The Last Chance Ranch (10 page)

"What did you do?” Temper had heard the attack referred to, but had few details to flesh out the story.

Father Percy lifted his chin and sniffed. “I waded in and punched one of those hooligans right in the nose."

"Father!"

"I know, not very Christian of me. I did penance for it, though God help me I'd do the same again. The point, son, is that I finally figured out that if I only opened my heart to those that followed all of God's rules, I would die a lonely man. Even worse, I'd be failing in my mission to bring the word to others. So while I can't and don't approve of a man lying with another man, I can call Ben and Obie and the others my friends, and pray that they find their own path to God. Do you understand?"

"I do, Father. My mama always said that love is a blessing from heaven, and only a fool and a sinner would turn it away. I reckon them fellas are lucky to have each other, when there's so many ain't got no one."

Percy gave him a searching look and nodded. “Your mother sounds like a wise woman."

"Yassir."

"But I've gone off the track, haven't I? You didn't come here to hear about my spiritual journey. Is there something I can help you with?"

Temper told him all he knew and all he thought he knew. “My gut tells me that this fella did somethin’ awful to him way back when he was just a boy. But I got no proof, and Larry ain't talkin'."

"And no one else has noticed?"

"I don't think so. Snow, maybe. He always keeps a sharp eye on Arcady, but that might be just because he's a lazy bastard. ‘Scuse me, Father."

Percy smiled briefly but didn't comment on his language. “I take it you're feelin’ the urge to help this young man?"

"Yassir, but I don't exactly know if he'd welcome it. I just don't feel right about standing around doin’ nothin’ while a man suffers."

"Hmm. Let me give you something else to consider. Are you sure that Larry needs your help? You think he's scared, but might there be some other reason he hasn't confronted this other fellow?"

Temper hadn't thought about that and said so. Percy nodded, deep in thought.

"We often come to trouble when we try and parse out what others are thinking and feeling. Even this Arcady. He might have done something awful in his past. Many of us have. It doesn't mean he's prepared to do it again. Men do change, Temper, especially over so much time."

More confused and uncertain now than ever, Temper gave a little sigh of frustration. Percy patted his leg apologetically.

"Son, here's an idea. Why don't you talk to Larry? I know he don't talk back, but from what I've seen, he does pretty well making himself understood. Just letting him know he's got a friend in you might be enough to help him through."

Temper could have smacked himself in the head. “Lord, why didn't I think of that? The man's mute, not deaf."

Percy chuckled and rose, a crackle sounding from one complaining knee. “Good luck, son.” He held out his hand and Temper shook it. “I'm here when you're ready to talk about the rest of it."

Temper frowned, but the preacher was already moving away. Temper thanked him and left the church, his mind replaying the conversation. It was a simple solution that had eluded him no matter how hard he prayed on it, and he gave a quick, silent prayer of thanks for his newfound clarity of mind. He wanted to know how he could help Larry, so he would ask him.

It was two days before Temper found himself alone with the object of his concerns. Even with all that time, he still struggled to find the right words. “Say there, Larry,” he said awkwardly, clearing his throat and shuffling his boots in the dirt. He immediately cursed himself for acting like a nervous virgin.

Larry, who was taking his turn mucking stalls, stood back from his work and leaned on the pitchfork. His bare, hairy chest was sheened in perspiration, with bits of hay sticking to the damp skin. He pushed back a lock of sweaty hair from his face and gave Temper an expectant look.

"Um.” Damn it all. This was a lot harder than the preacher had made it sound. “Been wantin’ to ask you, that is to say, I've been wonderin’ about... aw, hell.” Larry covered the distance between them and laid a hand on Temper's arm, peering up under the brim of his hat and giving an amused grin. Temper felt an answering grin touch his own face, and he took a deep breath and started again. “I don't like that fella Arcady. I don't like the way he looks at you, like he wants somethin'. I don't know what happened between you all them years ago, and it ain't my business anyhow. I just want you to know you can count on me if you need a hand."

Larry had the most expressive face Temper had ever encountered, and everything from annoyance to embarrassment flashed across it.

Suddenly feeling foolish, Temper dropped his gaze to his boots. “Ain't sayin’ you need help dealing with your own affairs. ‘Course, you probably got lots of other fellas you could ask if you did.” A warm hand on his cheek made him look up, and there was Larry, a sweet smile on his face that wouldn't have been out of place on one of the angels in the holy book. For that one moment, Temper could feel the heat from his skin, smell the sweat and musk rising from the younger man like a spirit in rapture, feel his own sex stir and thicken, and he had to fight the urge to lean in and breathe deep of his scent. Unbidden, he recalled the dream he'd been trying so hard not to think about and couldn't help but imagine what it would be like, pushing into that body.

He came back to his senses when Larry leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. Temper felt dazed. Larry was so close that Temper could see tiny flecks of gold in his brown eyes. And then Larry gave him a smile and a pat on his arm and turned away. Temper watched him pick up his fork and go back to work, wondering if he was really the only one who'd had his world upended, just like that. How had it come to this? Temper had never had a lustful thought for another man, not in his whole adventure-filled life, and now suddenly, he wanted Larry so badly he felt he'd die if he couldn't have him.

He went back to his own work, rubbing down tack with the strong-scented oil they kept in the barn for that purpose. Lord, he was confused. The only thing he felt sure about was whether or not Larry wanted his help. Father Percy was right. The man knew how to make himself understood. And the answer he'd given had been clear:
no help needed, but it's kind of you to ask.

As for the rest? Temper knew he had a lot of praying to do. And he had a feeling that Father Percy would be expecting him.

Three days later, Temper was pulled from his daily chores by his boss. Holding a sheaf of papers, Ben drew him away from the barn, and they walked a short way up the path to the north pasture. Temper noted that he had discarded his crutch and was barely limping now. “How's the leg coming along?"

"Gettin’ there, Temper, gettin’ there. Now, I've been thinkin’ long and hard about what to do with that overgrown plot up there, and I've finally made up my mind.” He consulted his papers, the tip of his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. Temper leaned over and tried to sneak a peek. Ben grinned and rolled the bundle up, tapping it in the palm of his hand. “Not yet,” he admonished. “I want you to start clearing that brush and cutting down those trees. Once the horses are fed and watered, that's your priority, got it? Put together a crew. Use whoever you need to have it done by the end of the summer."

Temper's eyebrows shot up. It was a damn big job, and not a lot of time to do it in.

"I know,” Ben said, squinting in the direction of the plot in question. “It's askin’ a lot. But now I've got a plan, I'm of a mind to get it finished before winter."

"Yassir,” Temper acknowledged. He was fair itching with curiosity, but the one thing he had come to know about his boss was that the man could keep his lips tight until he was damn good and ready to talk.

A shout sounded from the barn, a single word that had them both running at top speed.

Fire!

Snow was closer and dashed into the barn before they got there. A faint wisp of smoke slipped out the top of the door and hung there in the air.

Temper veered off, heading straight for the well. He pumped a full bucket in seconds, his muscles driven by near panic, then hefted it and ran.

At first glance, things inside the barn looked bad, but a few seconds of peering through the haze of smoke revealed only a small fire smoldering in a hay bale. Temper made short work of it, waving a hand to try and clear the air. Frowning, he leaned over and plucked something out of the sodden hay. He held the limp cigarette up, suddenly aware of all the eyes that were fixed on him. Snow had Arcady by the collar, pinned up against a stall, and he was fair vibrating with anger. “He was sleepin', right there on that bale. Damn your hide, didn't I tell you what I'd do if I caught you smokin’ in here?” Snow gave him a little shake. Arcady stammered out a denial, but it fell on deaf ears.

"You're through here,” Ben said in that infuriating calm tone of his. “Get your gear. I'll draw your wages. Temper, Snow, get these animals out of here. Put ‘em in the training corral ‘til the smoke clears out."

Snow all but threw Arcady out the door as Temper hurried to follow orders. He wasn't looking forward to dealing with Ben's stallion, but he didn't have to. Ben put a bridle on the Bastard and led him out himself, swinging onto his bare back and trotting up to the main house.

When Temper brought out Obie's little chestnut mare, Arcady was standing toe to toe with Snow, his face red and every muscle in his neck standing rigid. The foreman stood still and quiet while the disgraced hand cursed at him, but a dark, ugly storm was moving in over Snow's face.
Oh Lord
, Temper thought, hustling the mare into the corral. If the men actually came to blows, he wanted to have his hands free.

"—and I'm tellin’ ya, it ain't mine! You told me no smokin’ in the barn, so I don't!"

Snow unclenched his jaw enough to grind out a response. “Whose was it, then? You're the only one workin’ down here."

Arcady cut his eyes toward Temper. “You! You set me up, didn't you?” He turned back to Snow, jabbing a finger in Temper's direction. “He's hated me right from the start. I bet he took a smoke out of my footlocker and left it in the barn!"

"What the hell, boy?” Temper was shocked enough to take a step forward, fists clenched, but Snow waved him back.

"Save that horseshit,” the foreman barked. “Hell, I don't even care if you set the fire. You're a lazy son of a bitch, and I was fixin’ to fire you anyhow. Now go in there and get your horse and tack. I want you off this ranch as soon as Ben gets back with your pay, which you wouldn't be gettin’ if I had a say.” Arcady snarled and spun on his heel, disappearing into the barn. Temper moved to follow, intending to keep bringing out the horses, but Snow held him back. “Wait."

A minute later Arcady stormed back out, his saddle under one arm, leading his bay with the other. He wrapped the reins around the corral rail, threw the saddle on the animal's back and tightened the cinch with a jerk. He then turned and stalked to the bunkhouse, passing close enough by Temper to shove him with his shoulder. Again Temper made a fist and stepped forward, and again Snow shut him down with a look. He pointed instead to the barn, and Temper grit his teeth and went in to fetch another horse.

When he came out, Ben had ridden back down and turned the Bastard loose in the training corral. Running a practiced eye over Arcady's mount, he checked the tack and loosened the cinch. The animal shifted and sighed. “That's better, ain't it,” Ben murmured, giving the pale flank a pat.

Arcady slammed out of the bunkhouse with his pack and saddlebags, brushing past Ben to throw them up over the horse's neck. Ben handed over the fancy pistol he'd confiscated months ago and held out a small bundle of bills, but didn't let go when Arcady moved to take it. “Don't go takin’ out your piss-poor attitude on that horse,” he warned.

Jerking the money free, Arcady glared at Ben, his teeth bared in a snarl. Temper found himself thinking back to their first day at the ranch, and the hungry, inviting look Arcady had given his new boss. There was no lust in the cowboy's eyes now, only smoldering rage.

"You go to hell, old man. You and all the damn perverts on this ranch.” He swung into the saddle and rode away without another word.

Ben watched him go, his face showing nothing but mild annoyance. “Damn it all. Obie was right about him. I'm never gonna hear the end of it. Snow, send word to Sam and Gus, in case he goes to them lookin’ for work.” He tipped his hat back and scratched his head, then frowned at Temper. “I know you're not standing here gawkin’ while my horses are in that smoky damn barn.” Temper all but sprinted into the barn, Ben's voice following him in. “I already fired one fella today—it ain't the time to go slackin’ off!"

The following Saturday night, James Arcady was sitting at the corner table in the saloon, playing cards with his fellow mill workers and one ex-militia captain. Snow made the observation that it sure was handy to have all the folks who hated them all together in one little place.

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Summer fairly flew by. Temper spent all his work time clearing out the overgrown lot, cutting trees and uprooting scrub brush and stumps. All the hands took turns helping, but more often than not it was Larry who showed up after the horses were fed, grinning and shucking his shirt. Eventually it became Larry's permanent job, which suited Temper just fine.

He'd always been a man who enjoyed peace and quiet, and with Larry, there was sure no shortage of that. The work was hard and hot. They took frequent breaks, escaping the sun in a little lean-to, sprawled side by side sipping lukewarm water. For Temper, those moments were both heaven and hell. Laying there, feeling the heat coming off Larry's lean body, scenting the sweat that trickled down his skin, hearing his little panting breaths....

And the dreams. Good Lord, the dreams he was having put that first one to shame. It was damned inconvenient when you slept in a bunkhouse with a dozen other men. Some nights he'd wake with a start, his member big and aching, with fleeting wisps of dream still floating in his brain, flashes of humid bare skin, of touching and groaning and kissing, and damn if that wasn't the best part, the part that sometimes got him out of his bed and out into the cool night to finish himself behind the barn. And always, always, it was Larry, the soft of his lips and the rough of his beard, that he imagined kissing when he finished.