Do You Trust Me?

by B. G. Thomas

  Do You Trust Me?

  By B.G. Thomas

  The path to happiness starts with acceptance, and sometimes the chance for a bright, loving future means letting go of the past.

  All his life, Neil Baxter has buried a large part of himself—the part that’s attracted to other men. He married a woman and denied that side of him existed. And he plans to keep right on pretending to be straight after his beloved wife has passed away.

  To help him deal with his grief, Neil’s sister-in-law convinces him to vacation at a dude ranch. There, Neil meets Cole Thompson, a young, gorgeous, unabashedly gay wrangler—who is unabashedly attracted to Neil. And try as he might, Neil cannot deny he feels the same way. But desire soon becomes something more profound as the two men get to know each other. Cole is much more than a sexy cowboy: he’s kind, spiritual, and intelligent. In fact, he’s perfect for Neil… except he’s a man, and Neil isn’t ready to let go of a lifetime of denial. If he cannot find the courage to be true to himself, he might let something wonderful slip through his fingers.

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Epigraph

  CHAPTER 1: An Unexpected Request

  CHAPTER 2: Getting There

  CHAPTER 3: Cole and Mystic

  CHAPTER 4: First Time

  CHAPTER 5: Consolations

  CHAPTER 6: Naked

  CHAPTER 7: Confrontations

  CHAPTER 8: Dealing with It

  CHAPTER 9: Retrospect

  CHAPTER 10: Heroes

  CHAPTER 11: Anticipation

  CHAPTER 12: Making Love

  CHAPTER 13: Making Good

  CHAPTER 14: Bereft

  CHAPTER 15: An Unexpected Suggestion (Request)

  EPILOGUE: Uncle Cole

  More from B.G. Thomas

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  About the Author

  By B.G. Thomas

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  This one is for Chris Miles and Sally Davis, the queens of betaing, and selfless friends I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting face-to-face. It will happen!

  For Trace Zaber, for believing in this story the first time.

  And for Angelia Sparrow, the friend and writer who pointed the way.

  Acknowledgments

  SPECIAL THANKS to…

  Julie and Mike Williams for an amazingly “mystic-al” afternoon and teaching me to ride!

  All the people who brought this book into a new light. The original edition of this story, as much as I appreciated it, was not what I had dreamed. It ended way too early and left out too much. Now you are reading what I always wanted this book to be.

  Elizabeth North and Lynn West for believing in this story and giving it a second chance.

  Matthew Ryan and Cristina Manole for proofreading extraordinaire.

  And Noah Willoughby for more help than can be imagined.

  When courage finally comes

  You never see it coming

  —Christine Kane

  CHAPTER 1: An Unexpected Request

  “YOU WANT me to go to a dude ranch?” I asked, my eyes agoggle in surprise.

  “In Owen’s place,” Amy replied. Her voice was quiet but strong and did not waver.

  Owen. I sighed. Her husband. Her deceased husband.

  “Owen was so determined he’d make it. At least this far. He wanted it so much.” She paused. “The kids need this, and frankly… well, so do I.”

  “But a dude ranch?” While my late wife Emily’s sister didn’t know me as well as Emily had, Amy and I had still been friends for years, especially the last two. She knew I was not the outdoorsy type. And horses terrified me. They had ever since one had thrown me at a church camp when I was a kid. Sometimes I had dreams of one of the beasts, the size of the Trojan horse, snorting and rolling its eyes wildly, and I’d wake up in a cold sweat.

  I shuddered.

  “The trip’s all paid for. It would be stupid for me to cancel. And after this, I don’t know if we’ll ever go back. The kids are growing up. I certainly won’t want to go all by myself. This was more for them anyway.”

  I nodded. The whole family loved that ranch. Big Bear Ranch or Wild Bear… something like that. They’d even taken my daughter with them—for years.

  “I think,” she said with a sigh, “it’ll be a good way to say good-bye to Owen. Our favorite place….” Then she looked up at me and her eyes were glassy. Tears? Amy? But instead of crying, she gave a little laugh. “Kids? Did I say ‘the kids’?” She laughed again. “We went for Owen. God, he loves… loved… that place. He fashioned himself a real cowboy.”

  She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, and to my surprise I found I was laughing a little. Owen, a cowboy? It sure explained why he wore that damned cowboy hat every single year when they got home. At least for a week or so. Then reason would assert itself, and the hat would disappear somewhere in the house.

  “Yes,” she said with a half smile. “A good way to say good-bye. Show him honor, you know? One more time?”

  I nodded once, trying to understand.

  “Which is why I wanted to know if you’d please come. It’ll be easier, you know? You might help fill the void that’s going to be there. And Owen’s left a mighty big void. It’ll be a lot less lonely for me, you know…?”

  “But a dude ranch?” I asked again. Outside? Heat? Bugs? And… horses?

  Amy looked at me in that I-can-read-your-mind way of hers (and sometimes I wondered if she could). “Neil, you’re not going to be sleeping on the ground or having to rub two sticks together to start a fire. It’s not like church camp. The cabins are nice. Very modern. They have their own bathrooms and everything. Showers even. No communal showers, okay? And you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You don’t have to ride one single horse—not even one time. Just….” Her voice caught. “Keep me company?”

  “Okay,” I agreed suddenly, holding up my hand. “I’ll go.”

  I made the decision just like that before I could change my mind. It was the look on her face that did it. The slump of her shoulders and the tone in her voice. All of this was so not Amy. Not the always strong woman I’d known for half my life. She’d borne so much with Owen’s death. Now a vacation seemed to be tearing her down. And I couldn’t stand that. Couldn’t stand to see her that way. She really was the strongest person I’d ever known. Stronger even than Em.

  Amy had, for all intents and purposes, saved me when my wife died. She had been there for me. Every day. Getting me through it. Could I be there any less for her now that she had lost her husband?

  “I’ll go,” I said again as she looked at me with those blue-green eyes of hers. Usually I could only see the green when the lights were right or the sun was shining on her face. Her near tears had brought out the blue.

  “You mean it, Neil?” she asked. She bit her lip, and I knew she was fighting back tears. She was an Olsen after all, and Olsen women did not show weakness.

  “I mean it,” I said, turning the words “nice cabins with showers” into a mantra in my mind.

  Amy surprised me by stepping right up to me, laying her head on my chest, and wrapping her arms around my waist. I’m a big man, at least compared to her. Amy was even more petite than Emily had been, and when I put my arms around her, she practically disappeared. It was like holding my daughter, Crystal. She even had the same fall of wavy auburn hair as Em and Crystal. Like almost everyone in the Olsen family.

  Cancer had taken months to kill her husband, and I couldn’t figure out which of the two of us had the better deal. The aneurysm had taken Em in a heartbeat; I’d had no time to prepare. No time to say good-bye. Owen, o
n the other hand, had lived for nearly a year. Nine months, a little longer. Ten. I wasn’t sure. Amy had been given the chance to try to prepare herself—if anyone can prepare themselves for losing the love of their life. But the horror of Owen’s lingering disease made me wonder if it had been a good thing in the long run. To watch Em waste away would have driven me insane.

  “It’s all right,” I told her and hugged her tight.

  She was taking her family on their traditional annual family vacation—without her husband, without her children’s father. Me? I couldn’t imagine why she would want to go to her family’s favorite place in the world. I wouldn’t—or couldn’t—in the same circumstance. Owen had only been dead for two months. Em had been gone for almost exactly two years, and I still wasn’t living. Not really.

  I’d wanted to sell the house, get rid of everything in it—anything that would remind me of Emily. I couldn’t sleep in our room for months. I’d slept on the couch instead. How could Amy go back, with her kids, to the ranch they had gone to every summer for years? Wouldn’t every cabin, every building, every horse, every bend in the river, every chorus of “Home on the Range” around the campfire remind her of Owen?

  Wouldn’t his ghost be everywhere?

  But different people cope with grief in different ways, and she was, after all, an Olsen. The whole family was strong, the women especially. So where I’d wanted to flee from anything that reminded me of my wife, Amy wanted to bathe in all things that reminded her of Owen. She thought that was a good way to say good-bye. Who was I to say which was better?

  Because really, if Amy hadn’t shown up a few weeks after Em’s death and kicked me in the ass, I might still be sleeping on the couch. I probably wouldn’t even have a job. She had to remind me I had responsibilities, to my daughter if nothing else.

  Thank goodness for Amy. At a time when she should’ve been grieving herself—Em had been her sister twice as long as she had been my wife, after all—she helped me deal with my own pain.

  So yes, even though a week at a dude ranch sounded like the last way on Earth I would want to spend my vacation time, it was something I would do.

  I didn’t really have a choice.

  AFTER DINNER—Pizza Hut delivery, half-and-half: pepperoni for me, Hawaiian-style for Crystal—I googled Black Bear Dude Ranch. Crystal, who was trying (not too successfully) to do her homework, was thrilled, bubbling over even, ever since she’d heard I was going. She’d been sure her Black Bear days were behind her. Crystal had gone with Amy and her family since she was about ten. Owen had always insisted on taking her. He wouldn’t even let me and Em pay her way. They could certainly afford it. Owen had been a lawyer for a major firm, and Amy, comfortable in her own right with family money, was a very successful Realtor. That was saying something with the market the way it’d been over the last decade or so. And she rarely represented a home that cost less than a million dollars.

  Funny that I’d never checked up on my daughter’s annual vacation spot in all the years she’d been going. Em had always handled stuff like that, and I’d let her. Sure, I’d glanced at the brochures, but that was it. I’d nodded at the photographs afterward and agreed that yes, yes, that was a pretty horse, Crystal (even though I couldn’t comprehend her enthusiasm). I listened to her tales of camping (on the ground—God!) and swimming in the river and wrangling cattle (whatever that meant). She loved those vacations with all her heart, and I had only been able to pretend any interest of my own.

  Had that made me a crappy husband and father? It was one more thing that Amy had reminded me of. My duty to Crystal. How could I wallow in my grief when there was my daughter to take care of? I could only hope I’d stepped up to the plate since then. I thought I had. Crystal had said little things that made me think so.

  The dude ranch’s website surprised me. Its official name was Black Bear Guest Ranch, which seemed much less… I don’t know… dude-y? I mean, what the hell is a “dude” ranch anyway? A place where dudes hang out?

  Black Bear Guest Ranch was not the nightmare I’d imagined. Yes, there were lots of pictures of people riding horses—of course. But the ranch didn’t look as rustic as I had feared. I wasn’t all that excited to see some of them herding cattle. Herding cattle! I couldn’t imagine wanting to do anything like that. The website explained that Black Bear, like so many others, was a “working ranch.” Why would anyone want to use their vacation “working” when they could relax by a pool or enjoy cocktails without guilt?

  Because—the site further explained glowingly—it gave vacationers a feel of what it was like to live in the Old West.

  Yeehaw!

  Not my thing.

  The good news was the pictures really did make Black Bear Guest Ranch look beautiful. The landscape was lovely—I couldn’t deny it—with rolling hills, trees, streams, and a lake (if a sixteen-acre body of water qualified). There was even a real pool, cement and built-in, thank God. The idea of swimming in a dirty river or lake with… with fish and snapping turtles and God knows what else was a lot less appealing to me than to my daughter. But more, there was a dry sauna, Jacuzzi-slash-hot tub, weight room, and a spa. Massages were available, and I imagined after a day in the saddle I’d need one.

  And yes, Amy was right. The cabins were lovely. I’d imagined, just as she’d said, something from those enforced church-camp days from my childhood. Large rooms with rows of bunks stacked three high, which were hot in the summer and chilly on wet days, with cold breezes sneaking in from many a crack in the walls and around windows.

  In comparison to that grisly image, the rooms at Black Bear appeared rustic only in design. On the outside, they did look a lot like log cabins, only extended, with multiple doors. Pictures revealed that was because there were private rooms, several per building, like a motel. Surprisingly, though, they were more like time-share condos than motel rooms, but a rich, modern cowboy version instead of one from the Old West. The walls were bright pine with prints hanging on them, the rooms nicely furnished, including large, comfortable-looking beds. The bathrooms were completely modern, with large tubs and showers. And some had bearskin rugs.

  And the food! The breakfasts looked fit for an army of guests. Dinner included steak, barbecue, grilled salmon and fresh-caught rainbow trout, Cornish game hens, and even buffalo. Plates were heaped high and obviously not designed for vegetarians or those on a diet. I was going to gain a ton! You’d have to work on your vacation unless you wanted to come home two pants sizes bigger. Looking at all that food made my mouth water, and I had just eaten.

  Of course, Pizza Hut hardly compared to the feasts pictured.

  This might be fun after all, I thought.

  Emphasis on “might.”

  And wouldn’t it be nice to get away? Go someplace completely different?

  As I was about to sign off, my eye caught on a button reading Things You Should Bring. Now that was something I needed to look at. I didn’t want to get there only to find out I was missing something important, re the time Em and I had gone to Orlando only to realize I’d forgotten swim trunks and we had no sunblock for her. Which was pretty silly considering swimming was what one generally did when going to Orlando—certainly at a resort. And Em, like all the Olsens, was not only redheaded, but pale. She burned easily. So yeah, I didn’t want to show up at the ranch looking for all the world like the rube I was.

  Only, in my haste, I missed the button with my mouse and hit Our Staff instead.

  A large picture of some two dozen people appeared on my screen. A lot of them looked young, twenties at the oldest, and all smiled at the camera. And, of course, all wore cowboy hats. They seemed to radiate good cheer, each beaming face saying, Yup, this is where you want to spend your vacation. Black Bear Guest Ranch. Where else?

  Ah, those faces. To be that young again. Was it a requirement to be attractive to work there?

  One young man leapt out at me. Well built, his smile sweet—this was no fake smile, because it could be seen in his eyes
as well. And his eyes were so unique. I couldn’t tell what color they were, but they looked a tad Asian. Or maybe he was one of those people who squinted their eyes when they smiled? Whatever the reason, he was dazzling.

  A few more clicks of my mouse and I found a picture of him alone on horseback, and I could see he was quite muscular. He was a wrangler, the site indicated, although it didn’t give his name. Apparently Black Bear Guest Ranch usually took on about thirty guests at a time, and a wrangler was assigned to no more than four or five people. In the case of a large family, two wranglers were assigned to them.

  Damn. He looked like my daughter’s type. I’d have to watch Crystal around him.

  In that almost-psychic way of hers, Crystal was suddenly standing behind me and leaning over my shoulder. “Oh,” she exclaimed. “That’s Cole! I just adore him.”

  “You do?” My inner father alarms started going off. “How come I haven’t heard about this ‘Cole’? How old is he?”

  “Oh God, Pops. He’s old. Twenty-five at least.”

  I almost laughed. What did she think of me? I must be ancient.

  “Besides, Cole’s gay,” she said matter-of-factly.

  I froze. Gay? I looked back at the screen. He was gay? “He doesn’t look gay,” I whispered.

  “Oh, Pop, please. What d’you think? Gay guys wear dresses or something?” She put a hand over her mouth and giggled. “Well, some do. Drag queens.”

  “What do you know about drag queens?” I asked—snapped out—in surprise. Damn. Where had she come up with this stuff? Drag queens? Gay wranglers? “They let a gay man work at a family ranch?”

  Crystal rolled her eyes in the way only eighteen-year-olds can. “Pop, it’s the twenty-first century, for goodness sake. Gays are here to stay. Sorry if you don’t like it. They can get married now too, you know.”

  For a moment, I didn’t say anything. I was stunned. It was the last attitude I’d expected my daughter to have. Had times changed that much since I was her age? “And you’re okay with that?” I managed.