"Thanks, I appreciate the honesty. One other thing...I'm a lot more likely to answer if you call me Adrian instead of Dr. Cook."
"I'll keep that in mind." He pushed back from the little table. "And feel free to call me Clayton."
As they stood up, Adrian was sure that Clayton was checking him out. His stomach fluttered a little. Yep, the prospects for his social life definitely seemed to be improving.
Adrian wandered around until he found the pediatric clinic. He realized he probably didn't look like much of a doctor in his tire changing clothes, so he took a seat in the waiting room. A door to one of the examining rooms opened, and Karen ushered out a mom with a toddler.
The PA unwrapped her stethoscope from her neck, and waved a hello. "Dr. Booth wants me to give you a tour, right?" She smiled. "I'm kind of the welcoming committee around here."
"You know, Dr. Booth, he's kind of a tough one to read," Adrian said as they headed toward radiology.
"Yeah, no kidding. I went to school with his younger sister-well, half sister-and have known him for years and I still don't get him. But he's an excellent doctor, and a great administrator so I try not to focus on his flaws."
Adrian wasn't sure how inquisitive he could be without seeming like he was just poking his nose in where it didn't belong, but he had to admit, there was something about Clayton that he found incredibly attractive. He tried to laugh and ask casually, "Any quirks that I should be warned about?"
"Oh, I don't know, he's a little temperamental, I guess. There's probably not anything wrong with him that less work and more fun wouldn't fix. I don't think Clayton has had a date in the last three years."
"Maybe he's..." Adrian hesitated, afraid that he was overstepping.
"Gay?" Karen laughed, "No, I don't think so. He seemed fairly serious about this one woman for a while, but she ran off with some ranch hand from Idaho. I suspect she just had enough of his moods."
***
One of the orderlies helped Adrian get his boxes out of storage and load them into the back of his truck. Then he typed in the coordinates he'd been given into his brand new GPS. Based on a few e-mailed photographs, he had rented a cabin about five miles outside of Red Wheel.
The cabin was tucked into the hills, and the view was stunning. It was small, only a kitchen, bath, bedroom, and sitting room, but it had the advantage of being mostly furnished, and there was an energy efficient woodstove and a wrap around deck. He found the key lockbox, punched in the code, and retrieved the key. Unlocking the door, it hit him as he looked around that-if everything worked as planned-this cabin was going to be home for the next five years. He carried in his boxes and suitcases, and started to unpack. Books went into a built-in bookcase in the living room, his laptop found a home on the kitchen table, towels were stacked on a shelf in the bathroom, and then he made up the bed. He threw his clothes carelessly into the dresser and closet, but in a little more than an hour, it started to feel like home.
Adrian sat down to make a shopping list of all the day to day staples he needed to stock the house: plastic garbage bags, toilet paper, soap and laundry detergent, basic food necessities. Checking the time, he decided he could make the run into town to the grocery despite the fact that it had already been a long day. At least it was Friday, and he had time over the weekend to get organized before starting work on Monday morning.
Rattling down the road in his pickup, Adrian started thinking about the two men with whom he'd crossed paths. Both were incredible attractive, and both had given him a subtle gay vibe. Of course, it was easy enough to make a mistake on that account; wishful thinking for one, could confuse the gaydar. The fact Karen had said that Clayton had been involved with a woman had given him pause, but he would hardly be the first gay or bisexual man who had almost been married. There was the fact that Clayton hadn't said anything when he mentioned his gayness, but the biggest issue, by far, was that Clayton was his boss. Generally, it was never a great idea to get involved with someone in the workplace, and besides, he knew absolutely nothing about either Randall or Clayton's personal lives, even if they were gay. They might already be in committed relationships, and the last thing he wanted to do while trying to integrate himself into the Red Wheel community was to get a reputation as some kind of home wrecker.
The fact was, though, Adrian had been lonely even before leaving Cambridge. Medical school was a recipe to turn anyone's love life into a disaster zone. There had been some awful one-night stands with other med students and doctors, and an ill-fated romance with a fireman whose schedule refused to line up with his. After crashing and burning with a physical therapist, he finally gave up on sex, and tried to forget about dating. But now-now there wasn't any reason to not look around and see what kind of hunks might be hiding in the Montana hills.
Adrian wheeled his pick-up into a parking spot by the door of the local grocery. He rolled through the aisles with his list, throwing things in the cart. Last stop was the meat department and he decided he wanted to celebrate his arrival with something special to grill over the weekend, a small, solo, housewarming of sorts. He picked up a ribeye in one hand, and a salmon steak in the other, and started an internal debate about their various merits: heart stopping deliciousness, or boring and healthy.
"You really don't want those." Randall took the packages from his hands and tossed them back into the cooler.
"I don't?"
He shook his head, "Uh-uh."
"And...why don't I want them?" Adrian asked.
"Because we're going fishing tomorrow."
"We are?" Adrian was shocked, but pleasantly so.
"I'll be by at 6 am sharp. Have the coffee ready." Randall pushed his cart on past.
"Wait...Randall...don't you need to know where I live?" Adrian called after him.
"I know," he said, and waved without turning around.
CHAPTER TWO
Adrian had a piping hot pot of fresh coffee ready when Randall drove up, and he had baked biscuits. They were just the frozen kind, but a guy couldn't expect too much from a boy who'd only been moved in for a day. What he did have, though, was a jar of his mom's wild blueberry preserves from Maine.
Randall knocked on the screen door.
"Come on in," Adrian called.
Randall was wearing some old blue jeans that rode low on his hips, lightweight hiking boots, and a dark blue t-shirt that hugged his muscular body in just the right way. The outfit definitely accented his physical attributes more clearly than his shapeless park uniform. His face had a fresh scrubbed look, and his hair was silky and shiny looking. He grabbed a biscuit off the baking sheet and took a big bite. "Black coffee and hot biscuits? Are you some kind of crazy mind reader?"
"Maybe," Adrian laughed. "Sit down, and do not eat that biscuit without some of my mom's wild blueberry jam-a little taste of Maine."
Adrian poured two big mugs of coffee and set them on the table along with plates and knives and a basket of biscuits. "How'd you know where I lived?"
Randall shrugged, "You know, small town-and given my job, I basically have to know every nook and cranny in and around this side of the park." He put a generous spoonful of the preserves on his biscuit, "And your landlord is my uncle."
Adrian smiled, "No secrets in Red Wheel?"
Randall pressed his lips together and gazed into space, pretending to ponder the question as he chewed. He looked back at Adrian as he swallowed, "Not many."
"That's good information for the newbie. It'll make a guy mind himself."
"I hope not too much." Randall said flirtatiously. He took a big swallow of his coffee, "Let's pack up the rest of the biscuits and some of that jam. Those trout will go into hiding if it gets too hot."
"Somewhere around here, I think I've got a thermos for the coffee."
It didn't take long before they had driven up to a higher elevation, and it was clear that Randall did know every inch of the land. He pointed out landmarks, signs of wildlife, the remains of a poacher's camp, a few home
steads, and he told Adrian a little bit about local history. Adrian found that he was appreciating the land through Randall's eyes. He liked that feeling, because it made him feel a lot less like a stranger.
When they pulled off the road, Adrian could hear the water cascading over the rocks and could glimpse a beautiful creek through the dense trees. Randall popped open the cover on his truck bed, and started getting the rods together. "You know how to fly fish?" he asked.
"I used to fish with my Dad some in Maine."
Randall nodded, "Good." He tossed a pair of hip boots at Adrian, "Then you'll know what to do with these. I'll wear my waders."
The air was cool and fresh and Adrian took in a big lungful, and realized that you didn't get air like that in the city. He pulled on the boots, and Randall handed him a rod. "Pick something out of the tackle box there. These fish are fickle, I never have any idea what flies they'll take."
An old-fashioned looking fly that reminded him of a black and white dragonfly caught Adrian's eye. "I'm going to try this one," he said as he attached it to the line.
They waded out into the water, and soon they fell in the quiet meditation that was fly-fishing: casting and slowing reeling the lines in. It was an intriguing choice for a first date of sorts, Adrian thought, but it was a gorgeous mid-summer day, and the spot Randall had picked was at least ten degrees cooler than it was lower down. After years of living in the city, Adrian realized he missed the sounds of nature: birds calling and cicadas, and the breeze stirring the aspens' leaves. These would be punctuated by the sloshing sound of their boots as they waded around.
Randall had caught a couple of trout, but they were too small to keep. After some time, though, Adrian felt a familiar tug on his line.
"I think I've got one," he said softly. He started reeling in the line with an easy hand, but then whatever it was started to fight. He looked at Randall, "It's something pretty heavy...maybe it's a turtle."
Randall reeled his line in, and grabbed a dip net, resisting the urge of an experienced fisherman to land the fish for a novice. Suddenly, Adrian pulled out a stunning brown trout. The fish was enormous: maybe close to twelve pounds. Randall swooped in with the net, and looked at Adrian with admiration. "And I thought you would suck at this."
"Beginner's luck," Adrian said unassumingly. "But look at him, he's like the emperor of the river, I can't eat an old man like that." He looked at Randall, who simply nodded in agreement. Adrian slipped the hook out of the fish's mouth as Randall helped to hold him. And then together, they released him back into the creek. The fish seemed to check that all his parts were functioning correctly, and then he swam away without any rush. Adrian sat down on a rock and watched him go. "What a magnificent old guy. And we didn't even get a picture."
Randall sat down on the rock next to Adrian. "The best fish stories are the ones up here." He tapped his temple with his index finger. "And that old boy knows that out of respect, you let him go."
Suddenly Adrian felt emotional; the fish had triggered something, maybe a little homesickness, and loneliness, and maybe it was Randall's quiet attunement to what was going on around him. "Let's have a biscuit," Adrian said, and he headed quickly to the truck, fearful that he might actually cry.
Randall watched Adrian go, and he felt like he was tumbling over a cliff. He didn't believe in love at first sight, but something about Adrian seemed like destiny. It started from the moment he saw him changing the tire, and then their coincidental meeting at the grocery. Somehow Adrian served his favorite breakfast, knew how to fly fish, and best of all, had the insight to respect Mother Nature. Adrian seemed almost too good to be true.
Pulling himself together, Adrian grabbed the biscuits and the thermos of coffee. He poured some coffee into the top and handed it to Randall. His green eyes sparkled as he looked at Randall, but he didn't feel the need to interrupt their companionable silence.
They fished for another couple of hours before the trout stopped biting, and decided to keep enough five to seven pounders for a couple of meals. It was curious, Adrian thought, they had said very little to one another all morning, yet on some deep level he felt like they had become very close.
"You know, you don't talk much," Adrian observed.
"I guess by white man standards, that's probably true," Randall said thoughtfully. "I'm half Cheyenne, you know. Maybe it's an Indian thing, if you talk too much, it keeps people from thinking their own thoughts."
It was a really different way of looking at things, Adrian thought, but it kind of made sense. "So what have you been thinking about all day?"
"I guess I was thinking about what happens between now and when we cook this trout."
Adrian felt the butterflies in his stomach and edged closer to Randall. He allowed his hand to drift up and stroke Randall's hair. "What do you think I'm thinking about right now?"
"I imagine the same thing I am." Randall leaned in to Adrian, pressing his lips to his. He mouth was insistent and eager, and his broad hand cradled Adrian's neck as their tongues danced. Adrian could feel his cock growing hard and wanted nothing more than to press his body against the length of Randall's. The hip boots and waders were making things a little awkward.
Randall released Adrian from the kiss, and slapped the rubber of his hip boots. "Not exactly the sexiest bit of paraphernalia, huh?" He laughed. "Come here." He stood up on the rocks and pulled Adrian up too, and then stripped out of his waders as Adrian pulled off his boots throwing them to the shore. Their shoes quickly followed, and then Randall tugged at the buckle on Adrian's belt. Unfastening it, he kneeled down, peeling Adrian's jeans down his slim hips. Adrian stepped out of his pants and Randall looked up at him with half-lidded eyes. Then he reached up and tugged Adrian's boxer briefs down, revealing his quickly hardening cock.
"God, you're beautiful," Randall whispered, his hand slipping up between Adrian's legs as he stood up. He gave Adrian's cock and balls a gentle caress, before turning his attention to stripping off first Adrian's t-shirt and then his own. Completely naked, Adrian felt vulnerable, but thrilled and willing. He liked being the object of desire, and he liked letting Randall make the decisions. Randall pulled Adrian to him, bare chest to bare chest. His hand stroked the side of Adrian's face as he slid his tongue back into his mouth, teasing and thrusting, as if to demonstrate to Adrian what other parts of their bodies might do.
Wanting desperately to see all of Randall, Adrian grew more aggressive, and grabbed at Randall's belt. Randall caught Adrian's wrist in his hand, and drew a line up Adrian's neck to his ear with his tongue. He whispered, "You can call the shots next time, but right now, you're mine-and I'm going to be the top." His hand snaked in between their bodies, and he gave Adrian's nipple a tantalizing tweak as if to emphasize his point. "Welcome to Red Wheel."
"Tell me what you like," Adrian whispered back.
"Maybe you should guess." Randall said with a throaty voice, as he released Adrian's hand, his own fingers trailing down Adrian's chest.
Adrian slowly undid Randall's pants and kneeled down. "Impressive." Adrian whispered along the velvety shaft, and then he wrapped his soft lips around the head.
Randall sucked in a breath as his fingers played through Adrian's soft hair. "You're good at guessing," he said.
***
When they got back to Adrian's cabin, Adrian felt himself succumbing to that kind of wonderful tiredness that overtakes you after an exhilarating day outdoors. Randall seemed little affected, except for the small smile that seemed permanently etched on his face. They hadn't said a lot during the drive, but Adrian felt like their connection had the potential to be much more than a fling. Randall's innate calmness was a good balance to his own, more hurried, rhythms, and he understood why Randall would be great at dealing with emergencies.
"You cook, I'll clean?" Randall asked with his typical economy.
"That's a deal," Adrian nodded. "How about a beer?"
"Just some ice water," Randall said it an off-handed way.
>
An hour later, they were sitting at the little picnic table on the deck pulling delicious, sweet, fish off the bone with their fingers.
Adrian looked up and smiled, "I really didn't expect my first weekend here to be more than unpacking. Thanks for an amazing day-everything about it has been great."
Randall wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, but didn't return Adrian's smile. Adrian's stomach turned, he could feel the 'but' coming. He took a deep breath and prepared himself.
"I want to be honest with you, Adrian, I-I haven't had a day like this in a very long time. I really like you and well, things didn't end so well with the last man I was with...I mean, there's nothing particularly unusual about that. Lots of people have relationships that don't end well." He took a breath and slowly exhaled, "You should know that I'm a sober alcoholic. I was a tough kid, and I got in some trouble, probably because I was trying to figure out how to be a man and gay and a Native American all at the same time. And like a lot of Indians, booze isn't my friend."
"Since you don't go to the bars in Billings, it's been hard for you to meet people, hasn't it?"
"Yeah, that's part of it." Randall rubbed his jaw, thinking.
"So how long have you been sober?" Adrian asked.
"Long enough to get myself sorted out and go to college and get a job I really love. It'll be ten years this fall."
"Randall, that's a real accomplishment. I can respect that and support you in your sobriety. That's not an issue."
"It can be harder than you think." Randall dipped his head, suddenly reticent. "There's something else."
"I'm listening."
Randall's voice dropped, "I'm...not out. I can count the people that know I'm gay on one hand."
That caught Adrian by surprise. Being out had been so natural for him; he had a supportive family, and he knew his own mind. There had been a few difficult moments in high school, but he was a popular kid, and the Yankee tendency to live and let live had generally prevailed. He couldn't really imagine what it would be like to be thirty years old and hiding in the closet, like Randall.
Heart of Montana Page 2