Seeds of Tyrone Box Set

by Debbie McGowan

  Before the last strains of music had died away, Dee pulled on the cord and the bud popped out of his ear. It was a pretty good tune, Chancey thought.

  “I made you some M and C.”

  “I see that.”

  “Can I sleep over at Stills’s this weekend?”

  “Getting an early jump on practice?”

  Stills’s mother had been their riding and roping coach since both girls were barely able to mount their ponies.

  “Yep. We need to practise for Emporia,” she agreed. “So is it OK?”

  “If Mrs. Stills says it’s all right.”

  “You know she’s fine with it.”

  Well, that was true. If there was anyone more driven to win on God’s green Earth, Chancey wanted to meet them and then introduce them to Charlene Stills who would promptly win at wanting to win.

  Chancey eased himself down in the chair, feeling every bone in his body creak. He needed a nice hot bath. Scrub away three layers of the caked-on dirt, and then he might see skin underneath.

  He shovelled a forkful of the macaroni into his mouth and groaned. He wasn’t putting it on for Dee; just then, those pre-packaged noodles and powdered cheese were heaven.

  “Oh, and someone called you.”

  “Who?” he asked, only half listening because of the distracting love affair he was having with the macaroni.

  “Dunno,” she said. “It was on your cell phone. I didn’t answer it. But it was a weird ring—”

  He had left his phone this morning, hadn’t he?

  “—like maybe they were using Skype or something.”

  Seamus.

  Well, he’d said he would call.

  “Thanks, Dee.”

  Chancey ate just a little bit faster.

  <<< >>>

  “Er, Chance?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Well, it’s weird—it said video call, and so I accepted, but I only see a black screen?”

  Video call? Chancey had tried to seem nonchalant as he took his phone back to the privacy of his bedroom, but there was a spark of excitement building in his chest at the thought of talking to Shay again.

  Pulling the phone back curiously, Chancey was startled—but pleased—to see Seamus’s face, a little too close and staring hard at the bottom right corner. Quite a bit younger than Chancey, Seamus still had faint creases around his hazel eyes, that came from laughing loudly and unabashedly at anything that pleased him. It made him look a bit older than he was.

  “Uh…hello there,” he said huskily. “It’s nice to see you again, Shay.”

  And God knew it was. His face was comfortably familiar and yet, somehow new. His strong jaw, bearded in hair much brighter red than the auburn mop on top of his head, and a wholly different shade than his dark brows. Pale skin with a few freckles here and there. And full…lips…

  Everything that was happening was like a storm. Sirens going off, take shelter, a tornado is coming! And it was dark and wild and passionate and frightening as hell, but those lips were safety, and so Chancey kissed them and kissed them and kissed them, and Shay kissed him back until they were even more drunk on each other than they were on the alcohol.

  Bring it on F5. I’m not afraid of you or this moment.

  Chapter Seven:

  Dog Days

  “So, can you see me?”

  “Yeah. Hold on.” The sound of something scraping across the phone’s speaker came down the line and then…

  “Ah, there y’are,” Seamus said, the grin on his face blooming from nowhere, and wasn’t the swine stuck there for the duration? He couldn’t have shifted it if he’d tried, he was so happy to see Chancey’s face. Christ alive, I’d almost forgotten how handsome he is.

  “Yeah, here I am,” Chance replied, returning the grin just as broadly.

  Seamus would’ve sworn down his heart was doing a reel in there at the glorious sight of the man on the other end of the line. Had he and Chancey been no more than friends, the effect would still have been just as pronounced, because Seamus was like that. He got attached to people—not everyone, and he was picky who he called friend—but the hellos and goodbyes shared with those that counted were enough to send him to his knees. He was, all told, a big soppy eejit.

  It had been raining the day he left the ranch, but he could barely see through his tears, let alone the muck smeared across the pickup’s windscreen as he tore along the I-70, trying to convince himself it was nothing more than last-minute jitters. His decision had been right all along; he was homesick for Ireland; he’d never quite settled the whole time he’d been in the US—wasn’t that why he’d headed west in the first place? No, going home was a good move, even if the brief reunion with the lads from college had almost done him in. And then saying goodbye to Paddy, Aidan…

  “You’re looking good, Chance.”

  “Am I?” Chancey ruffled his hair, which seemed darker than Seamus recalled.

  “You been on the Just for Men?” he tormented.

  “Ah, no. Had a bath before I called. You grew a beard?”

  “Aye. It’s not so warm in Tyrone as it is in Kansas.” Which was true enough, but not the reason he’d grown a beard. It hadn’t been a conscious decision, although it had served the purpose of blocking the sensations—a light touch of shirt collar on the jaw line, the brush of fingers over his Adam’s apple—that so easily triggered the memory of the night he’d spent ten months trying to forget. Now he wanted to remember it again, every last second. Chancey’s lips nibbled a path along his stubbled jaw. “Mmm. You should grow a beard. It’d look good on you.”

  “I always thought a beard would look good on you.” Chancey’s words echoed in real-time almost synchronous with Seamus’s recollection.

  “So you said, though I thought you meant…” Rocky ground, Seamus Williams. Very rocky ground.

  “Meant what?”

  Seamus tried to laugh it off, smoothing his forefinger and thumb over the facial hair that was coming under Chancey’s scrutiny. If nothing else, it shielded some of the blush that was burning through his cheeks, like— “D’you remember when we ate them hot little bastards?”

  “The ghost chillies?”

  “Aye,” Seamus said, scowling for effect, which made Chancey laugh and the Earth jolt a touch off its axis.

  “You coulda said no.”

  “True enough. Jeez, I thought me head was goin’ to explode, so I did.”

  “They weren’t that hot,” Chance argued, at the same time fanning his mouth with his hand.

  “Aye, says the man who knocked back a whole jug of whatever-the-hell-it-was and still went back for more.”

  “Just checkin’ it was the chillies, is all.”

  “There was nothin’ on the table as hot as them chillies that night, I know,” Seamus said, the double meaning registering a millisecond later. No recanting it now; it was out there.

  “Not that night.” Chance murmured so close to the phone his voice distorted. His eyes flashed dark as a thunder sky, drawing Seamus into the storm. He pulled away, seeking a foothold, even the vaguest sliver of a reason to end the contact here and now. He could use the Skype credit to call Paddy. Nothing lost. Instead, the best he could manage was to avert his gaze.

  “Shay, talk to me.”

  He shook his head. “Chance, I…” He pinched the bridge of his nose and shrugged. “I made a grave misjudgement.”

  At first, Chancey didn’t respond, for which Seamus was glad. He wasn’t seeking approval for his decision to return to Ireland. Quite the opposite.

  Eventually, Chancey said quietly, “I don’t see it that way.”

  Seamus ventured a glance at his phone screen. “Not that night.”

  Chancey had his head cocked to one side. Not inquisitive. Listening. “Dee,” he whispered.

  Seamus stayed quiet for a moment, tuning in to the distant sound of Chancey’s daughter’s singing. At first he was only waiting for a sign it was safe to continue, but then he listened, smiled and nodd
ed his approval. Chancey’s wide shoulders became broader still.

  “One of her mom’s songs,” he explained.

  “It’s very good. Your Dee likes to sing too, does she?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is there anything that daughter of yours can’t do?”

  “She’s a talented kid, all right. Damn good at most things, but let’s just say I can’t see her following in her momma’s footsteps where the singing’s concerned.”

  “Aye, well, she’s a beautiful, talented girl, whether she can sing or not. You’ve done a grand job, Chance.”

  Chancey came over all bashful. It looked good on him, softening some of his rough edges, like the blur photographers added to wedding photos to make them look more romantic, as if weddings weren’t romantic enough anyway. He put his head down, a quiet chuckle shaking his shoulders, unruly locks of dark hair tumbling onto his forehead and drawing Seamus’s attention. The smoking, the long days out in all weathers, hadn’t stolen all of Chancey’s youthfulness yet, though the sun would have a job getting past that hat of his.

  “Do you sleep in the thing, Chance?”

  “That’s for me to know…”

  You’re for it now, Williams.

  “And how’s Kaylee getting along?”

  “Great. Got a new single out. We’ll see if the local stations pick it up. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t.”

  “That’s grand.” Seamus wasn’t faking interest in Chancey’s ex-wife and daughter, even if their presence in his life had been an added complication. Or maybe it hadn’t, but that was how Seamus perceived it—Kaylee more so than Deidra.

  “What were you gonna say?”

  “About?”

  “That night.”

  “Ah, right. Yeah. Nothing really, other than…well, I don’t regret it, Chance. Not for a second, but I thought it was just one of those things that happen.”

  “Not to me.”

  “Me neither, to be quite honest with you.”

  “But now you’re there, and I’m here.”

  Seamus laughed sadly. “Aye. What do we do?”

  Chancey sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes narrowing and crinkling in thought. “Are we too old to cyber?”

  “To what, now?”

  Chancey waggled his finger between himself and Seamus. “Get it on.”

  “Get it…” Seamus’s jaw dropped like it was unhinged, surprise registering upstairs, delight ruling the day down below. “Phone sex?” he uttered, astonished but hoping to God he was right. Throughout the call, he’d been sitting with legs crossed. Now he uncrossed them and slid forward on the sofa to give his cock space to unfurl, while his eyes zoned in on Chancey’s crooked smile. Those lips. What I wouldn’t give right now… He cleared his throat. “D’you think it’s wise, with your Dee about?”

  “I guess not. But she won’t be here Saturday.”

  “Are we arranging an online date here, Chance?”

  “Well…yeah.”

  There was this thing Chancey did with his eyes, which Seamus had noticed him do a few times when flirting with Lulu at the pool hall, usually when he was trying get her to stretch his tab a few days longer. A slight flutter of dark lashes, and he’d roll his eyes up to the right and then he’d look right at her. He was doing it to Seamus at that very moment. Smouldering.

  “So whaddaya say?” Chancey leaned forward and the view on-screen juddered as he set his phone down and then sat back. He slung his hands behind his head, and his eyelids lilted. “Wanna come on a date with a crinkly old cowboy?”

  Seamus smirked; there was no point hiding how turned on he was. He eyed the line of dark hair now on display, courtesy of the newly formed gap between the hem of Chancey’s t-shirt and the waistband of his beltless jeans, hanging low. “What time on Saturday? Only I might be washin’ me hair.”

  Chancey nodded slowly. “You playin’ hard to get?”

  “Somethin’ along those lines.”

  “I’m cool with that.” Dropping one hand in front of him, Chancey scratched at his belly, shifting his shirt upwards in the process.

  “You…” Seamus gazed in unadulterated wonder at the vision before him. Olive skin over abdominal muscles defined by honest-to-goodness hard work, dark hair deepening the contours, flooding the valley that extended upwards from his navel before disappearing under the t-shirt, though Seamus knew it ran all the way to Chancey’s neck. From source to mouth and back again, he’d have traced it with his tongue if Chancey were here now; for a guy in his forties, he was in damn fine shape. He was also an interminable tease, but the moves he was making now were all new ones, and there was no mistaking what was on his mind as his hand came to a rest, palm on upper thigh, stroking his thumb over the denim pulled taut by his erection.

  “I want you, Shay. Nothin’ wrong with that.”

  Breathe, Williams. In, out, in, out… Chancey was laughing at him. Seamus groaned and shifted position. He was no more than half a dozen pumps away from coming. “No,” he pushed out eventually, aware and uncaring of the rolling rhythm his hips had settled into. “Nothin’ at all.”

  “Good. I’m gonna take a trip to the bathroom.”

  “Good idea.”

  “I’ll call you on Saturday once we’ve got the all-clear.”

  “Don’t forget now. I’ll be doing myself out of an afternoon at the pub.”

  “I won’t. Bye, Shay.”

  “Night, Chance.”

  As Seamus ended the call, he saw Chancey rise to his knees. His jeans slipped another inch or so, granting a tantalising glimpse of dark hair and no underwear. No patience for making his own trip to the bathroom, Seamus threw his phone aside and made short work of unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, pushing them down just enough to get his hand around his shaft, gripping it firmly, and tugging at a steady, brisk pace.

  Visions of Chancey’s body filled his head. He could almost smell him, taste him, imagine that it was not his own hand working him now to the brink of orgasm, but Chancey’s. His mind urged him to hold on to the fantasised contact, but his body was pleading for release. In a mutinous strike, his memory delivered for his perusal images of the night he and Chancey had made out on the porch, stripped drunkenly for each other, and then fucked till first light. His balls tightened as the wave of his orgasm coursed through his pelvis and rushed up his cock, shooting like a cannon as he came over his t-shirt. The yell that escaped him was strangely alien, as if it had been made by another, but, he realised as the tide receded, there was no other. He was alone.

  And he was lonely.

  He glanced around the barren living room with its TV and sofa and not much else, and nodded to himself. “Aye, Seamus. I think it’s time you talked to Barry about that collie dog of his.”

  Chapter Eight:

  Their First Date…Or Not

  Chancey had done a bit of research using the antiquated computer in the living room. It would have been much faster if he’d borrowed Deidra’s, but the thought of typing Best computers for video chat in his daughter’s browser made him cringe, even if the search itself sounded innocent enough. He’d eventually found a laptop for what seemed like a fair price and drove Layla down to the electronics store in El Dorado to pick it up.

  You’re not a cheap date, Seamus Williams, he thought as he pulled out his battered debit card and handed it to the young kid in the computer department.

  “Do you want our professional Techies to optimize your new computer for you?”

  “Will it make the video run better?” Chancey asked, watching the junior salesman puff up just a little bit as he sniffed a mark. He knew from his research that the kid was talking about having someone uninstall all the bloatware from the laptop—for a fee. It was something Chancey could do himself, but if the kid played straight with him, he’d give him the commission.

  “Should, absolutely.”

  “So what does optimization actually mean?”

  “Well…” The young salesman sized C
hancey up and said, “Companies put a lot of extra crap on these computers, and our guys take it off for you. The computer will run faster without it.”

  “Can I take it off myself?”

  The moment of truth.

  The kid hesitated, looking uneasy. Of course he did. It was a sale. He probably had an end-of-the-month quota. Chancey’d had a shit job when he was young, and they’d made him do stuff like that, so he understood. He’d worked at a video store one summer where the manager wanted him to push ‘rental insurance’ on the VHS tapes. Ten cents guaranteed you wouldn’t be charged if the tape broke on you—except they never billed the customers for that kind of thing anyway. Chancey was always dead last on the leader board because he hated shitting people. He shovelled enough manure every morning at dawn as it was.

  “You can do it yourself,” the kid finally said, looking disappointed in himself. “It’s pretty easy and there’s videos and stuff online to help you do it.”

  “I think I’ll pay your Techies,” Chancey said without hesitation. “More convenient that way.”

  The kid’s entire face lit up, and he grinned, mouth full of metal just like Dee.

  <<< >>>

  “You’re listening to 97.5 K-I-S-S, Kansas’s hottest country station playing hits from today and yesterday. That was My Thoughts by Whippoorwill’s own sweetheart, Kaylee Starr. Kaylee’s had a couple of minor hits in the past, but My Thoughts is tearin’ up the charts—”

  “Holy moly maca-roni, is it ever, Liv! This could be her very first number one if sales keep trending the way they are.”

  Chancey flipped off the radio, choosing to spend the last few miles home carrying the tune of his ex-wife’s song in his head. It was catchy, infectious almost, and better written than most of her other singles. He and Dee had all of her albums, of course. Even the ones when she still went by Kaylee Clearwater. He didn’t fault her, picking her career over him—by the time she packed up, he’d already figured out his cock had wanted Kaylee more than his heart ever did.

  It was Dee he worried about sometimes. Kaylee was on the road more days than not. When she was home, mother and daughter stayed together, but those times were becoming fewer and further between. If My Thoughts really did become a chart-topper…well, they might not see Kaylee at all anymore.