Epilogue
Three Weeks Later
“….birthday, dear Howie! Happy Birthday to you!”
The raucous singing from the at-capacity crowd at the Saddle Up Saloon rang in Iggy’s ears, along with the thunderous applause that followed.
He and Laurel had cooked up the surprise party a few nights ago, when Iggy realized that his uncle’s sixtieth birthday was coming up, and neither one had been willing to let it pass without celebration.
Especially not after Howie’s health scare.
Iggy had ordered a special cake for Uncle Howie from a friend of Melissa’s who was trying to get into the cake decorating business, and then bought two huge sheet cakes from the Walmart to feed everyone else.
With a little help from Malcolm and Jake, they’d sneaked the cakes inside the saloon about thirty minutes ago.
The caller for tonight’s line dancing had begun the singing, and Uncle Howie, seated in his electric scooter near the stage to watch the dancers, had gone red as a maraschino cherry.
The singing was as far as Iggy had planned to embarrass his uncle, who was only back working evenings this week.
Iggy had allowed him to work in the office, managing the books during the day but home by five o’clock, period, so he could rest and get good sleep at night.
Uncle Howie had grumbled and groaned about being coddled, but he’d stuck to Iggy’s new rules.
Uncle Howie was also extremely fond of the older lady who did his in-home physical therapy, and it was nice to see the man getting his flirt back on. He had a lot of years left to live, and they didn’t have to be lived alone.
One of the servers began slicing the big cakes over at the far end of the bar, while Iggy carved up the small cake for the family.
Family which included Melissa and her four kids—line dancing night brought in all ages—plus Jake, and a few other guys from the ranch.
Iggy had agonized for something meaningful to put on the cake, and in the end, he’d asked the cake maker to recreate something to do with the saloon.
She had delivered Thor the mechanical bull wearing a re-creation of the grand prize saddle, made from rice crispy treats and fondant. Iggy had adored it. The bull could even be frozen as a souvenir. And she’d made a carrot cake with cream cheese frosting, the birthday boy’s favorite.
“You’re a sneaky little bastard, ain’t ya?” Uncle Howie said to Iggy. He tried to look stern but could barely hold back a smile.
“Sure am.” Iggy put the first slice of cake down in front of Howie. “I’m just glad I’m home to celebrate this year. Really, truly glad.”
“So am I, son.”
It warmed Iggy deep inside every time Uncle Howie called him son. He also loved the few occasions where Howie had let son slip out with Malcolm, too. Uncle Howie fully accepted their relationship, always had, even though he occasionally grumped about how often Malcolm spent the night.
At least they were quiet about things when Howie was home.
But Iggy and Malcolm would need to start thinking about getting their own place together soon, so they had more privacy.
And Iggy didn’t want to cramp his uncle’s style when (yes when, not if) Uncle Howie started dating again.
Iggy had returned to Chance to get his uncle back on his feet, and he was a guest in the trailer, not a permanent resident.
The caller was taking a break, so a lot of guests were milling around with pieces of birthday cake.
Iggy finished divvying up the carrot cake, saving the last slice for Uncle Howie to take home for himself, and then went behind the bar to give Laurel and Paddy a hand on drink orders.
Iggy wasn’t on the schedule tonight, but he always pitched in when needed, and when line dancers took a break, they needed to quench their thirst.
When the dancing started up again, Iggy slipped back into the crowd, scanning the moving bodies for Malcolm.
Not with Uncle Howie, and he didn’t see him on the dance floor, where Melissa was wrangling the two youngest kids with Clive’s help.
The pair had spent quite a lot of time together tonight, and they seemed incredibly friendly.
Two years a widow, Melissa was putting herself out there more, too, from what Malcolm told him, and from what Iggy observed.
Iggy wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about Clive.
He and Malcolm had once discussed Clive’s possible involvement in the drugging/kidnapping prank, but neither of them had wanted to face the inevitable questions if Clive was, in fact, unconnected to the event.
So they’d decided to leave it in the past where it belonged.
Clive was a little obtuse and overly opinionated on certain things, but he made Melissa smile, and that was good enough for Iggy.
Everyone was taking positive steps forward.
Iggy wandered to the dining area of the saloon, half a mind to text Malcolm and see where he’d gone.
Then he spotted his boyfriend over by the mechanical bull arena.
A small crowd of gawkers had gathered to watch some teens ride the bull for fun, not for the challenge.
A slender boy with blond hair was trying his best to roll with the swaying, gyrating beast, and he managed to stay on for the entire time it took Iggy to cross the dining room.
Then the kid fell off and bounced on the soft mats below. His friends cheered and laughed.
Malcolm didn’t notice Iggy’s approach. Iggy slid up behind him, leaned forward and said, “Token for your thoughts, cowboy?”
“So, we’ve upgraded from pennies now?” Malcolm turned and pulled Iggy toward him, so they stood close together, groins nearly touching. “You got a token for me?”
“Actually.” Iggy dug into his jeans pocket and produced the token he’d bought a few weeks ago, on that fateful Sunday morning. He held it between two fingers. “This has to be worth at least five pennies, now that they’re no longer being minted.”
He snorted then plucked the token from Iggy’s fingers. “So, my thoughts are worth a nickel now?”
“Depends on the thoughts. You got back up on a horse last month. You thinking of getting back on the bull now, too?”
“Depends.” Malcolm snagged one of Iggy’s belt loops with his free hand. “You wanna get back on the bull, too?”
Iggy flashed him a saucy smile. “I thought I already did? Almost every day for the last three weeks?”
“Okay, not that bull.” He pulled Iggy closer with one hand, the token still between two fingers. “How do you feel about a ride on old Thor over there? Low speed. Just for fun.”
“I’m not sure the bartenders are supposed to ride the bull in front of customers.”
“You’re not on the clock. Besides, it might drum up business. One of these days someone is going to beat the bull challenge and win that saddle.”
Iggy slid his hand up Malcolm’s arm and wrapped his own fingers around the token. Held it between them. “I’d rather buy you a saddle exactly like it than risk you throwing out your back riding that thing. You’d make a bad handyman in a neck brace.”
“I’d also be pretty hard to ride in a neck brace.”
Heat rose in Iggy’s cheeks, and he glanced around them.
No one was eavesdropping, the crowd distracted by the dancers, or the conversation between the last bull rider and his friends, probably goading each other into whose turn it was next.
All around them, people were finishing up their dinners, dancing, ordering drinks, and generally having a good time.
Life was…pretty damned good.
Iggy leaned in so he could speak into Malcolm’s ear, affecting the best seductive whisper he could in the noisy room. “I’ll ride you any way I can get you. Neck brace, leg brace, sitting up, flat on your back. As long as it’s you and me, Monte.”
“Promise?”
“Always.”
Malcolm brushed his lips over Iggy’s, a gentle kiss that promised so much more later. In private. “Good. So, about that bull ride?”
With a saucy smirk, Iggy plucked the token from Malcolm’s fingers, turned toward the bull pen, and took a step forward.
Toward their future.
The End