by Emilia Loft
John chuckled. “All right, I suppose it’s paining me fairly well. Will you help me with more of that liniment?”
“Of course.” Ian shrugged into his suspenders and took up the pot of liniment.
He helped John pull his arm out of his sleeve and carefully massaged the ointment into the aching joint. John closed his eyes and forced himself to relax, a pleased sound rumbling from his throat.
“Is that better?” Ian asked.
John could now move his arm slowly, with only a slight twinge of pain. He nodded, gratefully. “Thank you.”
“I trust you can dress yourself?” Ian asked lightly, his cheeks turning slightly pink. “I’ll go check on Azure while you do and then I’ll see what I can do for breakfast.”
John assured Ian he could manage his clothes just fine and Ian headed towards the barn. John used a flannel to wash his face and then ran a comb through his sleep-mussed hair. He pulled on clean canvas trousers and a white and cream-striped linen shirt. His clothes from the day before would have to be laundered before they would be wearable again; they stunk of river water and dried mud flaked away when John held them up. With some grunting and awkward maneuvering, John managed to slip his feet into his own boots. He expended even more effort getting his suspenders attached to his trousers. He pulled one strap over his good shoulder, but couldn’t maneuver the second strap without assistance.
He tromped into the back yard, heading towards the barn to see if he could help Ian with anything. As he drew closer, he heard Ian’s deep, clear voice raised in song. John slowed, moving quietly so he wouldn’t disturb Ian and stop the singing. He peeked inside the barn where Ian was using a shovel to muck out Azure’s paddock. As he worked, he sang:
“Down in some lone valley,
In a lonesome place
Where the wild birds do whistle,
And their notes do increase
Farewell pretty Saro,
I bid you adieu,
But I’ll dream of pretty Saro
Wherever I go.”
John swallowed, his throat gone dry. He couldn’t take his eyes off Ian’s lean body as it bent to scoop with the shovel. He could practically feel the vibration of Ian’s singing in his belly, a warm, purring creature that curled up inside him and warmed him through.
Ian’s voice grew sorrowful with the next verse:
“My love, she won’t have me,
So I understand,
She wants a freeholder
Who owns house and land.
I cannot maintain her,
With silver and gold
Nor buy all the fine things
That a big house can hold.”
John recognized the song; his mother had sung it to him and his siblings when they were little. On impulse, he slipped inside the barn and lent his voice with Ian’s to the last part:
“If I was a poet
And could write a fine hand
I’d write my love a letter
That she’d understand
I’d write it by the river
Where the waters o’er-flow…”
Ian, upon hearing John’s voice, startled and looked up, their eyes meeting. His face turned pink as it always did when he was caught being anything but a proper gentleman. His voice faltered for a few lines, but joined John’s at “I’d write my love a letter.”
John moved closer to Ian, who straightened, his eyes transfixed. John took Ian’s hand and brushed his lips over the knuckles. He looked up at Ian through his lashes, a teasing smile flitting across his face. As he reached the end of the song, he made a slight alteration to the words; this last part, he sung alone as Ian had fallen silent.
“And I’ll dream of pretty Ian,
Wherever I go.”
Ian’s eyes widened at the changed lyric, his face growing even pinker. John laughed softly and pulled Ian closer. He stood on his tiptoes and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before pulling away. But as he moved to drop Ian’s hand, Ian tugged him back to return the kiss. There was nothing chaste about this second kiss. Ian’s soft lips moved with John’s, their teeth grazing briefly. Ian smelled of the barn - fresh hay and straw mixed with the earth smell of his sweat. The shovel fell to the ground, forgotten, as Ian snaked his arms around John’s waist. John, meanwhile, took full advantage and buried his fingers in Ian’s dark curls - something he’d thought about doing many times. They both kissed desperately, each giving in to a yearning the other hadn’t known was returned.
John would have gladly kissed Ian until the end of the world, but he felt a sharp nudge at his back that caused him to stumble and break the kiss. Azure whinnied and snorted, pawing the ground and tossing her head to show how amused she was at the joke she’d just played on John.
John steadied himself, his eyes crinkling with good humor. He rested his forehead on Ian’s shoulder and laughed softly. “I think she’s telling us to find our own room.”
Ian’s answering laugh sounded breathless. He pressed his nose in John’s hair and inhaled. “That was… that was….”
“Entirely inappropriate, I know.” John pulled away, forcing the smile off his face. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“N-no!” Ian took hold of John’s hand again, squeezing tightly. He lowered his eyes and said his next words barely above a whisper. “I was going to say that it was… amazing.”
“Ooh.” John breathed, his heart thumping a little faster. “Really?”
“Did you not like it?” Ian met John’s eyes, a sharp expression in them.
“Like it?” John asked and laughed, looking away. “I’ve thought of doing that to you since the moment I laid eyes on you, I think.”
Ian appeared dumbfounded, his mouth slightly open. John resisted kissing him again, though he’d have liked to kiss Ian even more senseless. Instead, he reached out and traced his thumb over Ian’s jaw. “It’s driven me to distraction, trying to keep myself from acting on my impulses.”
“I-I’ve felt the same.” Ian said, finally finding his voice. “I haven’t been able to drive you from my thoughts.”
“That’s a predicament.” John replied, gravely. “What are we going to do?”
As he spoke, John drew closer and rested his hands on Ian’s waist, and then allowed them to slip behind and brush over his backside. Ian stiffened, blushing bright red this time.
“Oh, that blush.” John said, his voice gone deep and rumbling. “I think it is my favorite color.”
With that, his lips met Ian’s once more and Ian relaxed into him. John’s hands continued roaming and Ian, taking his cue, tentatively explored the plains of John’s back with his own hands. John trailed his mouth along Ian’s jaw, nibbling lightly, and then dipped his tongue in the hollow of Ian’s collarbone. Ian gasped, his fingers tightening, his head thrown back, and his eyes closed tightly.
“Is this all right?” John whispered against Ian’s skin.
“Unnngh.” Ian moaned. “Don’t stop!”
John laughed and mouthed his way across Ian’s clavicle, unbuttoning his shirt so he could push it aside to get at Ian’s skin. His trousers grew tight and he pressed his hips into Ian, finding evidence of his desire there, as well. He felt Ian’s fingers at his waist, tugging his shirt free.
“Sheriff Jameson?”
The distant voice calling outside stopped them short. John frozen, listening.
“Sheriff Jameson!” The voice came again, marginally closer.
John pressed his forehead against Ian’s shoulder and cursed softly. “It’s Sarah Sawyer.”
“Of course it is.” Ian said, bitterly. His hands were still at John’s waist, but they stilled.
They stood for a moment, still together, before John pushed away, tucking his shirt in and smoothing his hair back. “Stay here for now until….”
John glanced at the bulge at Ian’s groin and Ian nodded, turning to retrieve the shovel that lay, forgotten, on the ground. John took a few deep breaths, hoping his own arousal would
fade, before striding out of the barn.
* * *
“Oh, Sheriff Jameson!” Sarah smiled as John came out on his front porch. “I hoped to find you here. I wanted to bring you some fresh muffins I made this morning. A thank you, for all you’ve done for my family.”
John accepted the basket of muffins with a nod. “Thank you, Miss Sawyer. That’s mighty kind of you.”
“Not at all!” She giggled. “After all, you saved my sister and her family from injury… or worse!”
“Just doing my job.” John muttered, trying not to meet Sarah’s eyes. “How are they doing?”
“My sister gave birth to a baby girl this morning.” Sarah said, her smile growing brighter. “They’re all doing fine.”
“I’m glad.” John meant this, sincerely. “Well, thank you for the muffins… I should probably get back to the barn.”
“Oh, but….” Sarah looked crestfallen. “I was hoping we might go for a stroll or….”
John cursed himself for ever thinking he’d find happiness with this woman. She was sweet and she would make a fine wife, but he knew that he could never be content with her. Not when he saw a dark-haired, blue-eyed man with smooth, pale skin every time he closed his eyes. Not after he’d tasted Ian’s lips and found them as sweet as he imagined they would be.
“I’m sorry, Miss Sawyer.” He said, firmly. “Even though I’m injured, there are still things to do here.”
“O-of course.” Sarah said, trying to regain her smile. “Perhaps another time, then? Maybe you can dine with us later?”
Persistent. John thought, grinding his teeth. “I… don’t think so. You’re a lovely woman, Miss Sawyer, but….”
John trailed off, not knowing what to say. But I fancy men? But you’re not Ian? Either of those answers would send a scandal rocketing through Lockwood and John would be driven out of town… or worse.
“Oh.” Sarah replied, flatly. “Of course. You’re a busy person and… of course. I understand.”
John knew, by the hurt in her voice and the tears threatening to fall, that she didn’t, not really. But he nodded and offered a grateful smile. “Thank you, again, Miss Sawyer. Give my regards to your father.”
Sarah nodded and waved, turning away so that John couldn’t see if she cried or not. His heart was heavy as he returned to the cabin, setting the basket of muffins on the table. Ian had returned from the barn and was standing over the pot-bellied stove, stirring what looked to be a pan of oatmeal. He looked up when John came back in, a question on his face.
“Miss Sawyer brought muffins.” John indicated the basket of baked goods. He no longer knew what to say.
Ian nodded. “That was kind of her.”
John nodded, avoiding Ian’s eyes. “Look… uh… I understand if you feel like you can’t stay here any longer.”
“Do you want me to leave, John?”
A knife pierced John’s heart. No, he didn’t want Ian to leave. In fact, just the thought made him want to grab hold of Ian and not let go until he promised never to leave. John tried to rein in this impulse.
“Just… if you don’t feel comfortable around me….”
Ian pulled the pot of oatmeal off the stove and dished it into two bowls angrily, slopping oatmeal over the sides. “Do you think you forced yourself upon me, John Jameson? Did it seem like I didn’t want that… whatever that was… out there?”
Ian’s eyes were swirling storms of blue as he became angrier. “Didn’t I say that I’ve not been able to keep you from my thoughts? Hell, John, if she hadn’t interrupted us, I would have ripped that shirt off you!”
John felt the heat of arousal return and he and Ian stared each other down. John was the first to break, turning his head and letting out a bark of laughter.
“Oh, Ian,” he said, looking at him affectionately. “You do hold surprises.”
Ian’s jaw tightened and he lifted his chin. “I know what people think about me. I’m weak…
I’m gentle. I’m feminine.” He spat this last word out. “Because I value my mind over baser things,
I’m thought less of a man. But don’t you doubt, John Jameson, I am a man and I know what I want.”
John felt as though his breath had been stolen from his lungs. He swallowed hard and crossed the small room to stand in front of Ian. He met Ian’s eyes in an unwavering stare.
“I don’t think you’re weak.” John said, gravely. He took Ian’s hands in his and examined them. “These are strong hands. And you possess a strong mind and a strong will. I don’t think you less of a man, not for one second.”
Ian’s back, ramrod straight, relaxed a little. “I don’t want to leave.”
“No?”
Ian shook his head, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “No.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” John said quietly. “I worried that perhaps you would regret….”
“I don’t do anything I don’t want to.” Ian said, a threat of steel running through his voice. “I can take care of myself.”
John laughed. “All right, I can see that.”
“You should eat your breakfast.” Ian grumbled, nodding at the bowls of oatmeal.
“Only if you join me.”
They ate, splitting the muffins from Sarah and spreading preserves over them. Rather than speaking, they spent the meal shooting each other flirtatious glances. John nudged Ian’s leg with his own from under the table and smiled wickedly at him, which brought back the faint blush John found so attractive.
“What shall we do today?” John asked.
“You’re supposed to rest your shoulder.” Ian pointed out, a muffin crumb on his top lip.
John reached out to flick the muffin crumb away and Ian grinned, playfully snapping his teeth at John.
“I can rest the shoulder and we can still do something.” John pointed out. “I’ll have to go into town to make sure everything’s running smoothly, anyway. We should probably stop by your brother’s ranch to see if help from Coulson arrived, as well.”
“What about a picnic by the lake?” Ian suggested. “I’ll get the cook at the ranch to pack us something.”
“I like that idea!” John smiled. “We can go after I’ve checked that I’m not needed.”
Now that the rains had stopped and the sun was shining, things were slowly returning to normal. John didn’t do a full patrol, but he and Ian rode into town to make sure no disasters struck. He found Mikael at the mayor’s office instead of the ranch. The office was bustling with troops from Coulson who had arrived to do clean-up in Huntley. Mikael assured John that things were under control. Before he and Ian left to visit the ranch kitchens, Mikael took John aside.
“I’ve got everything arranged as soon as you’re well enough to do overnight surveillance of my cattle.” He said quietly. “I do want to resolve this matter as soon as possible.”
“Of course, sir.” John said. “I’m sure I’ll heal quickly.”
“Just take care of yourself and rest that injury.” Mikael commanded. “If you need anything, my brother will take care of it. I trust he’s performing well?”
John stomped down on the hysterical giggle that threatened to bubble out of his mouth. “He is proving quite useful, yes.”
“Good. Thank you, Sheriff Jameson, for stopping by today. Your dedication is a credit to you as a sheriff.”
* * *
The kitchen staff at the Lofte ranch had a soft spot for Ian, so he easily procured a picnic basket stuffed with fried chicken, fluffy biscuits and homemade jam, and thick slices of apple pie. They spread a blanket near Ian’s favorite lake and ate, feeding each other bites of biscuit dripping with strawberry jam. The kitchen had tucked in a bottle of fresh lemonade, too, which they drank greedily as the sun grew warmer late in the afternoon.
“Does your brother know? About your…preferences?” John asked, as they lay in the sun and digested their lunch.
“He knows I am ‘different’, but I think he denies to himself my
true nature.” Ian replied. “I’ve only had a few dalliances while away at school. Mikael is older than I am, so he was long finished with his schooling by that time. I believe he thinks me uninterested in… well, anyone.”
“So what changed that?”
“You have to ask?” Ian propped himself up on an elbow and splayed one hand over John’s stomach. “A certain golden-haired sheriff took my horse and my heart.”
John chuckled. “If I remember correctly, the horse was freely given to me.”
“So was the heart.” Ian whispered and leaned over to kiss the corner of John’s mouth. “I didn’t think I cared, John Jameson. I thought I was content with my life. Then you appeared and proved that I was wrong.”
John reached up to stroke the side of Ian’s face. “I thought if I came out west, if I started over, I would stop having these… feelings… that I have for men. But I confess I cannot feel ashamed for what I feel for you, Ian.”
“Was there someone else? Where you lived before…?”
John nodded. “There was. But I didn’t feel half the affection for him that I feel for you after only a handful of weeks.”
“Why do you think that is? Because I feel the same for you, but we barely know each other.”
“Who, but God, can explain why some people are drawn to each other like moths to a candle flame?” John said wistfully.
“You think God has anything to do with this?” Ian laughed bitterly. “Do you not listen at Sunday service? What we do now is a sin.”
“Do you really believe that?” John sat up halfway and looked seriously at Ian. “I choose to believe in a God who would not look down upon our companionship and see evil. There is no evil in your heart, Ian, nor mine. How can what we feel be a sin?”
Ian grew quiet, contemplative and John continued. “I’m not a religious man, but I am a good man. I know that about myself. When I die and face God’s judgment, I will face him with no shame for what I’ve done in life. It’s true, I came to Lockwood in hopes of finding a more accepted way of life. Marrying, having children, following the path that society deems appropriate. It seems, though, that I am simply unable to live that life. Does that bother you?”