Wild Raspberries (2 page)

He’d nearly shot him in the back. A kid, hungry, lost, and Tyler’d come so close to ending him that the sweat was still wet in the small of his back. Tyler set his rifle down, propping it against a waist-high rock, lodged so that it couldn’t slip, and picked up the pail. His hand shook, a fine tremor that he felt more than saw. Shit. Not now. It’d been months —

He focused on the undeniable fact that he
hadn’t
shot the runaway and tried to fool himself that he hadn’t fallen so low as to shoot someone in the back, when he knew damn well if it was the safest way to do it, he’d take it. When you were planning to kill someone, giving them a warning wasn’t much of a kindness anyway.

No; the kid was alive because his hands had been visible, reaching out for the berries, and he’d stayed nice and still. A sudden move, hands dipping down… Tyler would have shot without thought, and that wasn’t helping his hands to stop shaking one little bit.

He began to walk to the half-stripped raspberry canes and then hesitated. He’d heard something. A faint cry and a thud. He placed the pail down noiselessly, not allowing the metal handle to strike the bucket, and retrieved his rifle. This was turning out to be one hell of a Wednesday morning.

The boy lay crumpled in the middle of the path, what Tyler could see of his face pale under some streaks of dirt and smears of red. Even knowing it was raspberry juice didn’t stop his mind stubbornly insisting it was blood for a moment or two.

There was no one in sight or reach of his hearing, and the birds weren’t crying out a warning, so the boy had most likely just fallen. Nothing to trip him, nothing but — fairly — soft earth to hit…

I was awful hungry.

Tyler cursed himself dispassionately and fluently before conceding defeat. Looked like he was going to have company for an hour or two; he couldn’t just leave the boy lying here. He’d feed the kid, maybe even slip him some money, and give him a ride into town… He didn’t consider himself a benevolent man, but he had a few errands he could run in Carlyle, and no matter how hungry the boy was, Tyler had enough food to fill the boy’s belly without leaving himself hungry.

He stared at the rifle. He didn’t want to leave it behind, but if the kid didn’t wake soon, Tyler would need to carry him, and he wasn’t hauling the kid’s ass along a quarter-mile of trail with a rifle in his hand. The way his luck was going, he’d fall and shoot his fool head off.

He settled for hiding it, unloaded, in the branches of a young white fir, some twenty feet off the trail, and left a stone on the path to mark the place.

Then he got the kid over his shoulders in a firefighter’s lift, with a grunt of effort and a twinge from his back that promised pain the following day, and began to walk home.

He thought that the boy woke up, at least partway, because the limp, relaxed body jerked once, but after a few steps his burden became dead weight again. The kid wasn’t light, for all that his head only came up to Tyler’s shoulder; fed right, the skinny frame would fill out nicely.

Tyler felt the boy’s body heat soak into him along with what felt like a pint of sweat. One of them didn’t smell too clean, either, and he didn’t think it was him; he wanted to strip the boy down and scrub him raw, but that wasn’t such a good idea.

He won’t get far, if he’s dirty. People won’t look past the filth and the stink.

“Fine, I’ll let him take a bath,” he muttered to himself, a habit he’d acquired in the early days of living out here.

He needs a backpack, and a change of clothes, so he doesn’t look like a vagrant.

He told himself to shut the fuck up and wrapped his hand tighter around a thin wrist. He thought he felt the boy’s pulse beat against his fingers, but it wasn’t likely. Just his own blood pounding from exertion — he’d really let himself go, damn it; gardening, wood chopping, and the occasional run weren’t training, not by a long way — and the remnants of the adrenaline rush from discovering his territory had been invaded.

***

By the time the boy woke, Tyler had gone through his jacket as thoroughly as he could without ripping the lining open, and discovered an ID battered enough to look real and a new passport that matched it when it came to the details. If the ID had been fake, it would most probably have shown him as being over twenty-one, whereas this ID gave Mr. Daniel Seaton a birthday of July ninth, making him a very recent twenty, as it was only July twenty-third.

Twenty. Huh. Daniel had looked younger than that when he’d turned to face Tyler, startled eyes wide, but fear could do that to a man; it could strip away the cockiness and the masks, and under those, most people were still close to childhood, wanting their mommies to protect them from the scary monsters.

Tyler didn’t know what his face looked like when he was scared, but he was willing to bet he looked older. That came from being one of the monsters.

Daniel woke slowly from the nap that followed his fainting spell. Tyler had slept rough, and it was something that took time to get used to; from the looks of him, Daniel had spent the night cold and shivering, sleep fitful and fleeting. Given a couch to lie on and a light quilt to snuggle into, he’d blinked up at Tyler, his blue eyes unfocused, and fallen into a profound sleep for a few hours.

A few hours that had been long enough for Tyler to retrieve his rifle — a small risk, leaving Daniel alone, but worth it — and to find out pretty damn near everything there was to know about young Daniel. His computer skills were as rusty as his muscles apparently were, but a simple track and hack hadn’t given him any problems.

Tyler still didn’t know why Daniel had run away from the potato farm he’d grown up on, but there were no warrants out for him and no one looking to haul his ass back there. Well, at twenty, they couldn’t, not really. Mother, deceased a long time ago; father, Peter, still farming, with a small amount of savings and no debts. A couple of bad crops would wipe him out, but that had always been the case for farmers.

He sat there, one finger tapping idly against the mouse, considering reasons a man would leave a family farm he’d inherit in time, when a noise from the other room told him Daniel was awake. By the time Daniel sat up, Tyler was by his side, taking advantage of his height and build to look, well, maybe not menacing, but formidable. There’d been a time when looking formidable was easy, but at thirty-four he was losing his edge.

Or maybe not. Daniel was looking up at him through tousled strands of dark, straight hair with something close to terror in his eyes.

“Easy, boy.” Tyler dragged a stool over and sat on that, which put them more or less at eye level with some space between them so Daniel didn’t feel crowded. “You passed out on the trail, and I brought you back here before the grass grew over you and the rabbits started nibbling your toes.” Was that reassuringly folksy enough?

“I did what?” Daniel rubbed at his eyes and then pushed his hair back and swung his legs around, planting his feet on the floor. “Where are my boots?”

Tyler had taken them with him when he went to retrieve his rifle; Daniel’s size nine feet would’ve swum in any of his shoes, and it was as good a way of keeping him in the cabin as any. “Over by the door. I don’t mind you using the couch, but I’m damned if you’re putting your boots on it.”

That seemed to work better as a reassurance than sympathy; a hint of a grin quirked Daniel’s lips upward and he relaxed. “The floor would’ve done; it’s softer than where I spent last night.”

The couch was an old one, deep and soft, the springs sagging and the nap worn off the green velvet in a few places. Tyler liked it because it fit his long body easily and was wide enough to sleep on when he’d read himself into a drowsiness he didn’t want to spoil by moving. A night spent on it with the crackle of the woodstove for company was sometimes easier on his nerves than one in the comfort of his quiet bedroom.

He wasn’t used to conversation; when he made a trip into town, he got by with a nod or a murmured “thanks” or two. He’d never been much of a talker even before he moved out here. He supposed Daniel expected him to comment, but for the life of him, he wasn’t sure what to say, so he settled for a noncommittal grunt.

“Fainted…” Daniel shook his head, a tinge of color staining his cheeks. He met Tyler’s eyes defiantly. “I’m not — I’ve never done that before.”

“A man tries to run his truck on fumes, it’ll stall and die on him. Bodies are about the same.”

“I thought you’d shot me,” Daniel said. It didn’t sound like a joke.

“Hell, no.” Tyler felt not hurt but insulted, which, given how close he’d come to doing just that, was stupid. “You were tired, half-starved, and I’d just scared the shit out of you; that’s what brought you down, boy, not a bullet.”

“Well, I know that now,” Daniel said patiently, like a man talking to a foolish child. “It just felt that sudden; I was walking and then it all went dark.” He grimaced. “Could you stop calling me ‘boy’?”

“Tell me your name, and I’ll consider it.”

“Dan.” That was said without hesitation, but there was a noticeable pause before Dan continued. “Daniel Parker, if you want it all.”

“I don’t know about all, but the truth would be nice.” Tyler smiled sourly as the wariness flooded back into Dan’s face. “Look,
boy
; tell me as little as you choose to, but don’t lie. I can smell them.” He sniffed. “I can smell more than that, too, but a bath can wait until you’ve put some food in your belly, I suppose.”

“I don’t smell!” Dan ducked his head and snuffled in the general area of his armpit. “Oh.”

“It probably crept up on you,” Tyler said kindly.

“What did?”

“The smell. Or the skunk.”

He expected Dan to carry on arguing, but instead the boy laughed, a low, mischievous chuckle. “That’s funny, but no, it’s just plain dirt and sweat, I guess.” His smile faded. “I’m not a beggar, though, mister. I’ll work for whatever food you can spare.”

“The name’s Tyler Edwards,” Tyler said, which was true in this state, at least, and he had the papers to prove it. “And I can spare enough to send you on your way feeling full, don’t worry.”

Dan’s lower lip, full and lush — in contrast with the rest of his face, all sharp bones and hollows — was shoved out in a stubborn thrust. “Sure.
After
I’ve done some chores.”

“Fine.” It wasn’t worth fussing over, and there were a few jobs he had lined up where an extra pair of hands would be welcome. “But we eat first.”

The pout became a yearning look. “God, yes, please.”

Dan wasn’t sure why Tyler was helping him out after coming close to blowing his head off, but he wasn’t complaining. Sometimes, when Tyler moved close to him, getting out plates and glasses, he flinched, remembering hands grabbing at him with an impersonal roughness, but Tyler never laid a finger on him. Dan tried to trust his gut, which was telling him he was, well, not safe, maybe, but not in the deep shit he’d been on the highway.

Tyler made him wash his hands at the kitchen sink and then sat him down at a table by the open kitchen window, with a tall glass of milk to start him off. The screen kept out the bugs but let in the pine-scented, warm air from the woods.

“Don’t rush to fill your belly,” Tyler advised. “You’ll throw up. Drink that and then start small. You can always eat more later.”

Starting small was a slice of homemade brown bread, sliced thin and spread with peanut butter, followed by a banana, the peel covered in brown splotches but the flesh pale and sweet.

“How’s that?” Tyler asked around a sandwich stuffed full with just about everything a man could put between bread, apart from meat. Daniel had seen butter spread thickly, lettuce, tomato, cucumber, cheese, and then a sliced hardboiled egg before his own food had claimed his attention. Tyler drank water, which made Dan wonder guiltily if he’d taken all the milk.

“It’s good.” Dan licked the tip of his finger and captured some errant crumbs. “Can I — is it okay if I have some more? I feel fine, honest.”

Tyler studied him and then shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Some soup, maybe?”

“Soup?” Dan considered that option dubiously. Now he’d had something to eat, his body, which had settled into an apathetic acceptance of hunger, had become demanding. A burger and fries would have just hit the spot, salty and greasy, smothered in ketchup…

“Homemade,” Tyler said gravely, which even this soon in their acquaintance, Dan realized meant he was amused. “Very nutritious and easy to digest.”

“Sure,” Dan said with a sigh, his manners kicking in belatedly. “That sounds great; thanks.”

It was tomato soup, but he had to ask to find that out. He was used to the orangey-red of canned tomato soup; this was closer to brown, but one mouthful and he was converted. It was rich and tasty, and the warmth of it spread through him. He ate two bowls, with more of the bread, and at some point the kitchen walls stopped wavering and became solid.

“You’re some cook.”

Tyler shrugged. “I grow my own vegetables; seems a shame not to use them. Besides, soup’s not difficult. And I don’t have much else to do.”

Caution, not courtesy, kept Dan’s questions unspoken. Tyler didn’t seem like the kind of man who’d appreciate being quizzed by a stranger. He put out his hand, as he’d done in the clearing. “Thank you, Mr. Edwards. And — and it’s Seaton, not Parker, and I swear that’s the truth.”

“Tyler will do.” His hand was shaken again, though Tyler looked a little bemused by his action. “Seaton? Okay, then.”

Daniel suppressed a burp and then stood, eager to repay the kindness he’d been shown. “Want me to wash these?” Without waiting for an answer, he began to stack the plates as he’d been taught.

“They can wait.”

“I don’t mind.” He reached for Tyler’s plate and had his hand batted away. “Hey!”

Tyler grinned, slow and tight, which looked good on him. Daniel shoved that thought down way deep and buried it. Stupid, stupid… “If I feed you, I get to say how you pay for it.”

Oh. Disappointment flooded him, despite the tug of attraction he’d felt. So it was going to be like that with Tyler, too? Well, of course it was. The man lived out here alone, and there were no signs that he had a girlfriend; the cabin felt as if it had one owner and everything in it, the little Dan had seen, seemed to fit Tyler’s style somehow. He didn’t know how old Tyler was — no more than forty, if that, despite the gray in his hair — and Dan didn’t make the mistake of thinking older people didn’t care about sex; he knew they did.

He stepped back and tied to keep his voice level. “You use a condom, or I won’t let you fuck me, and you even try and tie me up, and I’m out of here, and you can just —”

Tyler’s chair scraped back and the man was in his face again, gray eyes startled and angry. “Boy, what in God’s name makes you think I want that from you?”

Dan held his ground. “They all do.” He felt his face twist. “The last one told me my mouth was made for sucking cock,” he blurted out defiantly.

Tyler pursed his lips. “Not from where I’m standing. Seems to me like it’s made for mouthing off. So that’s how you’ve been buying rides, is it?”

He nodded, reluctant to admit it, but there didn’t seem much point in pretending now. While he waited for Tyler to stop chewing that over and say something, he let his gaze drift to the exterior door in the kitchen, fastened by a surprisingly hefty lock, before he remembered that his boots were by the other door. Shit.

“What I had in mind was you climbing up on the roof and handing me nails while I hammer down some loose shingles,” Tyler said eventually. “I could do it by myself, but it’s sensible to have someone around in case I do something foolish like falling off. And there’s more than raspberries to pick, if you want to stay around long enough to help with that, but you don’t have to.”

Dan felt his face flush with mortification. “I’m not in any hurry,” he muttered.

“Good.” Tyler stepped in close and paused. Dan kept still, though his heart was hammering painfully hard, and found that he couldn’t look higher than Tyler’s throat and the vee of skin exposed by his shirt. “They’re good rules, boy, when you’re messing around with strangers. You stick to them. But you might want to reconsider this walkabout of yours, because not everyone plays nice.” A finger tapped under Dan’s chin and forced his head back, giving him no choice but to meet Tyler’s gaze. “Including me.”

“I wouldn’t mind with you,” Dan said. Hell, Tyler had said he wanted honest, hadn’t he? “So if you change your price…”

Tyler grinned and patted his face. “Nope. I guess five minutes on your knees seems better than an hour on a hot roof getting splinters, but tough luck, because that’s where I want you.”

He walked out of the kitchen, through the open archway connecting it to the main room, and returned a moment later with Dan’s boots. He dropped them at Dan’s feet, the bump-bump of them landing sounding loud in the quiet soaking the cabin. “Put them on and let’s get to work if you’re set on it. If you need it, the bathroom’s the first door on the left, through there.”

Daniel craned his neck and saw two doors leading off the main room. “What’s the other one?”

“Work it out. And when you have, stay out.”

Oh. Had to be Tyler’s bedroom. Okay, he wasn’t winning any prizes for being smart today, now was he?

He watched the flex of Tyler’s ass as the man headed for the door, an automatic appraisal, and then glanced away quickly when Tyler turned his head and gave him a look more puzzled than knowing, as if he’d felt Dan’s look like a touch.

***

It wasn’t just plain, ordinary hot on the roof; it was baking hot, inside of an oven hot, with the heat from the shingles burning through Dan’s jeans and making him shift position every minute or so. Tyler wielded the hammer with a casual dexterity, and the roof was in good repair for the most part, so Dan clung to the comforting thought that it wouldn’t take long before he was back down on the ground. Maybe, if Tyler didn’t mind, he could use the bathroom for more than taking a leak. A cool shower sounded like a slice of heaven, the way everything he had on was clinging to him damply.

He looked down at the ground. It wasn’t like it was far away, given the fact that the cabin was only one story high, but it still didn’t mean he wanted to fall off.

“Nail,” Tyler said, and held out his hand.

Dan had one waiting and he passed it over, then watched Tyler position it just right and pound it home, the silver-gray of the nail sinking deep into the weathered wood.

He shifted again, this time to ease the heat inside his jeans, as his cock twitched, curious and eager, and hoped that Tyler’s attention stayed on the task at hand. With one hunger satisfied, another had taken its place. If you didn’t count the times he’d been made to do it — and he’d never come, not once, so he didn’t — then the last time he’d had sex was nearly a month ago, and that didn’t count either, when you considered how it’d ended.

A month. Fuck, that was an eternity. And jerking off was better than nothing, but he’d been too tired and chilly to feel the urge most nights. Summer nights were warm, mostly, but when you were hungry it seemed like you carried the cold inside you.

It was pitiful how ready he was to roll over and beg for a scrap of kindness, but he’d never considered the loneliness of being on the road as being one of the hazards he’d face. He knew better now. Mile after mile of road, dusty and drab, stretching out to a hazy horizon, with nothing and no one to share it with — and when there was someone, they never seemed interested in anything but what they could take.

He didn’t think every truck driver was a horny son of a bitch, but the good ones, the ones who might have been inclined to spot him a coffee and a meal with nothing in return but his promise to pay it forward, well, those never pulled over. Being good didn’t mean you were stupid, and these days, people were wary about picking up hitchhikers.

He’d been lucky with his first ride, but the man had been older than God and only interested in getting home to his wife — and they lived just five miles from where he’d pulled over to let Dan get in. But five miles was a long way on foot, and he’d jumped out feeling grateful and optimistic and had given the man his best thank you kindly, sir.

And that had been it; all his good luck used up.

“
Nail
,” Tyler said, the terse snap making it clear it wasn’t the first time he’d asked.

“Sorry.”

Tyler took the nail and spared him a glance. “It’s okay. Just don’t fall asleep, okay? Not up here.”

“I wasn’t. I was just thinking, that’s all.”

“Yeah, a job like this is boring enough that your mind starts to stray.” Tyler straightened and wiped his hand across his forehead, where the sweat was beading. “I think that’ll hold now.”

“Are we done?” He couldn’t keep the eagerness from his voice.

Tyler shook his head. “There was one more place, over by the chimney, but you can go on down, if you want. I can handle it.”

“I can handle it, too.”

“Sure you can, boy.” Tyler studied the hammer he held as if he’d never seen it before. It was good quality, Dan noted, and looked, not new, no, but not as old as most of the tools his father had owned. “So, what’s in Canada that’s got you so eager to go there?”

“Nothing, really. It’s just not here.”

“Lots of places aren’t.” Tyler transferred his gaze to Dan’s face. “By ‘here’ I take it you mean where you’re from, not this particular spot right here on this roof?”

“I mean anywhere that a person has to follow rules and ideas that might as well be from the fucking Dark Ages,” Dan said, the angry words feeling good to say.

“Rules…” Tyler hummed thoughtfully. “What kind of rules are we talking about?”

Dan picked at a hole in his jeans and didn’t answer. Tyler’s hand, warm and strong, covered his long enough to make him stop enlarging the hole and then moved away. It felt good to be touched, even when it was casual and quick. He’d been starting to think that he didn’t exist to most people the way they looked through him, hardly troubling to erase him from their world because he was so small a part of it, so insignificant.

“When you only own what you’re standing up in, you need to take care of it.” Tyler grinned. “That’s not a rule,” he added. “Just common sense.”

“I didn’t start out without a change of clothes,” Dan told him. He didn’t want Tyler to think he was an idiot. “I got — I lost it. My stuff, I mean.”

“Mm-hmm.” There was a wealth of understanding in the quiet murmur. “It’s not easy without it, I bet, but there’re worse things to lose than your spare socks. You did the right thing leaving it behind and running.”

Busted. Why didn’t he just tell the man his life story? Angry with himself, Dan said sharply, “You think you know all the fucking answers, don’t you?”

Tyler didn’t get mad at him, which considering where they were, was just as well. “I can work them out from what you’ve given me. That’s your doing, not mine. You say a lot more than you need to.”

He couldn’t really argue with that. “Comes of talking mostly to squirrels for the last month.” Daniel gestured at Tyler, easing back on the hostility because it was just too much effort. “Give me another human and I get excited.”

He could’ve sworn Tyler’s gaze dipped to below his belt, but there was nothing to see; he was back to being too fucking tired to care about anything, and the sun was making his head swim.

“Remind me not to let you near a raccoon,” Tyler murmured.

Daniel chuckled, the last of his annoyance gone. “I saw one, but he didn’t stick around to chat. Too busy running off with what was left of my apple.” He’d just set it down for a moment, too, only three bites gone out of it. He’d been making the apple last, chewing each small bite to pulp before swallowing it, the juice trickling down his parched throat. It’d been a Granny Smith, tart and green, and if he’d gotten to keep it, he’d have eaten it, core and all, until nothing was left but the thin spike of stalk.

Tyler sighed and stretched his arms up high, a lazy, muscle-easing stretch that made his shirt pull tight across his chest. The man was seriously built, without looking all pumped up. Just strong and tall, and shit, if Tyler glanced down now, he’d get an eyeful. If he did, Dan didn’t spot it; Tyler just rolled his shoulders and then set off toward the chimney. Dan scowled down — his dick had gotten him in so much trouble recently, he was contemplating celibacy — and crawled across the roof a safe distance behind Tyler, which meant he got to admire the man’s ass again, as well. He was revising his estimate of Tyler’s age down to mid-thirties. Still too old for him, of course.

They completed the repair by the chimney in a silence that was peaceful, not strained. Tyler seemed to have asked all the questions he wanted to, and Dan had decided that keeping quiet was the safest option around someone as quick on the uptake as Tyler.