Nowhere Ranch (2 page)

Loving grimaced and nudged his hat higher on his head with his knuckle. “And here I thought foot rot was hell.”

“Oh, everything about sheep is hell,” I said. “We never cussed more than the years we raised them.”

Loving sighed and raised the rifle, only to lower it again and glance at me. “Would you mind trying to separate her a little? But don't expose yourself.”

“Hell, I already had the shots,” I said, heading for the main body of the herd. I clapped my hands and said, “Hee-yah!” until they started to bleat and stumble over each other trying to get away. The rabid ewe followed them for a second before she fell. She got up pretty quickly, and when she did, she came for me.

I wasn't too worried, because sheep don't exactly set land-speed records, but I hustled out of the way because I wasn't interested in catching any stray gunshot. Turns out I needn't have worried, because Loving could shoot a single hair off your head at a half a mile, I swear to God. He put the bullet right between her eyes, and she went down like a ton of bricks.

“I got hold of everybody,” Tory said. “And they're all coming in to help sort them out. I thought probably in the stalls in the horse barn. Chaucer and the boys won't hurt to be out in the pasture a few days, and we can whip up temporary pens in the south field.”

And that was that. Loving stayed through to help. We ended up only losing two more sheep total, which was good. But I didn't talk to Loving again that night, and not through the next week. And after that, he took off. Tory said he'd be gone through the weekend.

Which, I thought, maybe this would be a good time to get away myself. I was starting to get itchy. I headed into town to the public library, where an online search for nearby gay bars informed me I would be going three hours north to Rapid City to get laid. I worried Tory would say I couldn't leave the ranch unattended, but he said not to bother about it. He was already coming over extra with Loving gone, and he'd said I was to go on and have a nice time.

The drive was okay. Mostly I didn't notice anything around me, too busy thinking about how I could spend the next forty-eight hours fucking and getting fucked. I checked into my hotel, showered, and fussed with my clothes before heading over at nine.

The bar was small, sad, and hard to take after the flashy stuff I had gotten used to in Omaha and Kansas City. Even in North Dakota I had gone to Fargo, which hadn't been bad. This place was a different story. There was hardly anybody there, and most of them looked like they'd already hooked up. But I saw one lone cowboy sitting at the bar, and I beelined to him, determined to spread my legs even if he looked like Ethel Merman.

You probably saw this coming, but I have to tell you, you could have knocked me over with a feather when the cowboy turned around and I realized I was staring at Travis Loving.

For a second we just stared at each other, and yeah, I was flipping out. I mean, the one guy at a ranch you work
really
hard to make sure doesn't find out you're gay is the fucking boss. So I just stood there and tried not to piss myself. Then it occurred to me that there was only one reason he would be there, same as me.

He touched the tip of his hat, nodding at the stool beside him. “Buy you a drink?”

I sat down, still dazed, and it took the bartender asking me twice before I could stutter out that I would like a beer, please. He gave me a draw, and I clung to the glass once it was in front of me, staring at it so I didn't have to look at Loving. Loving, who was queer.

“So,” Loving said at last.

“Yeah,” I agreed, and took a deep drink of my beer.

We sat in heavily awkward silence for a few minutes.

“Usually busier in here.” Loving took a sip of his beer, drinking Michelob straight from the bottle. “Hell of a drive for a drink.”

I gave a sort of nervous laugh and took off my hat to rub at my hair, which was getting sweaty. “Three hours is a hell of a trip.” I bit off “for a fuck” at the last second.

“Well, there is Craigslist,” he said, but he didn't have to finish that thought. I was right there with him.

“Yeah, I tried that. Once.”

We drank the rest of our beers in silence. When Loving offered me a second, I insisted it was my turn, and I bought his next Michelob. We sat there hunched over our stools and drank that round without saying a word.

People had started coming in, but hooking up was not on my radar just then. I saw a few guys who caught my eye, just my type, but I didn't know what Loving would make of my favorite kind of fuck. I'm not exactly leather, but I never say no if I got somebody from that scene looking my way.

To be honest I kind of like the guys who make it clear they are there for your ass and that's it. When I was fourteen and seriously wanting to be fucked, I used to pray to God to send me aliens to fuck me and then leave. Anal probe: bring it on. Just don't park your boots by my bed. Fuck and go. Sometimes on weekends like this I liked to get an extended engagement, but usually it was best to play it by ear. Once I got lucky and hooked up with a guy who kept me all weekend at his house, and I swear we said about twenty words to each other the whole time.

But I worried what Loving would think of how my preferences ran, and he might find them out because sometimes the game began in the bar. I have a fondness for getting felt up in a booth, trying to look like I'm not. I'm also not averse to ignoring those signs on the bathroom door and bending over the toilet, bracing my hands on the wall while I get it from behind. Obviously I wasn't going to do that when my boss could walk in to drain the hose at any time.

I wanted to be somebody's slut for the night, to stop standing straight and impressing everybody. Instead I felt like I had driven three hours to feel like I was still at work.

“I wish,” Loving said after a half hour of more silence, “that you could just go up to them and say what you wanted. Better yet, we should have little cards to hand each other, listing position preference and pet peeves. Goddamn, but I hate driving all this way only to find out I'm taking home a cross between a parrot and a squealing piglet.”

That made me snort my beer. Loving passed me a napkin, deadpan, but there was a light in his eye that eased me.

“I have had guys come up and tell me what they want,” I volunteered. Actually, I found it very hot when they did.

Loving grunted. “When you're forty-two, that doesn't work as well. I have a hard enough time picking out the ones that won't call me Grandpa when they brush me off.”

Ouch. “What are you after? Maybe I can help you weed through.”

It was, I realized, a fucking weird thing to say, and I tried to retreat into my beer. But if he thought it was weird, he didn't let on. In fact, after leaning back on the bar and contemplating for another few minutes, he even answered me.

“Age isn't so much of an issue, but the space between Tired Old Horse and Flighty Young Colt does seem to work out best.” He sipped at his beer. “I really don't care much for talking. I don't want to know their history outside of whether or not we need to double the condom, and I don't want to give mine beyond the same.” Another sip. “And tonight, they need to be somebody willing to take a rough ride.” He glanced at me, looking rueful. “See any of those out there?”

My glass shook a little as I lifted it to my lips.
Yeah. You're sitting next to him
. I took a long drink, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and said, “Nope.”

“I see plenty I think have my same agenda too. Even if any of my type show up, I don't stand a chance.” Loving sighed. “What about you, Davis? What's on your menu?”

Oh, fuck. I tried desperately to think of something to say, but nothing would land in my head. I drained my beer and hoped he would get distracted and give up.

No dice.

“Shy boy, are you?” he teased.

I think I might have blushed. “Around my boss, I am,” I said, adding a silent prayer that this conversation would end now.

But now I'd pushed his button. “Here now,” he said, and when I glanced at him, I could see he was pissed. “You think I'm going to hold this against you? That I'll fire you to keep you quiet or something?”

Well, yeah, it had crossed my mind, but I could hardly say that. I turned back to the bar, motioning to the bartender. “I don't really know what to think,” I said at last.

“I'll tell you what you're gonna think,” Loving shot back. “You're gonna think that I'm not some dickhead who will fire you to protect my secrets. Which I don't really have. I just don't advertise.” He tipped his hat back, and when the bartender brought me my beer, Loving had his money before I could reach for my wallet. He slammed the bills on the counter. “I am not your fucking boss tonight.”

I took hold of the glass and anchored myself against it before I said, “But you will be on Monday.”

He grunted and smiled wryly. “Tell me what the fuck you're after, Davis. I told you my list. Let's hear yours.”

I didn't have enough focused brain cells left to make up a lie, so I gave him the truth. All of it. “Well, there is one guy here that meets your bill. But he doesn't go to bed with the boss.”

I kept my eyes on my beer, but I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He was still for a second. But he turned away, ordering himself another drink as well. It wasn't until I was half through mine that I realized he had switched to soda.

“Tory says you're from Iowa.”

I nodded. “Algona. It's a very small town in the northwest-central area.”

“I'm from Kansas City originally,” Loving offered. “Married and moved to Omaha.”

“Heard some of the hands say you were a professor.”

“Mathematics. But shortly after my divorce, they ‘cut my position.'” He grimaced. “Once I came out, it turns out they didn't need as many math professors. So I cashed in my savings and bought Nowhere.”

I didn't know what to say to that, so I kept quiet. Besides, this was an awful lot of chatting for two guys who had just said they didn't want any.

Of course, it was that or sit there and think about how we could be fucking each other.

I cleared my throat. “It's a nice spread.”

Loving shrugged. “We had a rough go when we got started, but it's coming along. Thanks again for picking up on the rabies so fast.”

“That's why you hired me,” I said.

We ran out of conversation again after that, but I still didn't get up, and even when a few guys were cruising me, I kept my head down. I don't know why. No matter what Loving said, it was weird to do a pick-up around him. Especially when I'd just admitted that if circumstances were different, he could have picked me up.

There was an easiness about him that I really liked. We'd sat saying next to nothing all night long, and yeah, it was awkward, but now that he'd established I wasn't going to get fired, I was starting to relax. I still wanted to get fucked, but this wasn't bad either. I told myself I'd go find a fuck buddy as soon as Loving got up to get his. In the meantime, I just kept drinking, knowing I'd had too much, but Loving kept putting them in front of me.

Eventually I had to piss, though, so I excused myself and headed back to the john. I figured by the time I got back, somebody else would have my seat, so I tipped my hat to Loving as I left and gave him a little smile too. I made a mental note of prospects on the way to the toilet, trying not to be disappointed in my options. I took my piss and came out ready to go on the hunt.

But the first guy I saw was Loving. He'd left the bar and now sat in a booth in the back with two drinks in front of him. When he saw me, he motioned me over.

“They're starting music in a few minutes,” he said. “We can see better from here.”

I didn't want to sit and watch musicians. I wanted to find somebody to fuck me. But I couldn't say that, so I just nodded, took up my beer, and headed for the other side of the booth.

He shook his head. “No. You won't be able to see from there.” Scooting down, he motioned to the space beside him. “Sit here.”

As soon as the music started, his knee kept bumping mine, and then after a few minutes his arm was behind me on the back of the booth. It made me nervous, so I leaned forward to keep away from accidental touches. Except when I felt his hand on my lower back, I knew it wasn't accidental.

When I felt his fingers brush against the patch of skin above my underwear, I jumped. But when his other hand reached out and took hold of my thigh, I went still.

“This is nothing to do with your job,” he said into my ear. “If you aren't interested because of me, say so now. But if your only objection is that I'm your boss—” He stopped, then sighed. “Well, I'm going to make you say it a few more times, and I'm going to try and convince you otherwise.” His hand kneaded my thigh. “Think of it as a trial run. If we both like how it works out, we could save ourselves a lot of gas mileage.”

My head was spinning. I reached out to hold on to the table. “I don't know.”

“If I weren't your boss,” Loving dogged, “would I be barking up the right tree?”

His fingers were burning my skin, and I thought my jeans were on fire under his hand. “Yes,” I confessed, and I closed my eyes as his one hand kneaded and the other flirted with the elastic of my waistband.

“Good.” I felt his fingertips against the patch of skin just above my crack. “This bother you, being groped in public, or does it turn you on?”

“Second one.” I held on a little tighter to the table as his hands dipped lower and slid higher in erotic symphony.

“I was serious about wanting it rough. You all right with the occasional swat on your backside?”

Jesus
. “That's fine.”

He was stroking me openly now. Normally I wear a belt with my pants because they tend to slide down my ass, but I don't when I'm cruising because of hopes someone will do exactly what Loving was doing, which was sliding his whole hand over the globe of my ass. His other hand was kneading my cock through my jeans. “Anything specific you'd like, or that you want me to avoid?”

I bit my lip as his pinky finger slid a little into my crack. He had me half onto his lap, but I was still a little stiff in places other than my crotch. I wanted this, but it was freaking me out too. I had never, ever fucked anyone I knew before, let alone someone who employed me. I knew I should force the issue, should tell him no. But it was like I was paralyzed.