Chapter 3
Austin
Shit, shit, shit. I mouthed the word as I walked down the lane away from the ranch. Cursing helped keep my back straight and my feet moving. I thought I felt eyes on me, but I wouldn’t look back.
I hadn’t expected to be hired on permanently, not in November, but I guess I couldn’t help hoping. Even for just a few days’ labor, something to put money in my pocket and get me farther on my way.
Come back in March was a pretty solid no thanks, though.
So now what?
I could hike back to Selbyville, maybe. Except I’d been there, done that. No one wanted an eighteen-year-old with no real skills and nowhere to stay. No car, no phone— I couldn’t even do pizza delivery. What did people do when they had nothing?
Some of them stood on street corners with a sign.
“Homeless. Every little bit helps.” Maybe with a religious “God Bless You,” even though studies showed atheists were more generous to strangers.
I’d given those folks money a time or two, but I couldn’t imagine begging myself.
I’d rather starve. Or at least I thought so with a little food still in my belly.
I guess if I was really starving, I’d lose my scruples.
I might find out soon enough.
There were no available street corners around, anyway. The Star & Bar’s lane opened out onto the paved road, but no traffic passed me as I trudged along the shoulder. The ranch might be the only property around here.
Selbyville had a main drag, but I flinched even harder at the thought of begging somewhere Seth might see me.
Something about Seth made him loom large in my head.
Not his actual size. He only topped me by two or three inches, and while he was muscular, he wasn’t wide.
Not our contrast in age, either. I mean, yeah, he was probably in his early thirties, his curly blond hair making him seem younger, the lines beside his eyes arguing for older, but Mr. Bowen was bigger and beefy and pushing sixty.
And yet, it was still Seth’s approval I’d wanted most.
So not Selbyville.
Maybe I could hitch. Catch a ride to somewhere farther away, figure out a plan there, with a cardboard sign the last resort and sucking dick as maybe second-last. Hitchhiking wasn’t quite begging.
More like paying it forward. I’d picked up a couple of hikers myself— schoolmates of mine— though Dad would’ve killed me if he knew I let a near-stranger in his car.
I almost missed the turnoff to my truck, the way I was sunk in futile planning.
Tilly’s colors camouflaged her in the woods, but I remembered at the last minute and followed the rutted track back into the trees.
Reaching the truck brought both comfort and despair.
I unlocked her door and swung into the seat, setting aside my smaller pack.
Pulling the door shut locked out the wind, but not the chill.
I wrapped my sleeping bag around me and closed my eyes.
I could simply sit, not move. Except I wasn’t ready to pee myself and starve to death.
I could hike back to the ranch and throw myself on their mercy.
I hated the idea of looking weak like that in front of Seth with the fire of a thousand suns. So what else?
The highway was nine miles off, from the sign I’d passed at the base of the ranch drive. I could manage that in a couple of hours, since there was no snow on the ground. I’d find a place to hitch. Anywhere had to be better than here, decaying in my truck.
Decision made.
Time to pack what I could carry and go.
Minutes passed.
I hated leaving the truck, not just for practical reasons, but because Joe gave her to me. She was both refuge and concrete proof there were good people in the world. Maybe I could beg some gas at the ranch… but that brought me back to begging from Seth again.
No. I sat up and rolled my sleeping bag as best I could, tying it to the bottom of my bigger pack.
I’d have to leave some of my gear and my saddle.
I thought about lugging the saddle back to the Star & Bar, trying to sell it.
Thought about Seth buying it just to be kind, or Mr. Bowen firmly telling me thanks but no thanks.
Then I’d have to lug it back here again…
My head spun from lack of sleep and lack of food.
I needed to move before I wasn’t able to.
I made sure my pack was secure, opened Tilly’s door, and slid out.
Cold wind hit me again, but I was dressed for it.
I had my good parka, warm gloves, layers on.
I’d be fine. I’d put on my knit hat and I tried to cram my Stetson over it, but the pressure was too tight.
Reluctantly, I left the Stetson on the seat for the sake of my ears.
I wasn’t a cowboy anymore, anyhow.
Locking the doors seemed silly, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave the keys in her.
I stuck them in my pocket and patted Tilly’s hood.
“You did the best you could, old girl. Got me a long way, got me out safe. Sorry I’m leaving you here to rust.” I choked back a thick laugh.
“Well, rust more, right, baby?” Her fenders had holes you could poke a finger through.
I patted her again. “Maybe you’ll shelter a rabbit or a family of racoons.
Honorable retirement, right?” The hollow thump was no kind of answer.
I trudged away, the pack on my back at least cutting the wind. At the road, I forced myself to pick up my pace despite the uphill grade. Most of the morning was gone, used up in my trip to the ranch. I needed to hit the highway in the daylight. No one picked up hitchhikers at night.
Buying good boots had been one of the smartest things I did back home. My feet were warm enough, and I wasn’t going to get blisters. I strode along, trying to whistle my favorite songs, pausing once in a while to admire a vista that came into view.
A couple of miles on, I reached an intersection marked by signs. To the left, higher into the hills, the distance to Selbyville was apparently eleven miles. To the right, Tolberg was fifteen. Straight ahead, County Road 7 was two miles, and seven to the highway.
Onward.
The first few cars began passing me, mostly older SUVs and pickups. I stuck my thumb out each time, walking backwards and smiling to look harmless, but no one even slowed. Still, I wouldn’t let six nos get me down. I could be patient.
Once the road merged with County 7, I saw more trucks. One bastard hit the air horn as he passed, like he was trying to blast me off the shoulder. Well, fuck him. I gave him the finger in his rearview mirror and kept going.
Then an older panel van slowed as it passed me, pulled over, and stopped. I jogged toward the truck, hoping the driver wasn’t just fucking with me.
When I reached the driver’s window, the middle-aged man at the wheel powered the glass down and looked out at me. “How old are you, boy?”
“Eighteen,” I told him. He was probably smart not wanting to pick up an underage kid. “Can show you my license if you like.”
“Nah. You look older close up.” He gestured to the other side of the cab. “Go on, climb in.”
I hesitated a moment, eyeing his heavy face and thick brows, wondering if this was a mistake, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Unslinging my pack, I hustled around the front of the truck, opened the door, and climbed in. “Thanks. I mean it.” I set the pack in the footwell at my feet.
The driver didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get moving. “What’s your name?”
“Joe,” I lied. As long as he didn’t actually look at my license, he’d never know the difference, and using Joe’s name made me feel braver.
“Joe. Okay. Where’re you headin’?”
“I’d love to make it to San Francisco, but I’m good with wherever you’re going.”
“Lucky you. I’m headed to Oakland. You’ll be in spitting distance.
” He looked me over, and I was glad I’d put on my better jeans for the ranch interview, so I didn’t look quite as desperate.
But he sneered anyhow. “Spitting. Heh. Well, come on.” He flipped up the arm of his seat and turned, putting his back to the door, then waved at his crotch. “Get to it.”
“What?” I swallowed against my suddenly dry mouth.
“Pay for the ride. You know how this works.” He grinned. “Suck my dick, boy.”
Suck my dick. I’d known back when I ran out of gas that this moment might come. I’d told myself it was better than begging. Sex work was honest work, even if the law didn’t say so. My body, my choice. Still, I sat frozen.
“You’ve done this before, right? You’re not some kind of scared virgin?”
“No!” I cleared my throat. “Just figuring out how. It’s tight quarters.”
He pointed a thick finger at the foot well. “Get on your knees in there. You’re skinny. You’ll fit. You wouldn’t be the first.”
“Oh. Uh.” Now I was thinking STDs and wondering if I could bail out.
“Get to it, or I’ll throw your little-boy ass out on the road and you can freeze to death.
” He reached out a heavy hand and grabbed the front of my jacket.
“Let me tell you some facts, little boy. Hitchin’s illegal.
My brother-in-law’s a state trooper and all I gotta do is make a call, tell him I saw some lowlife tryin’ to flag down a pretty girl.
He’ll slam your ass in jail before you can breathe, and lemme tell ya.
” He let go of my jacket and thumbed my lower lip hard.
“Those cons are gonna love having you in their cell. Now suck.”
“You’ll still take me to Oakland?” I asked, lifting my pack to the seat against the door to make room.
He grunted, palming his fly.
I can’t. I won’t. Except I was out of better ideas, and I was kidding myself if I thought this wasn’t the work I’d be doing when I got to San Francisco. At least the van was warmer than a back alley. I eased down to my knees.
He nodded. “Yeah, sure, all the way to Oakland. Might stop in Vacaville and tap that cute ass you got, though. Bet I have my second wind by then.” He grinned and took hold of the parka over my shoulder, pushing his fist against my neck. “Squeeze down, boy.”
“One blow job, and you take me to Oakland.” I tried to meet his eyes. “My ass isn’t for sale.”
“My truck, my rules. You want a ride? You pay to play.” He unzipped with the other hand. His cotton-covered dick bulged between the rows of teeth.
Bile hit the back of my throat. I can’t. Not like this. “Forget it.” I tried to rise from my cramped position. “No deal.”
“You don’t make the deals.” He grabbed the back of my head and forced me downward.
“Fuck you!” My dad had been bad for me in so many ways, but he’d taught me to fight. I slammed my forehead right into his crotch. Bad angle, but he yelped and let go.
I flung myself back and up. Not far enough. He got hold of my coat-hem and yanked. “Gonna be sorry you did that.”
I punched him right in the eye, then a second one to his throat. Hit the soft bits.
He shrieked, falling back enough for me to wrench free and open the door, my pack tumbling out behind me. His grab missed me as I scrambled out.
“Assault! Gonna call the cops!” he bellowed as I dropped to hands and knees on the gravel shoulder, connecting with the strap of my pack by blind luck. “Gonna rape your ass in jail.”
I turned and ran the way I’d come, pack in hand, glancing over my shoulder as the rev of his engine warned me he was backing up.
Aiming my way. I threw myself into the ditch, and he screeched to a halt.
For a second, I wondered if he’d come after me on foot.
I was pretty sure I could outrun him. Mostly sure.
As he sat idling, a couple of cars passed, slowing way down to eye the van on the shoulder. A moment later, the passenger door slammed shut and he peeled away, spraying gravel. I crouched in the ditch, hands on my knees, breathing hard.
Fuck.
If he called the cops, I’d be screwed. No money, no address, hitching?
My dad used to pick up guys like that. Sometimes he’d throw them in jail, get them charged a fine they couldn’t pay.
I didn’t know what happened after that. Sometimes, if he was in a different mood, he’d drive them to the edge of town and shove them out.
He’d boast about it, rubbing his knuckles in a way that made me wonder what he did before he left them.
California cops might not be like Dad, but they might. The driver might press assault charges, and I was pretty sure I’d marked his face. Or if they ran my ID, there might be some Colorado charge in there, some fabricated thing Dad dreamed up to haul me back. I couldn’t risk the cops.
So no hitching.
No escape.
An SUV and a couple more pickups went past as I crouched there, my breaths slowing, the cold seeping down my neck.
For a second, as a semi approached, I imagined bolting for the road.
Standing there facing death as the huge truck bore down on me.
I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth as the wind of its passing buffeted me.
I wasn’t that bad off yet. Dad hadn’t raised no quitter— I cut that thought off.
Joe. Joe had taught me to stand on my two feet when a horse was bucking at the end of a lead line and be cool, be calm, not put someone else at risk.
I might die, but I’d never force a truck driver to kill me. God, that’d be awful.
A flash of red and blue lights down the road made me dive deeper into the ditch. I lay flat, holding still, as the patrol car passed, siren wailing. Probably nothing to do with me. That van driver wouldn’t want his cop brother-in-law to find out he asked a gay man to suck his dick. But…
I needed to get away from the road. I still had Tilly within walking distance.
The ranch was still back there. I wasn’t starving yet, and I could work.
Maybe I could do some work for the Star & Bar for free, make them realize I wasn’t a waste of space.
Maybe I could be useful enough to be worth gas money, although when I thought of heading to San Francisco, my stomach lurched.
Pushing to my feet, I slung the pack over my shoulder and took up a fast jog.
The next quarter mile of road had no cover except the ditch, but after that the trees returned.
I could make my way back out of sight alongside the county road.
Once safely back inside Tilly, I’d plot my next move. I wasn’t defeated yet.