Twisted

by Jake Mactire

  Copyright

  Published by

  Dreamspinner Press

  4760 Preston Road

  Suite 244-149

  Frisco, TX 75034

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Twisted

  Copyright © 2011 by Jake Mactire

  Cover Art by Paul Richmond http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 4760 Preston Road, Suite 244-149, Frisco, TX 75034

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

  ISBN: 978-1-61372-059-2

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition

  July 2011

  eBook edition available

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-61372-060-8

  Dedication

  To Tammy

  Against all odds, you did it! Despite everything against you, you persevered and came out on top. Words can’t express just how proud of you I am.

  Chapter One

  THE clouds and the murky daylight gave a gray feeling to the surroundings. The snow was deep and it was cold, almost ten degrees below freezing. Snowflakes gently and intermittently fell. As we skied through the well-spaced pines, the caw of a raven broke the winter silence.

  “Hey, Jeffy, I’ll race ya back to the house!” My partner, Mike, called across the trail.

  “What does the winner get, or what does the loser do?”

  “Clean up after dinner.”

  “You got it, bud!” He began to ski very quickly ahead of me. He looked adorable as hell with his blue jacket and cap and formfitting black tights. His legs and ass were well muscled. He turned and smiled at me, and his red beard had some ice dangling from it. Since he was looking back at me, he wasn’t looking where he was going, so he fell in a spectacular jumble of cross-country skis and poles. I laughed once I saw he was okay, and sailed past him. I was by far and away the better skier, since he was just learning, but my right shoulder was still weak as a result of a gunshot wound I’d suffered almost two months ago.

  Mike and I have been together for about three months now. Not only are we partners, but we are best friends. When we met, Mike was deeply closeted, owing to a childhood in hell caused by a father who kicked him out when he couldn’t change being gay. Mike still bears some of the scars of his preacher father’s abuse. Once we got together, however, he came out of the closet with a vengeance.

  We’re both small-town boys. I grew up here in the valley, and Mike grew up in a small town in Nebraska. Our ranch has an eclectic collection of characters—Sandy, a beautiful and outspoken lady I grew up with, the new ranch foreman, José, a cowboy originally from Mexico, Josh, another cowboy who’s been with us for a while, and our newest cowboy, Smitty. These folks are all straight. We also have Jeanette, a friend of mine from the gay rodeo circuit. She and I are pretty close. Our little group is completed by Renee from Seattle—she’s Josh’s girlfriend and a successful, middle-aged owner of a dress shop—and by Maria, a lovely nurse who works in Wenatchee. She and Sandy are best friends, and she’s gotten close to Mike and me also. I’m a lucky man, only twenty-eight, and I really couldn’t ask for more.

  I slowed down a bit to let Mike catch up some. He was coming up quick. We came to the road we had to cross. From the snowplow, there was a four-foot-high embankment of snow and ice alongside the road. I turned sideways and climbed up it. Mike made another spectacular fall trying to get across the little wall. I crossed the road and skied up the long driveway leading to the ranch house. When I got there, I took off my skis and waited on the porch for Mike. He was pretty winded when he got there. I was gonna have to show him how to glide a bit more to conserve some energy.

  “How far you reckon we skied, Jeffy?”

  “About fifteen miles or so.”

  “That was great! I’m really glad you taught me how to cross-country ski. I like it a lot.” I pulled him against me and gave him a long kiss. It was sweet and lingering. We both had icicles hanging from our beards.

  “I like seein’ you in those workout tights, buddy.” He smiled at the compliment I’d given him.

  “I think we can both agree we like watchin’ each other dressed for skiin’.”

  “How ’bout we undress and get in the hot tub?”

  He smiled at me. “Sounds great.”

  We shucked our clothes. Cross-country skiing is quite a workout, and our tights, several pairs of socks, fleece pullovers, and polypro longhandles were soaked. We left the clothes in the mud room and went into the bathroom near the back door to rinse off. We ran across the patio to the hot tub. The water felt burning hot after the cold of the air.

  “Ya know, buddy, this is one of my favorite things. Go out skiin’ or snowshoein’ and then come back, sit in the hot tub, and have dinner ready in the slow cooker.”

  “Did ya ever see those old beer commercials, Jeffy? The ones that say ‘it don’t get no better than this.’ That’s what this is like.”

  “I’m kinda happy we don’t have any dudes until later in the week. New Year’s is gonna be the start of the dude ranch.”

  “I can’t believe it’s almost New Year’s now. Christmas sure was great though.”

  “It sure was, buddy. I wasn’t sure the rings would turn out, but they did.”

  I do bronze metal sculptures. I decided to try my hand at jewelry, and since Mike and I are a couple, I made us rings. They were fourteen karat gold, with ropers on each ring. When we do team roping, he’s the header and I’m the heeler, and our rings represent that. His has a cowboy riding a horse and throwing a lasso around a calf’s neck, since he’s the header. Mine shows a cowboy throwing the rope around a calf’s back legs. The faces of the rings are flat and square. I engraved the designs on them. I’d had to practice on some spare pieces of bronze to get the engraving just right. I’d also gotten him a pair of Rocketbuster boots with a cowboy on a buckin’ bronc, with mountains, pine trees, and a setting sun in the background. He got all sentimental on me, and I found out he hadn’t gotten a Christmas present since gettin’ kicked out at sixteen, eight years ago.

  “Did you like your belt, Jeffy?” Mike made me the most beautiful horsehair belt I’d ever seen. Making belts, ropes, tack, and hatbands from the hair in a horse’s tail or mane is an old cowboy craft.

  “I sure did. It was exactly what I wanted for Christmas.” Christmas had been really nice—presents early in the morning and a big Christmas dinner. After Josh, José, and Smitty headed back to the bunkhouse, and Sandy and Maria went back to town, Mike and I had put on some cowboy Christmas music and two-stepped round the Christmas tree.

  “What did ya put in the slow cooker, Jeff?”

  “I got this real good recipe for beef stew cooked in stout beer. It’s got carrots, potatoes, and mushrooms in it. I reckoned we could have it over noodles.”

  “Remember the first time we ever ate together? We were ridin’ fences, and we had canned stew and noodles.”

  “Yeah, and you couldn’t keep your eyes off of me.”

  “Still can’t. Seems to work both ways though.”

  “Nice, ain’t it?”

  “Sure is.” After a while we were beginning to feel like we’d been boiled, so we got out and dried off. We headed up to
our room and pulled on longhandles—one-piece long underwear—and socks before heading down to the kitchen for dinner.

  “This is really good, Jeffy. I didn’t know I was marryin’ a gourmet cook.”

  “Thanks, it could just be you’re hungry as hell from the skiin’.”

  “What, you’re gettin’ all modest and humble on me?”

  “Just tryin’ to be nice, since you’re doin’ the cleanup.”

  “Jeff, one of these days, I’m gonna beat you at skiin’.”

  “I guess with my shoulder, it shouldn’t be too hard. All kiddin’ aside, you’re gettin’ better every day. We can go out skiin’ tomorrow too.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Wanna watch the news?”

  “Sure, you know I’m not a big TV fan, but I will watch it with you.”

  “I reckon after watchin’ the news, we could put in a movie, maybe cuddle a bit?”

  “You read my mind, buddy. I’ll get the couch warm while you clean up.”

  I headed into the living room and turned the TV on. After a few minutes, Mike came in and curled up against me. I threw a blanket over us, and we settled back to watch the doom and gloom.

  One news story was particularly disturbing. Police had linked the slayings of seventeen men to one killer. The murders were up and down the West Coast, from Los Angeles all the way to Washington. There were many more disappearances. One of the theories was that the killer spent some time gettin’ to know his victims and picked those with no friends, or who were estranged from families and friends. Most were gay, but it wasn’t clear if that was just easier for the killer or if he was targeting the gay community. The seventeen bodies that had been recovered showed signs of horrific torture and mutilation. It was really chilling. I put my arm around Mike and pulled him closer.

  “You’re thinkin’ that any one of those victims coulda been me, ain’t ya, Jeffy?”

  “That’s somethin’ I don’t wanna think about, buddy.”

  “It coulda been though. Think of those years I spent on my own, closeted, havin’ anonymous sex in parks and rest areas and stuff. It’s sad that he goes after guys who just don’t have anyone.”

  “If you think about it, it’s sad he goes after anyone.”

  “He must go after those guys since no one cares about ’em. The chances of them bein’ missed is slim.”

  “It’s amazin’ the depravity some folks have, ain’t it, buddy?”

  “Yep, like assholes who’ll reject their own kids for bein’ gay.”

  “You thinkin’ about your family?”

  “This time of year, it’s kinda hard not to. I wonder how my brother and sister are doin’. My old man, I couldn’t give a shit about. My mom, I ain’t too sure. She never stood up for me, but she did try to make it better when he wasn’t around.” I could feel him gettin’ all tense, and when he talked about his father, he almost trembled with anger.

  “Buddy, I know it’s hard, but don’t let it poison ya. I wouldn’t wish what you went through on nobody. After so much abuse, I know it’s hard to get over it, but ya can’t let it continue to bother you. Look at ya now. You got somebody who loves ya more than anythin’, ya got a good home, a business, you’re a respected member of the community. You should be proud of yourself, despite havin’ such an asshole for a dad.”

  “I know you’re right, Jeffy, but it still hurts so much. I told him I was thinkin’ about sex with guys because I trusted him. He asked me to pray with him and told me God would ‘heal’ me.”

  “I remember you sayin’ that he asked the congregation to pray for you. It must’ve gotten all over town in a coupla hours. That kind of betrayal must have hurt like hell.”

  “It did. That shit hurt worse than the way the people in town treated me after they found out I’m gay.” I reckoned the “shit” he was referring to was the fact that his old man and the church elders started trying to beat it out of him.

  “Were ya relieved when he kicked ya out?”

  “It was kind of a relief, his buyin’ me a bus ticket to San Francisco and givin’ me two hundred dollars. I was only sixteen, but I knew the abuse would stop.” I really didn’t know what to say. I just held him.

  “I reckon that things turned out how they’re supposed to. I got you, and I got friends. Imagine if I was tryin’ to live a lie, alone and lonely.”

  “I’m here for ya, buddy.”

  He turned his face to mine. I leaned into the kiss. He tasted like Mike, warm, male, familiar. I moved my tongue against his teeth and then probed his tongue, finally nibbling his lower lip really gently. I’d never enjoyed kissing anyone as much as I do Mike. Each kiss with him was sweet and sensual. Sometimes we’d be gentle, sometimes we’d both have beard burn real bad, but it was always special.

  “Thanks, Jeffy, for bein’ there. Now let’s watch a movie.” We settled on Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. It was a great movie. I liked it a lot, and Mike had never seen it.

  We both enjoyed the movie, and Mike was asking all about the Harry Potter characters. I had the books upstairs and figured I should get ’em out for him to read. While we were watching the movie, it had started to snow. I turned off the lights, and we watched the snow gently falling on an already magical landscape of silver, crystal, and blue. The only light we had was the dying fire and the cold silvery light that shone through the picture windows. It was nice to just have some time together for the two of us. We ended up makin’ love in front of the glowing embers in the fireplace, in the silver light from the outside. It was incredible. Each time with Mike is better and better.

  IT WAS a few days later, and Mike and I had just got back from cross-country skiing. We were planning on going though our normal routine of skiing, hot tub, and dinner when the phone rang. I looked at the caller ID. It was Mary Grace, the wonderful lady who runs the artists’ co-op in town.

  Mary Grace is a fantastic person. She’s one of those aging hippies who seem to wear tie-dye, wool socks, and Birkenstocks all the time. Her earth-mother persona was represented by her thick, salt-and-pepper hair parted in the middle, her roomy, natural fiber shirts over her tie-dye T-shirt, and her flowing denim skirts. Since it was Mary Grace, I picked up the phone.

  “Hey, Mary Grace, how are you?”

  “I’m doing very well, Jeff. How about you and Mike?”

  “We’re happy as a couple of cattle chewin’ their cud.”

  She giggled. “I’ll take that to mean you’re happy. I was wondering how the dude business is going. Perhaps we could get together tomorrow in Winslett, if you’re going to be here, and we could have a cup of coffee and catch up.”

  “I reckon we could do that. I just had an idea, Mary Grace. Mike and I been thinkin’ about skiin’ to Winslett, and then skiin’ back. We could meet you in town and grab a piece of pie and coffee before headin’ back.”

  “I know I’m not your mother, Jeff, but that’s almost thirty miles, round trip. Are you up to that, with your shoulder? I know that normally that would be a good workout for you, but if you’re not sure about the whole thirty miles, I could drive you back from Winslett, or pick you up somewhere on the way back and take you to the ranch.”

  She was referring to the gunshot wound I’d suffered when cattle were being rustled from our ranch and others nearby. “Mary Grace, you are awesome. How about we stop by the co-op and then go over to Rick’s for some pie and coffee. Mike and I can ski halfway back and then get a ride the rest of the way, if that’s okay with you, that is.”

  “Of course it’s okay with me. It will be a lot of fun.”

  “Great, so we’ll see you early tomorrow afternoon then.”

  “Just come by the co-op, and I’ll see you then.” We said our goodbyes.

  I had shucked my coat when I got in the house. I was still dressed in my ski tights and windbreaker-type jacket. Mike was still dressed too. Cross-country skiing burns a lot of calories and works up a lot of sweat. Mike and I were both soaked through from sweat and from the snow on our legs.
Now we were both really cold. I started to strip right in the mud room.

  “Come on, buddy, we can rinse off in the bathroom here and head out to the hot tub. Just leave these clothes here. We can get ’em after dinner.”

  We jumped in the shower together to rinse off and then headed for the hot tub. It was really cold until we got in the hot water. Mike and I sat real close and ducked down low into the hot water. The snow was softly falling around us.

  “Mike, what did ya make for dinner?” It was his turn to cook. Both of us know our way around a frying pan, so we take turns cooking.

  “I made some chicken étouffée and put it in the slow cooker. While you were talkin’ to Mary Grace, I put on some rice.”

  “I love it when you make Cajun food, bud.” Mike’s parents were originally from Louisiana and were Cajun. I leaned over and gave him a long, deep kiss. He seemed to melt into me and ended up on my lap in the hot tub.

  “I know ya do. That’s why I made it. I reckoned that a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

  “Buddy, ya already got my heart.”

  “Well, I was hopin’ to get somethin’ else tonight.”

  “If it’s what I think it is, I don’t think you’re in any danger of goin’ without.”

  Mike smiled up at me, a tender, caring expression mixed with a good bit of smoldering want. We were still in the honeymoon stage, so he had nothing to worry about, but it was real nice to hear him ask.

  “Jeffy, I think dinner must be about ready. Let’s eat and then get to bed.”

  “You got it, buddy.” We got out of the hot tub, dried off, and got dressed in longhandles and socks. People always make fun of me because I tend to run around the house in my underwear, but it’s my house, and I’m comfortable. It’s not something I’d do when the dudes are around though. Mike’s étouffée was great, meltingly tender chicken in dark, spicy gravy served over mounds of fluffy rice. He sprinkled chopped green onions on top, which gave it a nice crunch.