endoftheline (3 page)

And if Chance was amenable to him staying, then it was high time he pulled his own weight.

Clean, shaved, dressed and determined to settle the matter before the breakfast dishes were done, Sam headed for the kitchen and the smell of coffee.

Chance was whistling, wearing a pair of ancient old jeans and a muscle shirt, eggs and sausage sizzling away on the stove. “Mornin’, sir.”

“Morning.” He was glad he’d taken care of business earlier, because Chance looked mighty fine. “Food smells good. As usual.”

“Yeah. I was hungry this morning.” Chance chuckled, cheeks a little pink. “We’re fixin’ to have to go shopping, though. We’re getting low on the necessaries.”

“
We
are, are we?” He sat, figuring this was as good a time as any to broach the subject. “You happy then, with the arrangements of me staying here with you?”

He got a surprised look from bright eyes then Chance ducked his head, turned bright red. “Yeah. Shit, Sam, I’m sorry. I’m bad about that, turning me into we. Blame it on being a twin.”

“No, that’s all right, I just wanted to be sure you meant what I thought you meant about it. If I’m staying it’s time I started paying my way. I’m renting the room from you and I should be helping out with the groceries -- I certainly eat more than my share of them.”

He wasn’t upset about the ‘we’, just didn’t want to be taking advantage. Chance left himself wide open for it, and he wasn’t the kind of man who’d take advantage of that.

“Well, you sure? You need to build up a little buffer first?” Chance grabbed the tortillas and the orange juice.

“It’s been three weeks -- I imagine I’ve got a buffer. I appreciated the help when I first got here, I was pretty desperate for the job and a place to stay, but I’m not anymore and it’s time I started paying my way.”

“Okay, the grocery budget could use the help, yeah.” Chance settled in a chair. “You happy with the room set up and stuff? I mean, since you’re not going to be a guest anymore?”

He reached over to fill a tortilla with eggs and sausage, nodding. “Hell yeah, it’s a damn site nicer than most rooms I’ve been able to afford.”

“You’ve got a nice view from there, too.” Chance made himself a burrito, then gave himself an injection.

“Yep. I’m happy with it. And I’m willing to give you a fair price for the privilege of using it.”

“Fair enough.” Chance nodded, relaxed and easy. “Now that that’s over, you interested in taking the boat out today?”

He shook his head -- looked like he wasn’t going to get an amount out of Chance. Well, if the man didn’t deduct anything from his next paycheck, he’d just leave some money in the coffee jar, where Chance was sure to find it.

“Yeah, fishing sounds like a nice relaxing way to spend the day after a week of working my rump off for the boss.”

“Yeah, I hear your boss is a real bastard and a half.”

He chuckled and winked. “You think he’s bad, you should see his father.”

Chance’s laugh filled the room, low and happy and husky.

He ate the rest of his breakfast, helping himself until he was full up. It was easy and peaceful here. Chance was good company, but didn’t need to be having a conversation all the time. He was glad they’d worked it out because he didn’t really want to have to move on, even just to a new place to room.

He was... as close to happy as life had brought him in a lot of years.

They’d worked themselves into a routine -- food, dishes, chores, fishing. Lots of time in the sunshine, lots of iced tea. His own skin was going as leathery brown as Chance’s was -- he was just missing the cowboy boots and hat and he could have been mistaken for one of the locals himself.

After the kitchen was straight, they headed out, the horses hightailing it from the back pasture at Chance’s whistle. He went and got their feed and then made sure the dogs were topped up. There was an older horse that had become fond of him, nudging and nickering, nibbling his pockets.

“Go on, I don’t have anything for you.”

It was their routine, the horse would nibble and search and he’d grouse and complain and then finally dig out the sugar cubes or carrot sticks or apples he’d stashed.

Magpie pushed again, tossing her heavy head, whinnying. He pushed back a little, muttering something about old horses who didn’t know when to make themselves scarce. She was quick today, figuring out which pocket he’d hidden the carrots in. Chuckling, he took them out and handed them over, rubbing her nose.

Chance chuckled. “She’s got your ticket, Mr. Sam. You want to saddle up and ride down instead?”

“I’m easy, Chance.” The old girl would probably appreciate the stretch.

Chance chuckled and went back to work, whistling the entire time. The man had a way with the animals, easy and lazy and completely at home. It was good physical labor and he enjoyed it.

Chance’s cell phone rang and the man answered it. “Jeff Andrews! Good lord and butter, man! I haven’t heard from you in a hundred years. How’s Ricky doing? Y’all still... Oh. Oh, man. That sucks. I’m sorry, you deserved better.”

Sam led Magpie back out, giving Chance his privacy.

“Me? No, no. Not since Justin headed up north to ride the rodeo. Where you living now...” The words trailed off as the barn door closed.

He wondered who Jeff was and Ricky and Justin. A lot of guys for someone who was on his own, who seemed so content that way. He teased Magpie for awhile, wondering if their fishing trip was off.

Then Chance came out, hauling his saddle. “Sorry. Old friend. Which pole you want?”

“We still heading out? Cool. I’ll take the blue one.”

“Yeah. Jeff is driving -- he’s a bus driver for a band and they’re taking a break and he decided to chat.” Chance handed the saddle over with a grin.

He saddled Magpie up. “So where do you know him from?”

Lacey came dancing up and Chance threw the blanket over her back. “We met at a club in Austin. He was in college at UT and I was looking to play pool. There were a handful of us, mostly college kids, who played around twenty years ago. Now we’re scattered to the winds.”

“Wow, that’s a long time to keep in touch.” He got up into the saddle, waiting for Chance to finish up before heading toward the pond.

“Jeff’s a good’un. Dropped out of school to follow somebody to Hollywood, then ended up driving busses across country and dealing with no-good bass players.”

He frowned. “No-good bass players?”

Chance nodded, moving them up a rolling hill. “He has troubles with love-em-and-leave-em types.”

“Funny, I wouldn’t have pegged too many bass players as women. Shows you what I really know about music, doesn’t it?”

Oh, those cheeks went a bright, fiery red. “I... Uh... Oh, look at that hawk!”

He turned and looked for a hawk, not expecting to see one. There it was though, soaring through the morning air, wings spread wide. “Wow, look at that.” He watched it, debating whether or not to call Chance on the distraction. In the end he decided that if Chance wanted to change the subject, he should respect that.

“Yeah...” Chance watched until Lacey started dancing and they headed off, the horses ambling, the momma and foal unsaddled following them.

“I hope I’m not cramping your style being here,” Sam said quietly. Chance hadn’t hand anyone over, friends or lovers in the time he’d been staying here. The man hadn’t gone out either.

“My style? No. I’m sort of a homebody, you know? Play softball. Go play pool once or twice a year in the city.”

“Okay. I just didn’t want to be making you miss out on. Well. You know.” And why exactly was he bringing this up? Not a good avenue to be wandering down.

“I...” Chance looked over, uncomfortable, worried. “Yeah.”

He frowned. “Well now, that’s twice in the last few minutes I’ve made you uncomfortable. Is it me, or that phone call’s got you on edge?”

“No. It’s more that I’m not looking to get my ass kicked, yeah? I don’t make any trouble, Sam.”

“You’ve lost me, Chance.” He wasn’t planning on kicking anyone’s ass.

“Oh. Oh, shit. I...” Chance closed his eyes. “Sorry. I thought you were suggesting something. Sorry.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Chance? Did I step in shit somehow with asking about our arrangements? Look, if you don’t want me here, I can find somewhere else, I won’t take it personally.” What the hell?

“Huh?” Chance stopped. “Okay. I’m obviously having a different conversation than you are. I thought you were poking to see if I was sort of uh... light in the loafers. I was trying not to make you uncomfortable.”

“Light in the...” Suddenly the light bulb went off in his head. “Shit. No, I wasn’t poking. I mean. Are you?” Well this was a fucked up conversation if he’d ever had one. Of course he was a little invested in the answer now, too, wasn’t he?

“You weren’t? Oh. Well, shit. This is deeply cracked.” Chance rubbed the back of his neck. “I should have more coffee before I’m social.”

“I wasn’t but I am now.” He knew his gaydar wasn’t very damned good, but he was going to fucking turn it in if Chance played on the same side of the fence he did.

“I thought the service was all don’t ask, don’t tell.”

“True enough. Let’s go catch dinner.” He nudged Magpie, speeding her up. Chance didn’t want him to know, didn’t want to know about him -- that was a clear signal he
could
read. It was a shame though. Man was a tall long, cool drink of water that he would have enjoyed drinking.

Chance didn’t say a word and they settled on the edge of the pond, both baiting their hooks and fishing like they would starve if they didn’t catch anything. Sam swallowed his sigh and raised his head to the sun. Just forget it old man and things’ll slide back to what they were. They had to because he liked it here. His bum knee liked it here.

“It’s mighty peaceful out here, Sam.” Chance looked over.

“It is,” he agreed. Nice and easy and comfortable.

Chance kept fishing, kept stealing looks.

He caught the man’s eye on one of them. “You got something to say to me, Chance?”

“Yeah, I reckon. I... Nobody but Daddy knows. About me. I’d appreciate if you didn’t say nothing.”

That stung a little. That Chance though he’d do that. Even if the man didn’t know him. He shook his head. “I wouldn’t rat out a fellow club member, Chance.”

He watched his line.

Chance blinked, almost dropped the fishing pole. “You? Really? But... you were in the army. Lucky said... Oh, God. You must think I’m a goddamned idjit. I was sitting here thinking you were fixin’ to go off about me being queer...”

“Lucky said what? We were all queer hating assholes?” He nodded. You played one if you weren’t. It was the way you survived. “I suppose we come off that way. ‘Course I’m not in the service anymore. And you’ve been good to me. If I had a problem with it, I’d just leave.”

“Okay, so I’m a paranoid asshole.” Chance sighed, dug two peaches out of a saddle bag. “I’m sorry, man. I was being a dork.”

He gave Chance a wry grin. “We’re both a fine pair, sitting here for weeks utterly fucking oblivious.”

He was tossed a peach. “Hey, I’m an old guy. Heading toward senility, even.”

Sam snorted. “I’m older’n you cowboy, so careful how you bandy that word about.”

“By nine months, yeah. Big deal.”

He snorted again. “Older’s older -- nine years, nine months or nine minutes, right?” He remembered Chance working those nine minutes older than his twin into the conversation at some point.

“Shit, if I look half as good in my jeans as you do in nine months? I’ll be a happy man.”

“I don’t think your jeans would fit me, Chance.” He winked.

There was that laugh, husky and bright all at once. “That would be real the Incredible Hulk-y, wouldn’t it?”

He grinned and nodded, something easing inside him. The peace here hadn’t been shattered after all. He bit into his peach, feeling the juices flow down his chin.

Chance cast his line out again, leaning back against some rocks, sucking the juice out of the peach. He took a long look, allowing himself to appreciate the view. Not that he was going to do anything about it, but it was nice to know if he was caught looking, he wouldn’t have to start explaining himself.

“Oh, I got a bite!” Chance sat up, bobbing the line. “Come on, now. Take it.”

He got the net and crouched by the water, waiting. The bobber went down and Chance’s line went taut. They worked together, got a good-sized catfish into the bucket. “Woo-hoo!”

“All right, dinner.”

They both re-baited their hooks and threw their lines back in, settling again.

“Couple more of those and we got ourselves fried catfish.” Chance chuckled, stretching out. “Fried catfish and hushpuppies and ‘naner pudding.”

“’Naner pudding?” Another one of Chance’s southern specialties, no doubt.

“Banana pudding? Warm the first day, cold the next?”

He started to chuckle, mind going from the place of weird to the gutter. “Is that what you call it here?”

Chance looked over. “What else would you call it? Bananas, ‘nilla wafers, pudding...”

He shook his head. “Sorry, I was tangenting.”

“Tangen...” Those eyes went wide and Chance blushed a sweet, deep rose. “Oh! No. No, ‘naner pudding bananas are too soft for that. You’d need chocolate-covered ones...”

He started to laugh, just tickled. Chance’s laugh joined with his, easy, relaxed. He smiled and went back to watching his line, occasionally watching Chance, dozing a little.

They managed to catch six fish between them, cleaning them right there and packing them down. “We do good work, man.”

“Yep.” They did. They worked real well together.

Chance dug around, pulled out sandwiches, a thermos. “Hungry?” It always amazed him how Chance was always prepared with stuff like this and then he’d remember the diabetes and knew it was years of experience.

“Thanks.”

“No sweat. Turkey and provolone. Yum.” Chance started eating, tossing bits of bread for the fish now and again.

He finished his sandwich and lay back again. “I do enjoy a lazy day -- though I wouldn’t want a steady diet of them.”

“Yeah, I hear you. Relaxing’s only good when you’ve got something to relax
from
.”