Changes Coming Down

by Kaje Harper

  Will recognized Ralph Peterson from the realtor’s earlier visits and frowned, not reaching to shake the hand the man held out. Peterson said, “Hey, I wanted to say congratulations on the land transfer. That’s a smart investment.”

  Will shrugged. Casey smirked. None of them mentioned that it was home.

  “Listen. I know what the appraisal was. I can get you quite a bit more, from the right buyer.”

  “Really?” Casey said coolly.

  “You could make a cool quarter million in profit. I’ll even lower my commission. Five percent. You won’t find fairer than that.”

  “Sorry,” Will told him, although he wasn’t sorry about anything today.

  “You could buy another place and have money in hand.”

  Will didn’t need to listen to this. He turned away. “Come on, guys. The damned bull needs to be in the chute when the vet arrives.”

  Peterson said, “Listen, let me get you an offer, all right? I’m betting I could even do better than that. I’ll tell the buyer you’re playing hard to get.”

  Casey suddenly whirled and got in the guy’s face. “We’re not playing and we’re not interested. Get it? Back off.”

  Scott grabbed his arm. “Come on, Case. Let’s go play with cows instead.”

  “Steers,” Will chimed in. “Bulls. Horses.”

  Casey let them turn him away. Will bumped his shoulder, trying to offer comfort. Of the three of them, Casey was the most off-balance lately. Will still missed Graham and Annmarie every time he turned around and they weren’t there. Scott was clearly frustrated at how little time he could carve out of his playing schedule to come home. But it was Casey whose life was in major transition, and it appeared that Case didn’t do transitions well.

  “Money-grubbing bastard,” Casey muttered. “Like we’d just go after more cash.”

  “It’s his job,” Scott pointed out. “A lot of land is becoming an investment instead of working ranches.”

  “He’s still a bastard. He hangs out with Todd and the new mayor. Did you see them, smirking at each other onscreen when the mayor-elect gave his little speech about community leadership and new brooms?”

  Will hadn’t actually noticed Peterson on the broadcast, although there’d been a small crowd of local businessmen clearly lining themselves up behind the incoming administration, including the new sheriff-elect. “So what? We have our place, Scott’s is sold and yours was a rental. We don’t need him and won’t likely have anything to do with him until we’re dead and your nephew inherits. He’s irrelevant.”

  “True,” Casey said, brightening. “Completely irrelevant. The bastard.”

  Scott laughed. “Let’s go home.”

  They talked about small stuff as Will drove. Casey made them laugh about the alpaca literature his mom kept emailing him. But turning in at the driveway felt different than it ever had before, in a way that caught in his chest. This ranch was his. Well, theirs, which was the same thing.

  The sign seemed bolder, the triangle and cross standing out like a brand on the blue sky. The potholes were more offensive, needing to be seen to sooner, not later. Alongside the drive, three of the yearling colts came into view across the wire fence, turning and racing his truck over the browning grass for the fun of it. He slowed to watch them, two bays and a black, short dark manes tossing, growing tails flying like pennants. Theirs.

  By the time they pulled into the yard, his breath wasn’t steady. He sat in the cab, looking around, until Casey tapped on his window. “Hey. Okay?”

  He said, “I haven’t owned a damned thing beyond a beat-up truck, two guitars, my saddle, and that ornery horse in the barn, since I was a kid. And now, all this.”

  “Yeah.” Casey’s mouth stretched into a wide grin, his eyes alight. “Amazing, ain’t it?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  “Come on, get out. If you don’t show him how, Scotty’s gonna try to pen that bull on his own, and he’s too pretty to get broken.”

  “What?” That helped. Will swung out of the truck, yelling, “Scott Edison, you stay away from that damned bull, you hear me?”

  Nita leaned against the barn, laughing. A couple of the other guys seemed to be hanging around too. No time like the present. Will put his fingers in his mouth and whistled loud, three times.

  It only took a few minutes for everyone to be gathered, with the panting dogs at Joe’s feet. No one had been very far off. Well, he could understand their curiosity.

  He stepped forward, and hesitated. He’d never been much one for speeches, but he wanted to be clear, and he had things to say.

  “So.” He cleared his throat. “First off, I want to thank every one of you. You pitched in when Graham and Annmarie died. Not one of you cut and run, looking for a more secure job. Not one of you questioned my decisions. I appreciate that.”

  Nita said, “This is a good place, and you’re the boss.”

  “Right.” That was a good lead in. “So, the ranch now belongs to me and my buddies. At least, when probate’s settled it will. You all know them. That’s Casey and Scott over there. They own the place too, but I still run it.”

  They’d hashed that out, over the span of a night of fucking and talking and maybe a bit of difficulty breathing on his part, because Graham had always had last word and now it was his. But the ranch hands didn’t need to know that.

  “If Casey tells you something, and it sounds reasonable, you do it. If you’re not sure, check with me. If Scotty tells you to do something, hell, check with me right off, ’cause he don’t know a heifer from a steer.”

  Scott gave him the finger. “Sure I do. A steer is where you get those raw prairie oysters you love so much.”

  Will snorted. “Anyhow, he’s learning, and if you want brownie points from me, you help him learn fast and safe. But he’s a hockey player, like you all know, so he’ll come and go. He and Casey are going to split the big house, and I’ll keep my place.”

  The men were nodding. No one seemed bothered by that. He added, “Someday, Scott’s gonna be a famous NHLer, so I’m gonna say it now. We value his privacy. When he’s here, he’s home, and you don’t gossip about his weird food choices, or how he cusses when he steps in a pile of shit, or anyone who visits him. Got it?”

  Joe said, “Sure, boss. No problem.”

  “We’re keeping this ranch, to live on and to run. We might change up a few things. Casey’s mom has a bee in her bonnet about raising some alpacas, and it’s hard to say no to the woman.” The men laughed, but it was true. Will had never met Casey’s dad, but they’d had dinner with Margaret twice now and he was coming to like her. God, she was a force of nature though. No wonder Casey had spent years avoiding her when she was mad at him. “Anyhow, we’re not selling the ranch, and we’re not firing anyone unless you screw up. So if you hear rumors about us out to make money selling the place or planning something screwy with it, ignore ’em.”

  Casey said, “Unless they come from my mother, in which case run and tell me about it, before she somehow makes it happen. I’m tough, but she’s wily.”

  There was another laugh.

  Will said, “Our beloved Sheriff Barlow has another four weeks on the job, so for now he’ll be back and forth to town. He might get called out in the night or have people showing up here looking for him, so if you hear coming and going at night, sure, check it out, but don’t freak, okay?”

  Nita said, “I wish you were staying in office, Sheriff. I don’t trust that new guy.”

  Casey rubbed a hand over his short hair. “Yeah, well, thanks. But not enough people agreed with you. It’s okay. I’ve been a cop one way and another for more than ten years. It’s time for something new, and this place is going to be it.”

  Will added, “Anyhow, that’s about all. Not much will change. If you’ve got questions, ask me. We’re gonna keep the Tri-Cross the best ranch in the state. And thanks, all of you, for sticking with us. Now, we have twenty-five hundred pounds of nasty black bull to get into a ch
ute in the next…” He glanced at his watch. “Fifteen minutes. Joe, Gary, you’re with me.”

  He turned to the barn, and the group broke up to their jobs. Scott fell into step beside him. “Nice way to make me feel useful.”

  Will glanced at him, worried, but Scott was grinning.

  Scott leaned a friendly bump against his shoulder. “Just kidding. So can I watch you pen the bull?”

  “Sure. Sit on that fence there. Don’t get down.”

  Scott dropped his voice to barely a breath. “I love it when you get all toppy.”

  Will watched him walk over to the fence, his ass in those tight jeans swinging a bit more than usual, and sighed. Behind him Casey murmured, “This is going to be interesting.”

  “Yep.” Will’s smile was so wide it hurt his face.

  ***

  By evening he was stiff, dirty, and happy. The bull turned out to have an infected cut, which had been lanced, cleaned, and closed enough to heal, with a jab of antibiotics. He’d likely recover fine, which was a relief because other than the top stud horse, he was the most valuable animal on the ranch. He was now expressing his displeasure at being kept in a clean stall for the night. Will hoped the door would hold. Most beef bulls were fairly easy to manage, but Diablo was in a class of his own.

  Will dragged himself up the porch stairs and opened the door to the big house. He could hear someone in the kitchen and headed that way. Casey stood at the stove, stirring a pot. Will went up behind him and put his chin on his shoulder to look over into the pot. “What’s that? We ate already.”

  “Pudding. Chocolate.”

  “Seriously? You’re cooking pudding?”

  “I like it. Comfort food.”

  Casey pushed his ass back against Will as he stirred, but Will grabbed Casey’s hips to still the movement. “Why comfort?” Today had been everything Will had ever wanted, if only he hadn’t had to lose the Slaters to get it. Under the ache of missing Graham and Annmarie, he was finally feeling settled. Why was Casey taking it differently? “Are you sorry…?”

  Casey turned enough to kiss the end of that sentence off his lips.

  Will glanced at the kitchen window to make sure the curtains were shut and returned the kiss. Eventually he said more softly, “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I guess, all the changes. This is what you know. For me, it’s something new. I’ve only been hanging around the ranch the last three years, and there’s only so much I could pick up that way. I have a ways to go before I really pull my weight. I like it, a lot, don’t get me wrong. I want this. But…”

  Will wrapped his arms across Casey’s chest, pulling him in against his front. “What?”

  “I also want pudding.”

  “I can get behind that.” Will’s interest was stirring and he rubbed against Casey’s ass, bending to kiss his neck.

  Casey bumped him away. “Take a shower before you get behind anything. Or anyone. I’ll be done in ten minutes. I’ll find you.”

  That sounded reasonable. He couldn’t smell himself by now, but he’d done most of a day’s work with cattle. “Where’s Scott?”

  “Upstairs. Packing, I think. He has to catch the early flight tomorrow.”

  “Ah, hell. Yeah. I’ll go shower.”

  Walking down the hall and up the stairs, through Annmarie’s house, still felt odd, like moving back and forth between past and present.

  The guys had helped him spend a bunch of hours, between everything else, going through the Slaters’ stuff. Landon had of course had first access, and Will had gone off to ride the back fences while the Slaters’ grandson picked through their things. But when he got back after a couple of hours, Landon’s rental truck was already gone, and the house had seemed almost as full as before. Landon had shown no interest in coming back to deal with the rest, so it’d become Will’s job.

  Christ, that’d been hard. He’d kept as much as he could, as much as made sense. It felt wrong to change Annmarie’s house. But some stuff had to be given away. He’d asked one of the women who’d been kind to him at the funeral what to do with Annmarie’s things. Next thing he knew, she and two of her friends had come over to give him advice on clothes and other personal stuff Landon hadn’t wanted. They’d talked about how poor folks in town could make use of the pretty sweaters Annmarie loved, and how someone could use this item or that item. They’d reminded him of crows pecking at a carcass. Until he’d had to go out to the barn with his guitar, and play to the horses, to avoid saying so.

  It wasn’t a fair comparison. They were doing the right thing and speaking well of the Slaters as they did it. They’d left all the stuff he could use and more. Even now, there were pictures hanging up that Annmarie had chosen and rugs she’d dragged home from sales over the years. The butter-yellow paint on the walls was a color she’d picked out, and he and Graham had spent a big chunk of one week painting it on for her.

  The place looked almost the same, and then as he walked through it, there’d be a moment of disorientation. Glancing into Casey’s open door to see the room knickknack-free, the wide bedcover plain blue and unruffled, the drapes heavy and dark, not lace. Or hearing Scotty in the room across the hall, singing something Will didn’t recognize as he packed. Good things— real good things— but still not the same.

  Damn, Casey wasn’t the only one moody lately.

  In the master bathroom he undressed quickly and got under the spray. He tried to let all the negative stuff wash away down the drain with the water. It was a great shower, roomy with several massaging jets. Annmarie had put it in when Graham’s arthritis got bad. Will turned so one of the sprays hit the back of his neck. Ahhhhh. He held out his arms. There might even be room for all three of them in here. He’d have to tell Annmarie how perfect… Shit. He turned again, letting the water cascade over his face. After a moment he soaped up briskly, rinsed, and got out.

  He’d forgotten to bring clean clothes with him. On the other hand, Casey had promised to follow him up shortly. Clothes might be unnecessary. He wrapped a towel around his hips and headed for Scott’s room.

  Scott gave him a grin. “Now that’s a fine sight. Feel free to lose the towel.”

  “It’s not that warm.” In fact, he lay down on the bed and pulled the cover over himself. The bed was a king-size, for Scott’s height, but most of it was draped with clothes Scott hadn’t yet put in the closet. He shoved them farther away and stretched out luxuriously.

  “Yeah, make yourself at home in my bed.” Scott tugged the curtains closed.

  “Just making it look slept in. In case someone sees it.”

  “That’s assuming I wasn’t going to sleep in it tonight.”

  They’d put the even wider California-king-size bed in the master. Will quirked an eyebrow at Scott, and got another smile.

  “Okay, I wasn’t. But who’s going to see it? The mice?”

  “Maybe.” He folded his arms under his head. “Are you about done packing?”

  “Pretty much.” Scott sighed unhappily.

  “What?”

  “I got a call from a teammate. He says there’s a rumor the Leafs might be shopping for a winger. That injury LeBlanc got in their game last night might need surgery. If so, they might have room on the roster for a replacement.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it? You’d have a shot at being called up.”

  “Yeah. But.”

  Will waited. When Scott just folded another sweater, he said, “But what?”

  “I’ve been thinking all day how nice this is. I like the ranch, and the work. Sure I’m useless at it now—”

  “Not completely useless,” Will interrupted.

  “Close enough. But I’ll learn. It’s a bit like hockey. It’s physical and cold, and it’s about teamwork.”

  “Gets hot in the summer.” Will regretted the quip when Scott shook his head irritably. “Sorry, I’ll shut up and let you talk.”

  Scott nodded. He zipped his bag, set it onto the floor, and stood by the bed, not lo
oking at Will. “I began thinking, what if I quit? If I spend years in the AHL and never get called up, is that really worth it? All the travel, and being away, and the… hiding.”

  Will made an encouraging noise.

  “I can’t come out in the pros. I just can’t. I’m the wrong guy to be the first one. It’s not just being gay, it’s the poly. The first gay guy out in the NHL should be either someone single, with no dependents to take the flak. Or he should be someone with a steady partner for, like, a decade, to convince the hets he’s exactly like them, but without the boobs.”

  “You’ve thought about this.”

  “Hell, yeah. I want to be out. I want to call you from the locker room after a game and not watch every word out of my mouth. I want you to meet my mom and maybe Dad, and everyone back home. But I can’t.”

  “Casey and I aren’t out either.”

  “But now you could be. You own the ranch. In four weeks, Casey won’t be a cop. You could be together in the light. We all could, if I quit and just lived here. All day long, thinking it over, I’d almost made up my mind. But now…” He turned his intense, dark gaze on Will. “I might make the NHL. The thing I’ve been working for, dreaming of, since I was six. If I come out, that’s probably gone.”

  From the doorway, Casey said, “Of course you can’t.” He came in and sat beside Will, shoving a shirt out of the way. “I’m not out yet, and I don’t know when, or if, I’ll be ready for that. You’ve worked too damned hard for this to give it up now. You have to try. If they call you up, go for it. Then whatever happens later, you can say you made the NHL. You had your dream.”

  “Yeah. Except it’ll be harder to lose it later.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. In the end, the NHL is your call. But coming out affects all of us, and I’m not ready. Not yet.”

  “Oh.” Scott sat down and stared at Casey.

  Casey leaned over and kissed him, slow and easy. “One step at a time. I say the first step is to christen one of the new beds. Might be this one.”

  “Yours is bigger.” But Scott fisted his hands in Casey’s collar and pulled him in for more lip action. Will watched. They were worth watching.