by T. Neilson
Luke wasn’t sure how to answer.
“Are you going to ask him?” Tristan clarified.
Luke was aware of Jake leaning forward on his stool.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “We’ve been friends a long time.”
Tristan nodded.
“Seriously, man,” Tristan said as he returned to the paper bag and the tongs that he had discarded. He grabbed a lemon-blackberry pastry from the display and put it into the bag. “If you can make my brother happy, you can have free tarts for life.”
“Free work at the garage too,” Jake added. “That guy needs to get laid.”
“Honestly,” Tristan agreed. He slid the bag across the counter to Luke. “Good luck, man. We’re pulling for you.”
Chapter Ten
THE next afternoon Simon found himself squeezed into Meghan’s red Toyota truck with Luke sitting uncomfortably and deliciously close to him.
Luke hadn’t changed since the morning, but hell, Simon had. Suddenly sitting next to Luke in close quarters was incredibly fraught. He desperately wanted to touch him, to feel the electric shock of his fingers on Luke’s skin, to sit even closer so their thighs would be pressed together, but there was a gearshift in the way, and Luke was going to Argentina, and Simon was too busy for that anyway.
He’d picked Luke up from his bed-and-breakfast at Madrona Ranch and headed east, off Lakeview Drive and over the cattle guard. Now here they were, the two of them juddering along the corduroy road toward the Peterson ranch house. Dust rose up from the truck and made a haze that filtered the sun. In the huge pasture, cows raised their heads to watch their passage.
“You think that’s the herd?” Simon hollered over the rattle and bang of Meghan’s busted old truck. Luke shook his head as he bounced comfortably in every bump and pothole, one suntanned arm out the window flapping like a chicken’s wing.
“No, no calves. Those girls are probably too old for milk. I bet this is their retirement home.”
It hadn’t occurred to Simon to ask what you did with a dairy cow when it was too old to give milk anymore.
“Do people retire cows?” he asked.
Luke grinned at Simon. “In the US, people don’t eat dairy cows, but there’s no reason not to.”
Luke rubbed his flat stomach and probably made an mmm-mmm noise too. “Old beef.”
“And you say you’re done with food.”
“Oh, I am,” Luke said. And then, with a wicked grin, he added, “And I’m thinking about becoming vegetarian.”
“What?” Simon didn’t quite drive off the road.
Luke laughed, and Simon laughed too, helplessly giddy with his nearness and the stupidity of believing such an obvious lie.
“There,” Luke said suddenly. He pointed toward the farmhouse and what had to be the back fifty of the ranch. “I bet those are them right there, in the little field.”
And they were. Simon could see the classic black-and-white spotting of the second herd standing in the shade of tall, leafy trees. He slowed the truck, and the noise died down a little.
“That’s a nice patch,” Luke murmured. “Apple trees. And plums, by the look of it. These ladies are well kept.”
Simon glanced at him and grinned. “I am so glad you agreed to come out here.”
Luke gave him a serious look. “I want to be sure you’re all right,” he said. “No added stress. You don’t need it. I’m worried about you,” he added quietly.
Simon tried to think of something to say, but he was saved when Matt Peterson appeared from the ranch house, waving. Simon waved back.
“Matt?” he called out the window. “I hope we’re not late.”
“Right on time.” Matt walked over to the truck as Simon and Luke got out. He shook Simon’s hand in a hard, callused grip and then offered his hand to Luke.
“Matt Peterson, Luke Ferreya. Luke’s a….” Simon realized the smile had vanished from Luke’s face. His shoulders were tight and bunched again, his eyes a little hooded. He realized he had a chance to give Luke a tiny gift and take away all that stress. He cleared his throat. “Uh, Luke’s from a ranching family in Argentina. He’s agreed to come take a look at the herd, since Meghan can’t be here. He’s my… interpreter. All your cow talk should be directed to him.”
Matt smiled and shook Luke’s hand. “Oh, bueno.”
“English is fine,” Luke said. “I was born and raised in Wisconsin.”
“Well that helps, because my Spanish is terrible.”
Luke laughed. And just like that, his shoulders settled and his eyes were bright again. He seemed comfortable, calm, in his element. Simon found himself smiling at Luke as Matt turned him toward the dairy herd and started his spiel. “Come on over and have a look at the girls.”
SIMON trailed behind Matt and Luke as they toured the milking parlor, took a look at the giant, rotating cow-scratching brush that looked as though Matt had stolen it from a car wash, circa 1985, and then went to the office to review the vet records. Every cow was tagged and tracked, their lineages, their previous owners, and their health status all listed. Simon made appreciative noises when it seemed like it was right thing to do, but that was the total of his contribution to the conversation. It was Luke who led the way.
After their meeting, he and Luke piled back into the cab of the truck, where they were suddenly too close again, alone together, sun-warmed skin brushing sun-warmed skin, and Simon’s heart beat so hard he could almost hear it over the roar and rattle of the old Toyota.
“What did you think of the herd?” Simon asked.
Luke nodded. “I think they look very good. I like Matt. I think he’s an ethical farmer. He likes his cows and looks after them. They’ve benefited.”
Simon reached for the gear shift and brushed Luke’s leg. He shifted, and his knuckles brushed Luke’s thigh. God, it would be so easy just to….
“The cows look like they’re in good health to me, and it seems reasonable to sell them, given his interest in arable farming. But I would still call a vet and have them all checked over. They’d give you an unbiased rundown. And they’d be able to talk to you about the risks.”
“Risks,” Simon echoed, glancing at Luke. “Wait, risks?”
“TB comes and goes in cattle and it gets into the milk, for one thing. That’s bad news.”
“TB?” Simon felt like an idiot but couldn’t help parroting Luke. “You mean, like, tuberculosis? Isn’t that a thing that killed street urchins in the Victorian era?”
Luke laughed. “Farming’s an old job, so it has old problems,” Luke said. “But, like I said, I think they look good.”
He leaned back in the dusty old seat and looked out at the land. “Thank you for the invitation,” he added, “and for the introduction. I appreciate that you didn’t call me a chef.”
Simon glanced at him. His eyes were soft, as though he were thinking of something far away, and Simon felt an ache in his chest. He’s thinking about Argentina. He’s a thousand miles from here.
“Yeah, well, you better get used to people calling you something else, since you’re not that anymore.”
Luke nodded, and the two of them were quiet all the way down the drive to the cattle guard.
IT was the sort of August day where the sky was a bleached-out blue, and the grasshoppers creaking in the tall grasses hummed and sang louder than the sigh of the breeze. Ahead lay a stand of mature pine trees, clustered around the road, and you could imagine yourself walking into the wilderness. The lake lay shimmering and inviting on his left, and a cow pasture lay on his right and ran up against the low, slow curve of the hills that blocked Coalville from view. Across the lake there stood his mom’s old red farmhouse, and a little farther down, the main beach, with its sandy sides and the intermittent splashes as people dove and swam in the cool water.
They drove under the stuffy shade of the pine trees. With the windows down, the heat on the road wasn’t so bad—dusty, sure, but at least it wasn’t humid. But under the pi
nes, the summer heat seemed more oppressive. Nothing moved in the trees, as though everything were too exhausted. The little truck bounced along and kicked up a cloud of dust behind.
“God, it’s hot,” Simon muttered.
Luke nodded. “A good day not to be cooking,” he said.
Simon didn’t answer. Ahead of him lay his office, the kitchens, endless prep, and nothing cool or refreshing until the night air infiltrated his room in the small hours of the morning. And Luminara tonight.
The road was empty as far as he could see, but the sun made mirages in the air behind him. To his left the lands sloped down toward his old favorite swimming spot. He looked over at Luke with his heart pounding. He had so much work to do before Luminara, but Luke was leaving and….
“Do want to go for a swim?” he asked.
Luke looked startled, but then he smiled. “Sure,” he agreed. He gestured at himself. “I’m totally unprepared.”
Simon grinned. “Me too.”
Simon pulled the truck to the side of the road and killed the engine. Then he pushed open the door and dropped down into the gravel. “There’s a good little beach down here,” he said as Luke came around the front of the truck. “I used to swim here all the time as a kid. It was always pretty warm in August.”
Luke nodded. “Good. Let’s go, then,” he said, and Simon led the way, sliding and slipping down the embankment to the water’s edge. He found it more or less exactly as it had been that last summer, the year his dad died—undisturbed, a little mossy, with a finger of stone jutting out from a muddy beach and a broken old tree standing like a lighthouse on the rocks. On the far side of the beach, a cottonwood hung way out over the water, its massive crown so big it was dragging the tree out of the soft earth, and it leaned dangerously toward the water. One of the big branches hung broken and dangled its withered leaves over the lake. Simon looked at the sad, sagging tree. I feel you. I feel you, pal.
“I—” Simon started to say something and forgot what it was. Behind him Luke was stripping. He had pulled his shirt up over his head, exposing his lean belly and chest, and he was taking off his jeans too, unbuckling his belt, pushing his jeans down to reveal the curve of his ass.
Simon was aware he was staring. He was aware of his mouth hanging open. He was aware that the sudden rush of heat that went through him had settled in his crotch and was not going away.
Luke spotted him and grinned. “I love swimming,” he said. And with that he pulled his boxer briefs off, and for the first time Simon saw Luke’s thick, furred thighs, the junction darkened with black hair, and the thick red shaft hanging there. Simon’s chest constricted. He thought he saw Luke’s cock pulse and maybe start to thicken.
Jesus. Simon struggled to recall the ability to close his mouth and swallow. He’d always known Luke was on the handsome end of the spectrum, but he never realized how handsome. Now he was stunned. He’d seen him half-naked before, of course. He’d even seen him half-naked and coming, in the alley all those years ago. Back then he’d known objectively that Luke was good-looking, but he never felt it like this. It pinned him into place so he couldn’t move and could hardly even breathe. He knew he was staring, and he knew he ought to say something, but he couldn’t.
Luke flashed a grin and started toward the water. He crashed in with a shout and plunged under in a spray of foam. When he came back up, he was breathless and laughing.
“I love swimming,” he shouted.
“Me too,” Simon whispered. He shook himself to break free of his stunned reverie. Then he stripped off, aware of his pasty complexion and lean build, a body made by hard work and long days on his feet, rather than by working out and riding horses. Heedless of the cold, he scrambled into the water just to get covered up before he could find himself sporting a semi without an explanation. The chill shriveled him, and he came up gasping.
“Holy shit,” he yelped.
Luke swam out a little farther and then stopped and trod water. He was panting too. “I thought you said it was warm in August.”
“I must have been insane,” Simon answered as he tried to catch his breath.
“You are insane,” Luke laughed. “You’re buying a dairy herd.”
Simon turned over on his back so he didn’t have to expend so much effort swimming. “It’s nuts,” he agreed. The water filled his ears, so he didn’t hear what Luke said until he raised his head and said, “Huh?”
“I said that it’s the good kind of crazy,” Luke repeated.
Simon flopped back. “I’m a restaurateur,” he told the trees that overhung the water. “I have to be crazy. Professionally.”
Luke swam closer. “Real talk,” he said. Simon tipped himself up and trod water beside him. “You have enough on your plate. This much stress is not good for you. The brasserie’s menu is just fine. You don’t need to add a dairy herd.”
“I know,” Simon agreed. “But Jenny wants it so bad. And it does make sense.”
“Then you need to make sure this isn’t added to your workload. You need to hire a dairyman. Or woman,” he added. “You need a dairyperson. Someone who knows the animals and wants to work with them long-term. Cows aren’t like chickens. They want routines and regularity. Especially dairy cows.”
“Cow whisperer, huh?” Simon said. He could see Luke’s torso going down into the glass-green water and catch glimpses of his knees and his feet. “Seriously, Luke. Nobody’s ever…. What’s it like being out of the industry, looking in?”
Luke made a little noise. “Lonely,” he said. “People don’t seem interested in my life anymore. Except for you.”
Simon laughed weakly. “Well, we’ve been friends forever.”
Luke nodded. “We have,” he said quietly. “I value your friendship more than I can tell you.”
Simon felt breathless again. “I’m… gonna miss you when you go to Argentina,” he answered, panting a little. “I, uh….” He felt dizzy, as though he were standing on the edge of a precipice, deciding whether to jump. “I’m, um….”
There was a loud crack and a tearing sound, and the branch that had been hanging from the cottonwood finally gave way. It fell with a crash into the water, splashing them and churning up the glass surface of the lake. Leaves fluttered down like confetti.
“Well, that was exciting,” Luke said after a moment.
Simon looked back at the tree. It overgrew its location, reached too far, and came apart under stress. If there were ever a sign, that had to be it. He grimaced. “I don’t know if we should stay,” he said then. “That whole tree might come down, and I don’t want to get smacked with it.”
Luke agreed with a grunt, and they swam back to shore.
“You were going to say something,” Luke said as they waded in and the soft mud squelched underfoot. “Before all that happened.”
“Oh.” Simon shook his head. The mad urge to come clean had vanished before any harm could be done, thank God. “Doesn’t matter. Not important. Let’s… uh… let’s get going.”
SIMON tried not to watch Luke dress, but he still found himself sneaking glances. He told himself not to be a creep, but he kept right on doing it.
Luke didn’t seem to notice, but then, Luke seemed to be having trouble getting his jeans on over his wet legs. They seemed to stick to his skin, and Luke wriggled and twisted to get them up his thighs and over his ass. Jesus. Simon tugged his own pants on as fast as the fabric would allow and then zipped his cock safely away. Luke left his pants undone as he pulled his shirt on. Ridged belly, black-fuzzed treasure trail, skin all damp and glistening. Simon’s cock pulsed. The lake had not been cold enough.
He pulled on his shirt and saw Luke watching him. Horrified, he glanced down at himself, but didn’t see any evidence of unplatonic interest, at least not visible. “What?” he asked.
Luke shrugged. “I think it’s important for you to know what it is you do and don’t do,” he said.
“What?”
“I mean, with regard to the dairy
herd. To everything, really. I think if you don’t set boundaries, you try to do everything yourself. And then you wind up like me.”
Simon tried not to look him up and down as they crunched their way, side by side, up the embankment to the road. He tried not to say, “Could be worse.” He knew what Luke meant—that you burn out, that you stop feeling joy in your work. But Simon also knew the warning had come too late. He was already there.
He had never really felt joy in his work. It had been a matter of taking on a mantle. First he did it to help his mom out in the kitchen at the restaurant. They were one chef down, and it was still high season. After that it was to provide continuity to the family, so there would always be a place the boys could learn a trade, so the dream his mom and dad had labored over for so long wouldn’t just fall apart. It had never been a matter of what he wanted, only what was necessary. Once upon a time that had been enough. It wasn’t as though he had longed to become a doctor or a jockey or something. And taking on the work of his father’s life had spared him the need to come up with his own direction. Once upon a time it had been… if not exactly good, then at least expedient.
But that time had passed. Now he was just fuel that the restaurant would burn up in order to keep going. He didn’t love his work, even if he was proud of what he had achieved—six brothers who had grown up pretty stable despite the loss of their father, and a hotel and brasserie that won accolades far and wide.
Things like joy and passion simply didn’t enter into it. It was his life. He had chosen it. No one had told him to step into his father’s shoes. He just knew it had to be done. For the first time ever, he considered that he might sell the place after his mom was gone. The thought drifted in, unbidden and delicate as a moth’s wing. But not while she’s still alive. It would hurt her to see the brasserie in the hands of someone who might change it.