The Stolen Suitor (10 page)

Apparently, Chris got the message.

“Okay, so you won’t let me read it,” Chris said, punctuated with an eye roll and a sigh. “You’re ridiculous. Can I ask, why horror? Why do you like to write it?”

“Because I can’t write chick lit?”

Chris gave him a warning look.

Jeremy resisted the nearly overwhelming urge to let his bangs fall forward to hide his face.
Gary Prince, come on.
He straightened his spine and took a deep breath to collect himself. He had nothing to be ashamed of. Other than, possibly, sucking. “I like to read horror. I guess because, no matter how bad life is, you’re way better off than the characters in the book.”

Chris laughed. “I can see that.”

“And it’s nice to be scared of what isn’t real for a while, instead of what is.” That hit a little too close to home, and Jeremy bit his lip, wishing he could take it back.

“What do you have to be afraid of?” Chris asked, like he really wanted to know.

Being nobody. Never going anywhere or accomplishing anything. Ending up like my dad. That I have no talent. That no one will ever see me for real. That I’ll die a virgin or, conversely, end up being really, really bad at sex.

“Spiders,” Jeremy said. “And brooms. I have a terror of brooms. They call it whiskophobia.”

Chris laughed, but his shook his head like he was giving up trying to get a straight answer. “What about mops?” he teased.

“No problem there. It’s the straw part on brooms that I hate. I think I saw a scarecrow movie as a kid that scarred me for life.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Do you want to go fishing sometime?” Jeremy asked, using what he hoped was a sexy tone. Admittedly, the transition wasn’t great, but he’d been thinking about fishing with Chris all week, and he really wanted to change the subject.

Chris opened his mouth to answer, but shut it again. He swallowed, and his eyes wandered over to Joshua, who was walking alongside the older lady as she rode slowly around the corral. “I’m too busy during the week.”

Jeremy felt heartsick. And stupid. He shouldn’t have just—

“If I fish, it has to be on Sunday mornings,” Chris went on. “Fairly early. I fish near the bridge on Sumptown Road.”

Jeremy pondered this information. Should he ask if Chris wanted to go
this
Sunday? Arrange to meet him there? But Chris hadn’t asked if Jeremy wanted to go. Then again, if he didn’t want Jeremy along, why say where he was going to be?

Before Jeremy could parse through this potential minefield, Joshua called their names.

“Chris! Jeremy! You’re up!”

“Oh, good! Riding!” Jeremy enthused, sliding off the fence.

“Can’t wait!” Chris said.

The aroma of bullshit hung thick in the air. They looked at each other and laughed.

JANIE
yawned hugely as Trix tucked her into bed.

“Wow, I can practically see your tonsils there, girl!”

Janie giggled.

“You had a big day today, huh?”

Saturday was always a busy day, and because the weather was fine, every single one of her boarders had shown up to ride their horses today. Eric had a riding lesson that morning, but he’d worked in the afternoon, and Janie had “helped.” She’d taken a shine to Eric, and she could be found in the stable more often than not lately. Fortunately, he was patient with her.

“Bug, you need to let Eric do his work. He has lots of important things to do for the horses, you know.”

“But I’m a good ’sistant! Eric said so.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I showed him that trick on Annabelle, the one where I lay down flat on my back? He said it was ‘flashy’ and that he was gonna try it hisself.”

“Well, remember now…. Daddy showed you how to do that trick safely. You gotta keep the reins in both hands, and you don’t do it outside the ring. Right?”

Janie looked thoughtful. “Can Eric be my daddy?”

The words were shocking. Trix laughed nervously. “Janie, your daddy is your daddy, and always will be, even though he’s in heaven.”

Janie pursed her lips. “Then can Eric be my friend?”

Trix wasn’t sure that was a great idea. Eric didn’t seem to mind having Janie around, and Trix trusted him as far as that went. But he probably wouldn’t be at Big Basin for long. It wouldn’t do for Janie to get attached. “I’m glad you like Eric, Bug, but just remember, he’s only workin’ here for a little while.”

“He’s nice. He’s just like Grumpty Bear.”

Grumpty Bear was the hero of one of Janie’s favorite books. He was grumpy because none of the other animals ever invited him to parties. And none of them invited him to parties because he was grumpy. It was Mr. Squirrel who finally figured this out and invited Grumpty Bear to a party. After which he became happy, though he was still named Grumpty Bear, which Trix didn’t really get. It was probably a marketing thing.

But Eric Crassen was
not
Grumpty Bear, Trix thought. He was more like Slutty Bear. She couldn’t exactly explain that to Janie.

“Will you read Grumpty Bear to me right now?” Janie wheedled. She stuck her bottom teeth out in a silly grin.

“Um-hmm. If that’s your pick. Then right to sleep, okay?”

Janie yawned hugely again and nodded.

Trix took the book from Janie’s shelf and settle down to read. She thought she’d handled the conversation well, but trickles of sadness ran down inside her as she read.

Can Eric be my daddy
?

Poor Janie. Maybe when they settled down with Chris, and with time, her little girl would not feel such a gaping hole in her life.

Maybe even, someday, Trix wouldn’t either.

CHRIS
was at the river by 7:00 a.m. the very next day, Sunday morning. He wanted Jeremy to show up and he didn’t. Chris was going to see his fiancée and her little girl this afternoon, for God’s sake. But he felt like he was being pulled inexorably down a different path, and he couldn’t get his feet under him to resist.

Something drew him to Jeremy. Hard.

It was purely sexual. It had to be. Chris hadn’t slept with a man since his “fuck you” fling at a gay nightclub after Seb dumped him. He’d been so disgusted with himself that night, so depressed by the entire gay scene.

Sebastian had pushed several times for an open relationship. And when Chris didn’t agree, he’d simply snuck around behind Chris’s back. “Gay men weren’t meant to be monogamous,” Seb said. Monogamy was small-minded. Chris had “ridiculous heteronormative expectations.”

After thinking about it, Chris realized Seb was right, he
did
have heteronormative expectations. And he didn’t want to change. Maybe it was growing up in Clyde’s Corner, but he wanted that. He wanted the white picket fence. He wanted a partner to share his life with—the good, the bad, and the ugly, through thick and thin, the whole nine yards. That’s why he wanted to settle down with Trix.

This attraction to Jeremy was only sexual desperation. Chris hadn’t been having sex with Trix or with anyone else, so it was perfectly normal. Maybe he should give in, sow this one last wild oat before he got married.

After all, Trix wasn’t his fiancée yet. He hadn’t given her a ring, and they hadn’t said the word “marriage,” not exactly. They hadn’t even said the word “exclusive.” Trix kept saying she wasn’t ready.

I want to be there for you and Janie. Permanently.

I want that too
.

Did Trix think they were engaged? Because there was no way in hell he could break her heart, not after John. Not even if he had to break his own instead.

He decided, in the time-honored tradition of men everywhere, not to think about it. He was going to fish and relax and enjoy the beautiful morning. And if Jeremy showed up, well, it wasn’t like Chris had invited him.

The sun was still low on the horizon, and the air had the wisps of fog and dew of a Montana summer morning. He’d parked at the turnout by the bridge on Sumptown Road and grabbed his gear from the back of his Jeep. He made his way down the steep incline to the river, then walked along the riverbank until he rounded a curve and the road and bridge were out of sight.

With the road no longer visible, you could swear you were a thousand miles from civilization. There was no sound but the rush of the water, no view but the river, huge, dark pine trees, pale morning sky, and towering mountains in the distance.

Yeah, he needed this. And he wasn’t waiting for Jeremy. In fact, Chris figured some time away from everything might clear his head.

With a stomach more knotted up than it had any right to be on such a pleasant Sunday morning, Chris went through the ritual of preparing his line and tying on a fly.

He went in to his thighs, wearing rubber waders, and cast his line. Within ten minutes, the beauty and calm of the water had eased his stomach and his mind. An hour passed, in which he mostly succeeded in not thinking about anything at all.

Then, about eight o’clock, Jeremy showed up. He didn’t say anything as he set an old tackle case on the stony riverbank, opened it, sat on the rocks in cut-off shorts and an old white T-shirt, and began to work on his line.

Chris didn’t say anything either. He reeled in his line and recast it. The water rushing by his legs suddenly felt warm through the waders. Either his skin had gone numb or his body temperature was going haywire.

He snuck glances at Jeremy. He looked tall but boyish sitting on the riverbank in his cut-offs and Converse, his long hair tucked behind his ears, picking up red highlights in the sun. The picture was entirely too appealing, like some weird hybrid between a Norman Rockwell painting, perhaps entitled
Preparing the Hook
, and the opening of a gay porno.

But Jeremy wasn’t just a cute twink, Chris reminded himself. He was a twenty-year-old who, from all appearances, was pretty damn intelligent, a guy who dreamed of leaving Clyde’s Corner and going to college.

If he’s leaving, that’s even better. You could have this last fling with him, and it would be good for both of you. Maybe get Jeremy a little more out of his shell, teach him some confidence before he moves to the city. Then he’ll be gone and you’ll settle down with Trix.

It was selfish logic, and terribly flawed, and it did have a nice ring to it.

Jeremy pulled on ancient-looking waders and joined Chris in the river, coming in far enough upstream that their lines wouldn’t collide. He cast his line with easy grace, the fly landing with hardly a plop in the middle of the river.

“You’re good at that,” Chris said, smiling.

“Better than I am at horses.” Jeremy used what Chris thought of as his sultry voice, and added a little wink.

Chris waded a little deeper into the river. He needed the cold water.

They fished for long minutes. It was nice, and Chris decided he liked the company. Fishing alone was great, but fishing with Jeremy nearby, in comfortable silence, was better.

Jeremy caught a trout, but it was on the small side. He released it back into the water. After a while, he spoke. “Are you planning to marry Trix Stubben?”

The question was so direct and so out of the blue, it took Chris off guard. “Who told you that?”

Jeremy shrugged and moved his line a bit to the right. “Everyone knows you’re dating her.”

Chris cringed inwardly, a reaction he loathed. He didn’t want to talk about Trix with Jeremy. He had a hard time connecting the two of them in his mind in any way. But that was stupid. Clyde’s Corner was a small town. Of course Jeremy knew. Chris wasn’t going to lie, and he wasn’t going to be a jerk and play games. “Yeah. I came home for John’s funeral, and I’ve been spending time with Trix and Janie. At this point we are dating, yes.”

“Are you engaged?” Jeremy turned his shoulders so he was facing Chris, his line strung out behind him in the water.

“No.”

“But you’ll probably marry her?” Jeremy’s words were insistent but betrayed no emotion one way or the other.

Chris swallowed. “I’ve been thinking about it, yes.”

A shadow came over Jeremy’s face, as if a dark cloud had moved over the sun. He turned around, giving Chris his back. He reeled in and recast his line.

Chris was left with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, as if he’d just said or done something terrible, something irrevocable. But that was absurd. Even if Jeremy liked him—
he definitely likes you
—why should he worry about Chris eventually marrying Trix when Jeremy planned to leave town anyway? “I’m not married or engaged—yet. Trix is still mourning John.” Chris thought he managed a reasonable tone, not apologetic, just matter-of-fact.

Jeremy reeled in and recast his line, a champion cast this time, going long and perpendicular to the river for a crazy long time before it fell gracefully to the surface with a little
plop
.

Chris wished he didn’t notice how fit and strong Jeremy’s shoulders were, or with what grace his filament danced and snapped through the air. He was a better fly fisherman than Chris was. Funny, he’d never have imagined Jeremy fly-fishing. But then, Jeremy was nothing like he expected.

Chris eased his way closer. The river was plenty wide enough to accommodate both of their lines, even with them standing side by side. He cast toward the opposite bank, keeping tension on his line so it didn’t float downstream and get tangled with Jeremy’s.

Jeremy glanced over his shoulder at Chris, his brow furrowed. But he turned so his right shoulder, rather than his back, was facing Chris.

Progress.

“I’m curious,” Jeremy said after a bit, his tone neutral. “
Why
do you want to marry Trix?”

The implication was clear:
when you’re gay
. It was on the tip of Chris’s tongue to deny, say he was bisexual. But he stopped himself. He was tired of pushing Jeremy away, if he was honest with himself. It was exhausting. And maybe if he leveled with Jeremy, Jeremy would understand and they could still be friends. Friends with benefits?

“I want a family eventually,” Chris said. “And a home.”