Home Everlasting (Holliday Book 3)

by Sarah R. Silas

  Holt sighed. Maybe someone was just trying to mess with the Judge. He looked over at him, seeing the sheen of sweat on his brow glisten in the sunlight.

  He was going to have to decide which case was more important. Could he choose to save Clark from prison, or possibly save the Judge's life? Could he do both?

  This was all about to get tricky.

  ~~~

  "Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," said Marty, taking a sip of his wine. "You're trying to tell me. How are you going to convince me that you had a fiance? A lady fiance?"

  He stared across the table at Gregg. It had all been a magnificent surprise when Gregg called, said he was in town, and they had quickly arranged to meet up and go out to a fancy dinner. Wine, steak, the whole nine yards was on display. And the best part was that no one in the restaurant could even tell the difference between two gay men dining together and two muscular ranch men enjoying a steak together. It was perfect. Like their own little secret.

  "Yeah, well, I was younger, and I wanted to believe that I could be like everyone else. That's what people do right? What did you do?" asked Gregg. He wore a light blue suit, and his hair was significantly less greasy than the first night they met. It had a brilliant sheen and luster, rather than the oiliness that Marty remembered. Marty had felt attracted to Gregg the moment he saw him in the parking lot, realizing that Gregg cleaned up really nicely.

  But then again, everything about Gregg seemed better tonight, from his suit to his shoes, from his hair to his brilliant sapphire eyes that caught the light at the most inopportune moments and caused Marty's pants to be just a little too tight.

  Marty knew the evening was going well. The conversation was flowing. The food was delicious, and the way that Gregg's leather wingtip shoe gently caressed the back of his leg gave him all he needed to know about what would happen after they paid the check.

  And that made him nervous. He hadn't had sex in a while, probably longer than he wanted to think about, and definitely longer than he wanted to reveal to anyone else. Sometimes they weren't even one night stands, but just sorta sexy make out sessions in the backs of trucks, watching the sunset, and then he'd never see them again. The ghosting of a make out date was the worst part, because it seemed like everything was going so well. The hands, the touching, the physical intimacy underneath the last remnants of the day's light, and then, every time, just the feeling of being alone.

  The other guys on the ranch, they wouldn't understand. Not because they got laid more often than he did, because they didn't, but more that it didn't seem to phase them. It didn't seem like they cared to be alone, perpetually, or even for a night. They went to work, they went home, and they drank enough to fall asleep and then they'd do it all over again. Rinse and repeat.

  But since talking to Gregg that night, and the conversations they'd been having, over text and over the phone, he'd felt this connection. The wingtip shoe, so dainty and manicured, and yet so masculine on his body, sent chills down his spine every time the tip went up his calf, and then back down. His pants became ever tighter.

  "Actually," he said, taking a sip of wine as he finally snapped out of his reverie. "Actually, I sorta went full on with it in high school. Took a guy out to prom and everything. Didn't wanna let this small town and my family keep getting me down."

  "Wow, that's bold. I like that. You're your own man," said Gregg. "Tell me about your family."

  He was going to need more wine. He looked at the bottle and waved at the waiter, pointing to it. If he was going to talk about his family, he was definitely going to need more wine. "So, I was sorta kicked outta the house. Ended up with the Hollidays. Saul took me in, mostly at Lilith's urging, and everything has been like that since then. Sort of anyway. He just adopted me, apparently. It’s been a weird few days. I don't really live on the ranch, though."

  "Well, I'd love to see where you live," said Gregg, winking. "But have you met your biological parents, do you talk to them at all since then?"

  Marty sighed and waited as the waiter poured more wine, and then took a gulp. "Yeah, I see them every once in a while. Usually at the store, maybe at the gas station, maybe when the bastard drops by and wants to have a chat and I tell him to go fuck himself."

  "Your father?"

  "Yeah. Good ole Dad. Only does it when he’s drunk. The other stuff is not really seeing them. It’s barely even eye contact. They don’t even look sad most of the time."

  "I'm sorry. I may have overstepped my bounds. Would you rather not talk about this?" asked Gregg. His foot stretched a little farther, caressing the back of Marty's knee and turning upward into his crotch. His pants were definitely too tight, now.

  "No, it's fine. It's just that, ultimately, the problem is that I know I wasn't born into the right family. And Saul did a huge thing. I'm in his will. I get to have some benefits of being a Holliday. Of being on that ranch and knowing that it's kinda sorta mine. I would never get in Lilith's way, but it's mine, ya know?"

  "Yeah."

  Was he talking too much? He looked into Gregg’s eyes, trying to see if Gregg was bothered or put off by any of it. "Where did you grow up?" Marty asked, trying to divert it back to Gregg.

  "Around here, actually," Greg replied. "I sorta went away for a while."

  "Where did you go?"

  "New York. Chicago. New Orleans. Los Angeles. Business. Been doing a lot of business."

  "Oh, you never told me what sorta business you're into?" asked Marty. He noticed that Gregg had stopped drinking. Perhaps that was a cue for him too.

  "Just business. General business. Let's not talk about work. You wanna get outta here?" he asked, motioning for the waiter and miming out a check.

  "Yeah, where do you wanna go?"

  "Let's see where the wind takes us. But perhaps we'll need some material for a sail. Maybe a sheet, or something," said Gregg, winking again.

  They split the check and walked out, the wine giving Marty more of a buzz than he thought. He walked to his truck, the sun had gone down and the parking lot was empty. A cool breeze had set in and it was a moonless night.

  As he opened his door, Gregg reached over and grabbed his hand, turning him around quickly, and their mouths connected. His tongue reached deep into Marty's mouth as his hands pulled at Marty's shirt until he could feel his skin. "You're fucking sexy as all get out," said Gregg, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

  Marty took a quick look around, really hoping that the parking lot was completely empty, and no other cars were nearby. If anyone saw them, out here, in this middle of nothing and nowhere, two gay men having at each other, well, not even the Holliday name could save him from the ridicule and distance. "Maybe we should find somewhere private," whispered Marty. "I don't really want anyone to see."

  "I thought you were out," growled Gregg, biting his chin lightly and running his tongue over the nape of Marty's neck.

  "Damn that feels good," Marty moaned, as Gregg's hands reached for his belt buckle. "No, let's not do this right now. Not here. We can go back to my place."

  "But your place is far away and we're here now," said Gregg, pulling at the belt lightly. "And we'd have to leave and go. Right here is nice."

  Marty grabbed Gregg's hands and forced their mouths together, trying to draw Gregg's attention away from his crotch, and perhaps towards something less sexual. He didn't even know if he really wanted to have sex that night. This was all too quick, too sudden. He was much more conservative than this.

  Gregg pulled back, his tongue lingering for a wet moment and their eyes locked. "I want you," he growled, his left hand grabbing Marty's crotch and pushing up his chest, his neck, and finally resting behind his ear. "I want you and I will have you."

  The sexual ache, especially after so long, was almost too much for him. Being alone and being unwanted were sometimes too close together. They were sometimes too friendly with each other, and even though they were different, in the middle of the night, when there's only the sound of your own breathin
g, they were lovers. And here was Gregg, telling him that he was wanted, telling him that he didn't have to be alone in that moment. "I want you too," Marty whispered.

  Gregg lunged forward slowly, his lips precariously close, when his phone rang. It was loud and urgent and it split through their heated sexuality that lingered in the air. Gregg pulled away and straightened his suit, adjusted his belt, and swept back his hair. He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out his phone and answered it. "Hello, this is Gregg," he said curtly. "No, not busy at the moment, what may I do for you?"

  Marty saw a metamorphic change happen right before his eyes. Gregg was all business and perhaps that sexual moment, of wanting him, was the personal side that he rarely revealed to anyone. That made him feel even more special.

  "Yes, I can be there shortly, I'm nearby. Right, see you in a moment," Gregg said, finishing his call. He turned back to Marty and ran his hand through his hair again before leaning in for another kiss. Their lips stayed for a moment, and then a moment more, before Gregg finally pulled back. "I'm sorry. But I have to go. Business calls."

  Marty nodded. "I understand. Call me if you're free and we'll figure something out?"

  "Absolutely," said Gregg, turning away and walking to his truck.

  In a moment, he had hopped in and revved out of the parking lot and into the darkness, leaving Marty staring after him. It had all been short lived, the excitement of the date, the make out under the stars, and then, the pattern continued.

  He was alone again, and perhaps, perpetually.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Mulreedy hadn't had the heart to leave the hospital all day. The autopsy of Saul's grandfather had revealed nothing. He had died, there was no flesh left, and the little hair he had found was sent to a lab for analysis to confirm he was related to Saul. Finally the empty tomb would at least have his bones, if nothing else.

  Mulreedy sat in front of Saul's motionless form, hoping that Saul would come out of it soon. It wasn't just getting disconcerting, it was downright frightening. Saul had placed all this burden on his shoulders, all this responsibility, and he had no idea what to do. The ranch wasn't his life. Sure, Lilith would take the reins, but there was a symbolic level of trust and faith, so much faith, that he never knew Saul had in him.

  Or Marty, for that matter. It boggled his mind that Marty was suddenly an honorary Holliday, and he was executor. Saul had been hiding all these details, perhaps as a final wave to how much he loved them all. Silent and strong, revealing that he truly was a cowboy, with a heart of gold that never needed to be mentioned, until the end.

  Saul laid there still and barely breathing, the EKG machine beeping every moment, the only sign that he was alive. Mulreedy stretched out, his legs hurt from sitting so much, and reached for a cigarette, realizing that his pack was empty again. He had smoked more in the past 24 hours than anytime in his entire life. It wasn't for sadness or depression, just over the anxiety of his best friend's ailment. When Saul woke up, he would force him into chemo.

  He left the room, hoping he had a pack in the truck. The night was cool and breezy, the parking lot and mountains completely dark against the sky. It was always an odd sight, to look at the dark mountains against the starlight. The stars were brighter than the dark monoliths that defined the boundaries of their lives.

  The hospital's ambulance flashed its lights, nearly silent except the engine's roar that echoed off the dark monoliths, as it speedily cruised into the parking lot and stopped in front of the hospital. Gary hurriedly hopped out as Harry emerged from the back. He could hear a man's labored breathing as they brought him out.

  Mulreedy motioned a cigarette at Gary, who threw him a pack from his jacket pocket as he pushed the man inside. He was thankful for knowing this many smokers, at least. He lit it and threw the pack back as Gary reemerged, having done the patient hand off, while Harry stayed to brief the doctors and nurses.

  "You doin' ok?" asked Gary, lighting his own.

  "Ya know how it goes," Mulreedy replied.

  "How long ya known Mister Holliday?"

  "Too long. Some folks, ya know. Some folks they die and ya just think. That's what it is. But when they're close. And close for this long. This one's gonna hurt," he muttered. "And I don't want it to hurt."

  "Because?"

  "Probably because I dunno how long there is before I join him."

  Gary nodded, clearly trying to understand but failing. Mulreedy's existential angst was different in his older age than it was when he was Gary's age. And in this older age, it was all about trying to just barely provide some estimate as to how much time was left. There were less days ahead than behind, but by how much? Less or more than what Saul had? He wasn't trying to paint some absurd picture that they should die together, best friends till the end. Just that, it all hurt. Everything hurt.

  Harry staggered outside, sweating from his exertion, and massaging his temple. He lit his own cigarette and sad down on the pavement. "Doc," he whispered.

  "You ok?" asked Mulreedy.

  "I dunno if that guy is gonna make it."

  "We found him in his house," added Gary. "It was..."

  "It was fucking hard to find. Some ramshackle hut in the mountains, couldn't get the ambulance up there. He just, was laying on the floor, barely breathing. I think it was a heart attack. He could be dead in a few minutes, I dunno," whispered Harry.

  "You did all you could," said Mulreedy, trying to put some finality in his tone.

  "Doesn't matter does it?" whispered Harry, blowing smoke upward into his shaggy hair. "You should be feeling pretty happy though."

  "And why is that?"

  "Old man Holliday is awake. Eyes open, muttering something. The nurses seem pretty happy, at least."

  It took Mulreedy a moment to register what Harry was saying, but as soon as it did, he crushed his cigarette between his fingers, squashed it in his pocket, and rushed inside. He ran through the lobby, faster than he thought he could at his age, and slid into Saul's room, his boots barely able to grip the waxed floor.

  Saul was still laying there, but a nurse was holding a glass of water with a straw, as he sucked down water. He was drinking water! "You fuckin' bastard," Mulreedy whispered.

  Saul turned to him. "What?"

  Mulreedy smiled, barely able to keep a straight face. "You fuckin' don't take care of yourself. You fuckin' collapse and pass out. And then, you fuckin'. You make me executor of the estate. You have torn my mind and heart into a thousand fuckin' pieces you bastard. And then you have the gall to actually wake up!"

  "The gall?" whispered Saul. He mouthed the words differently, taking more strength and time to do it than usual. He struggled against his sheets as he tried to sit up. With a lot of exertion, he finally pushed himself up with help from the nurse. But as Mulreedy feared, there was some slight paralysis. He couldn't use his left arm well. He moved to the bed to help Saul stay up, wedging pillows behind him.

  "The fuckin' gall," whispered Mulreedy.

  "You're my best. My best friend," said Saul. "Who else can I trust with my family?"

  Mulreedy nodded, tears welling in his eyes.

  "Where is my daughter?" asked Saul.

  "Tending her birthright."

  Saul nodded, smiling slightly, although the left side of his mouth couldn't keep up. He motioned that he wanted to lay back down and the nurse steadily maneuvered him back. Perhaps the paralysis was worse than Mulreedy feared. "Good. Tell her I'm awake, please," he said, before putting his head against the pillows.

  "Of course," whispered Mulreedy, patting Saul's head. All his fears, all his anxieties vanished for a moment as he looked at his best friend breathe, his consciousness and life returned to him. Then he straightened himself and became Doc Mulreedy again. "And you're going on fuckin' chemo as soon as it can be arranged."

  Saul's new twisted smile came out again. "Go fuck yourself, old man."

  ~~~

  Far from the south pasture, past the herd tending its own aff
airs, and the new trees that dotted the valley's landscape, where the ranch's hills teetered into flatness, the last remnants of Holliday property met public land, forever encased in a safe and secure boundary. Aggie and Saul had never cared to erect fences along this portion, allowing wildlife to freely roam through the land, and giving the ranch hands extra work at securing and protecting the herd. Deer, elk, and even the occasional but rare moose was scene crossing the border, providing Holliday Ranch an extension back to its ancestral wild roots.

  In the shadows of a ponderosa pine, Keith sat in a fold out metal chair, his biker leathers slung around him. They covered a long sleeve thermal. He had opened another fold out chair so he could prop his feet up and comfortably swig beer. Several empty bottles lay beside him.

  He popped another one. "Dig deeper, dig quicker, dig stronger, dig faster," he said, taking a swig and throwing the bottle cap.

  A group of his boys, all leather clad and heaving shovels, worked in staggered pairs, digging holes into the soft earth, while Keith watched from a distance. A few yards away, tarps covered several misshapen lumps. Flies swarmed in the dark around the tarps as well as the boys, causing several of them to drop their shovels and bat at them.

  "We could use some bug spray," yelled one of his boys. He was a pimply teenager, his leathers barely fit, and his shovel seemed too large for his body size.

  "We could all use a lot of things, but we work with what he have," said Keith, draining the bottle and grabbing another one. He got up and walked over to the tarps, unfurling them and revealing several bodies.

  One was a brunette. Her hair was matted with mud, grease paint and blood surrounded her neck, and it was clear that she had been strangled. The second was a blonde haired man. Keith kicked him once for good measure, making sure he was dead. The multiple stab wounds weren't enough evidence.