Carnal Compromise

by Robin L. Rotham

  “We’re not calling it quits,” Brent said through clenched teeth.

  “Good. So let’s go.”

  When they got in the truck, Brent sat there for a moment, staring through the chipped windshield, and then said, “I just want to know why you left last night.”

  Joe’s brows went up. “Because I snore like a damn freight train, that’s why. AJ’s used to it by now, but you wouldn’t have slept a wink all night and you know it.”

  “I’d hoped to be up all night anyway,” Brent said with a meaningful look.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not as young as you. I need my beauty sleep or I won’t be worth a shit on the job.” Joe’s grin looked forced as hell when he added, “You don’t want me harvesting the wrong field or running over Dietz with a tractor, do you?”

  Brent studied him for a good ten seconds and then let it go with a sigh. “That probably wouldn’t be good.”

  It should be a relief that Joe was playing it cool—he certainly wouldn’t betray the fact that they were all getting it on after hours. Hopefully Brent and AJ could be as casual in their interactions in front of the other guys. But dammit, he wanted more from Joe. He wanted what he’d gotten from AJ—if not love, then at least some small sign of affection once in a while.

  In short, he wanted what he knew he couldn’t have.

  Fuck.

  AJ tucked her arm through his and squeezed his hand, and suddenly he felt like a selfish ass. If the way she’d kissed him last night was anything to go by, she had some pretty strong feelings for Joe, too, and the man probably didn’t want hers any more than he wanted Brent’s.

  Which made him a damn fool. But then it was his life—he could fuck it up any way he wanted to.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur of combining, hauling and unloading. By sunset, he was tired and irritable, and trying not to think about what he’d done with Joe only made him feel worse. When he returned to the field after unloading a wagon of beans into one of the bins, he saw Seth Dietz pulling stalks off the end of the bean head and just about blew a gasket. Seth stopped as soon as he saw him and headed for the cab but Brent leaned on the horn to stop him.

  Seth leaned against the ladder in a long-suffering pose.

  “That’s right, asshole, I’m gonna tear you a new one,” Brent muttered as he pulled to a stop.

  Before Brent’s boots hit the ground, Seth went on the offensive. “I was just pulling the ends loose.”

  “I don’t give a shit what you were just doing,” Brent said tightly, reining in his temper. “You know damn good and well you’re supposed to turn off that rotor before you clear any kind of clog.”

  “Come on, Brent. This field’s tough as shit and I’ve been clearing clogs all night. If I have to keep turning the rotor off, it won’t get done before eleven.”

  “Turning the rotor off and on only takes a second. You’re being lazy and careless, Seth, and that won’t wash with me.” When the kid didn’t have anything to say, Brent continued. “Since clearing clogs safely is too much of a chore for you, I’ll take care of the combining and you can do the hauling for the rest of the night. And for the rest of the week, for that matter.”

  Seth looked as if he wanted to argue—most of the time combining was the cushy job where you stayed nice and warm in the cab, and hauling was the shit job where you went up and down the steps in the cold and wind a hundred times day—but he just sighed and nodded.

  “And Dietz, this is your last warning. If I catch you clearing clogs with the rotor running again, you’re gone. Got it? I don’t need any dead or maimed workers on my crew.”

  “Yes, sir,” Seth said glumly.

  Brent watched the ease with which Seth took the steps to the tractor and wanted to call him back and chew on his twenty-year-old ass a while longer. Little bastard didn’t realize how good he had it. Just wait ’til he was over forty, carried twenty more pounds and had joints that crackled like a bowl of Rice Krispies every time he went up and down the ladder—then he could bitch about clearing clogs.

  Feeling old and worn out, Brent climbed up and plopped his ass into the combine seat with a big sigh. Some days it just didn’t pay to get out of bed.

  Seth wasn’t exaggerating when he said the field was tough as shit. Brent had to get out and clear a dozen clogs before quitting time rolled around at ten. The other teams had already finished up and left for the evening, and since there were only three or four rounds left, he sent Seth and Tim on their way. There was no rule that said the boss couldn’t work after ten, so he’d just finish off this field and drive the tractor and wagons back to the staging area. He could take the ATV to the camper and come back for the combine tomorrow morning.

  Wrapped up in an afghan on the couch, AJ gave one last disgusted sigh before she turned off the TV. How could there be over a hundred channels of nothing on?

  She dropped the remote on the carpet and thought about going to bed. Joe had dropped her off at ten, saying he was going to town for a beer and a bite to eat, and she hadn’t argued or asked to come along. There hadn’t been time for a thorough shower this morning and it had been a long day filled with dirty work, so the last thing she wanted was to go hang out in the bar. AJ hadn’t argued with Brent either when he called and said he’d be another hour or so. She was thrilled to have the camper to herself for a while so she could bathe everything that needed bathing, shave everything that needed shaving and pluck everything that needed plucking in complete privacy.

  Now she was clean as a whistle, smooth as a baby’s bottom and wearing a halfway cute camisole and pajama bottoms—and she was still alone at one-thirty in the morning. Brent had probably stopped at the bar, too. Just a few days ago, she’d have figured he and Joe were out someplace doing each other, but not anymore. Not after last night. More likely they were drinking manly drinks, slapping each other on the back for another job well done and ignoring the sexual tension between them the way they always had.

  If she were smart, she’d go entertain herself with her vibrator and fantasies the way she always had, but the idea left her cold. Now that she’d had a taste of the real thing…

  Her chest rose and fell in a heavy sigh. Whatever they were up to, they obviously weren’t too anxious to get home to her, a state of affairs she was all too familiar with thanks to the way things had ended with Rob. It was a given that sooner or later the same thing would happen with Joe and Brent, but she hadn’t expected it to happen after just one night.

  Maybe it would be best for all of them if they just called it quits now, as Joe had suggested. Despite her determination to keep her interest in them strictly physical, it already hurt to be so easily dismissed again, so readily forgotten by them both. She could only imagine how frantic and needy she’d feel after a few weeks of their sporadic attentions, and dammit, she just wasn’t ready to fall into that emotional sinkhole again. Would never be ready.

  No falling in love. It was her own rule and it was a good one, but clearly she was already in danger of breaking it. She should just pack up and move on now, take herself out of their dysfunctional equation while she still had her pride.

  On the other hand, her pride wouldn’t keep her warm at night or fulfill her wildest fantasies, would it?

  AJ stood up, giving herself a mental kick in the ass as she wrapped the quilt around her shoulders. She just needed to suck it up and stay the course. It would be totally self-defeating to let whatever chance of mind-blowing fantasy sex she had left slip away out of fear. She’d survived being hurt about as badly as a woman could, and by God, she’d survive when Joe and Brent made it clear they were done with her.

  Yawning, she leaned down and picked up the remnants of her supper—a pear core gone brown and bread crumbs on a paper plate—from the end table. Maybe things would look better in the morning.

  She’d just dropped the handful of trash into the can under the kitchen sink when Brent’s diesel roared up outside. Before she could make tracks for the bunkroom, the door opened and a
stiff westerly wind blew Joe in. He didn’t take his eyes off her as he pulled the door shut behind him.

  “AJ,” he said tentatively, “what are you doing in here?”

  “Waiting for you guys,” she answered without thinking, drawing the quilt around her defensively. Way to go, AJ—make them feel bad and show them how pathetic you are at the same time.

  Joe frowned and glanced at the wall clock. “Where’s Brent?”

  “He’s not with you?” When he shook his head, AJ frowned, too. “He called and said he’d be another hour or so finishing up that last field and then he’d ride the ATV here. I thought he’d stopped off for a drink or something.”

  “Shit.” He pulled out his cell phone and hit Brent’s speed dial, then snapped it shut again a few seconds later. “He was alone?”

  AJ’s stomach contracted. “Yes. Do you think something’s wrong? Crap, I should have gone out with him.”

  “Yeah, you should,” he bit out.

  Her throat closed and her nose stung with tears but she managed not to flinch. Joe was absolutely right—she’d spent the whole evening primping and feeling sorry for herself while Brent was out coping with some kind of emergency by himself.

  God, talk about self-absorbed.

  She was just opening her mouth to apologize when he said, “I’m gonna go check on him.”

  Closing her mouth again, she turned and headed for their bedroom. “I’m coming, too,” she tossed over her shoulder.

  “AJ—” When she paused and looked at him, he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “No, you were right. I should have at least checked on him.”

  At the high whine of the ATV’s engine outside, Joe’s body relaxed visibly. “Thank God.” He pushed open the door to watch Brent drive up.

  That’s when it dawned on her how much he cared. He might not want admit it, even to himself, but Joe Remke loved Brent Andersen every bit as much as Brent, however unwillingly, loved him. Which cast an entirely new light on the cheerful way he’d tolerated Brent’s refusals before last night. It was almost as though on some level he hadn’t really wanted Brent to give in.

  Which was just…brain-spraining.

  Already on shaky emotional ground and determined to give them some time alone, she yawned and pulled the quilt tighter around her shoulders.

  “I’m really tired,” she said, heading for the bunkroom. “I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

  Shutting the door, she crawled into her bunk, still wrapped in the afghan. Hopefully she’d be asleep before he came in—if he came in. He’d shown more genuine emotion in the last few minutes than she’d ever seen from him. Maybe this scare was the catalyst he needed to finally confront his own fears, whatever they were, and open himself emotionally to Brent.

  No two ways about it, Joe Remke was a man filled with fear. He’d probably beat the shit out of anyone who said so to his face, but he was scared to death of something. She’d thought at first it might be the stigma attached to homosexuality in rural America, but now that she knew them better, that theory just didn’t hold any water. His secrets felt less societal than personal.

  Hell, why did she even care if they got in touch with their emotions and learned to communicate and overcame whatever obstacles were keeping them apart? As soon as that happened, they’d either let her down gently, which would be humiliating, or she’d become the awkward third wheel, which would be even worse. Either way, she’d have to hit the road and find another job because she’d already had more than her fill of feeling inadequate and unwanted.

  Rolling over to face the wall, she pulled the blankets up over her ears with another shuddering sigh. Sleep would probably be a long time coming tonight.

  Watching Brent trudge over the gravel, clearly filthy, frustrated and exhausted, Joe felt like the biggest piece of shit on earth. He’d just assumed Brent and AJ were taking advantage of his absence and spending some quality time together. Instead, AJ had spent the evening assuming the same thing about the two of them while Brent was out working, and probably fixing some kind of equipment breakdown, by himself.

  All because Joe had been too chickenshit to come home. How could he have screwed things up so badly?

  He held the door open and Brent brushed by him.

  “Nice cologne,” Brent said flatly, not looking at him. “Anyone I know?”

  “No,” Joe replied, his tone every bit as flat.

  “Were you waiting up for me?”

  Joe’s stomach burned. “I just got in and AJ told me you were still out in the field. When you didn’t answer your phone, I thought I’d better go check on you.”

  Brent shrugged out of his coat and hung it and his cap on the hook by the door. Then he pulled out his cell phone and frowned. “I didn’t hear it ring.”

  “I just called.” It was impossible to hear even the loudest cell phone over the roar of the four-wheeler.

  “Ah. Well, thanks for worrying about me.”

  Joe hung up his own coat and cap. “What happened?”

  “Ran over some wire on the last round. The fence must have washed out over the summer or something.” He scrubbed his hands over his head tiredly. “It took a couple of hours to pull it all off the reel and get it wound up and out of the way.”

  “You should have called me.”

  Brent shrugged. “I handled it.”

  Joe tensed with frustration. Brent shouldn’t have had to handle it, at least not alone, and he wouldn’t have if things hadn’t gotten so fucked up between them. He would have called, knowing Joe would drop everything to go help him. Hell, he wouldn’t have had to call because they’d have been out there together, the way they always were. They almost always left the field together.

  Instead, Joe had been out trolling for a casual lay just to prove that he still could—a plan that had now backfired in ways too numerous and uncomfortable to think about.

  Brent went to the sink and got a drink of water and then turned off the kitchen light. “Well, I’m going to shower and hit the sack.”

  “You haven’t asked about AJ.”

  He paused in the doorway. “What about her?”

  “She was worried about you, too.”

  Brent glanced toward the closed bunkroom door. “She must not have been too worried if she’s asleep.”

  Joe wandered closer to him, sticking his thumbs in his jeans pockets. “She just went to bed.”

  “I called and told her where I was.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have been out there alone and you know it, especially so late at night. You could have had an accident and no one would have been there to help you or call an ambulance.” He sighed heavily. “I kind of jumped down her throat about not checking on you, even though it was my fault.”

  “I hope you apologized, because that’s about the stupidest line of bullshit I ever heard. I’m forty-two years old, Joe—old enough to work late all by myself now.”

  “I should have been with you.”

  Brent leveled a penetrating look at him. “One of these days we need to have a long talk about your overdeveloped sense of responsibility. But right now we both need sleep if we’re going to get loaded and out of here in the morning.”

  He was right, but Joe still hesitated. It felt like there were things they needed to get straight, but he had no idea how in the hell to do it without getting sucked even deeper into something he’d never intended.

  “Go to bed, Joe,” Brent said in a resigned tone. “Whatever it is, it’ll wait ’til tomorrow.”

  Chapter Seven

  Brent had hoped the cold light of a November morning would snap him out of the funk he’d fallen into last night, but he still felt like a pile of dried-up dog shit the whole time they loaded the equipment onto the flatbeds. It didn’t help that both Joe and AJ were acting as distant as he was, though why was a mystery he didn’t care enough to solve at the moment.

  Like either of them had
any right to be pissed at him, he groused as he tightened the straps lashing down one of the corn heads. He was the one who’d worked his ass off long after quitting time while AJ had a pleasant evening at home and Joe was out screwing some stranger.

  He cranked the winch bar viciously and then swore a blue streak when it slipped and he banged his knuckles on the trailer. Taking a walk around the truck, he shook out his throbbing fingers and gave himself a mental dressing down. Dammit, he had to stop thinking about this, had to stop obsessing over the cloud of whiskey, cigarette smoke and men’s cologne clinging to Joe when he got home last night or he’d cause a major accident.

  So Joe got laid. Again. So what? Had he really expected anything else?

  He let loose a tired sigh as he picked the winch bar up off the gravel and started tightening again. The sad fact was, yes, for some stupid reason he had expected something else, and that was what was driving him so crazy right now. Joe wasn’t the one who’d changed, who’d acted any different than he ever had. It was Brent who’d changed the rules of the game by giving up a big chunk of his long-held ground and then expecting things to be different because of it.

  See, this was why he’d never given an inch before when Joe made a play for him and why he should have continued to hold him off until the end of time. Sex was nothing but a game to Joe—or a convenient tool for detaching himself from anyone he might actually care about. Or both.

  Whichever it happened to be at any given moment, the end result was always the same, and frankly, Brent just didn’t give a shit anymore. For once, he was actually looking forward to the coming winter. He just didn’t have the stomach for the kind of emotional fucking over that came with getting close to Joe Remke.