I considered that.

  Matt would not have walked away if he wanted me there.

  For a few, silent minutes, he watched me, his gaze cool, appraising.

  “No. The diner was all right for a night. Not really substantial enough to satisfy, though.”

  Jim’s gaze slid down my body and he nodded. “C’mon, then. We’ll take the truck.”

  “Sure.”

  And be stranded. Just what do you think will happen, stud?

  I shut out the little voice and followed Jim to his pickup.

  Chapter Seven

  Sounds of running water from the shower filled the tiny cabin and I tried to distract myself from thoughts of soapy water running down those long, muscled legs by looking around. There wasn’t a lot to see. As I’d suspected, Jim wasn’t much of a pack rat. There were book shelves, loaded down with classics—Shogun, Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, War and Peace, with cracked spines all. I pulled a copy of The Hobbit off the shelf. Inside the front cover, a sticker sporting Jim’s name in childish handwriting made me smile. A little bit more investigation showed each book had been inscribed, by him, or by someone else, all with his name, and they were all well read.

  I might not have gone to college, but I could appreciate a guy who liked to read.

  I nodded to myself.

  Makes perfect sense. A cowhand who reads the classics. Who hasn’t heard of that?

  Lined up on the mantle, a series of framed photos caught my attention. In one, a man with enough likeness in his lined face and dark eyes to probably be his fat
her, in his younger days, stood with his arm around a diminutive woman with a kind smile. She looked young and distracted in the photo, and I wondered what had happened to her. There was a photo of Jim standing, arms folded and back-to-back to another man looking an awful lot like him, but dressed in a fine suit and patent leathers next to Jim’s faded jeans and spurs.

  “Your turn.” Jim leaned in the bathroom doorway in a towel, his hair curling darkly along his nape, and his broad chest still beaded with tiny water droplets.

  “Uh…” I swallowed. “Right. Thanks.”

  There you go again. Complete disintegration of your conversational skills.

  I shuffled across the room and squeezed past Jim’s bulk, sure my pounding heart had to be audible. My jeans, still rain-damp, chafed. Blood rushed, some to my cheeks, sending heat up under my hair, but most south. I would have tugged at the denim to ease the constriction, but Jim’s gaze never wavered from my face. A slight grin played over his lips.

  “Sorry ‘bout the wait,” he drawled.

  “Not a problem.”

  “See anything interesting?” he jutted his chin at the mantle.

  I deliberately ran my gaze down his damp, perfect body, lingering over the dark curls icing his chest and trailing down under the towel. “Nah.”

  He growled, low in his throat and his hand clamped around my arm. “Look me in the eye and say that.”

  I did look him in the eye. My mouth went dry. Too dry to speak. Twisting my arm only tightened his grip. “Let. Go.”

  He did. Instantly.

  After a few swallows, I managed to get myself under control. “Couple good books, there.”

  He laughed. The tension dissipated on the rolling sound, and he moved to let me pass.

  I stopped inside the bathroom and turned, but Jim was already disappearing behind the closing bedroom door.

  “Right.”