Chapter 5
Austin
Tangled thoughts whirled in my head as I sprinted for the barn door.
I hadn’t eaten much for days, hadn’t slept well because it was fucking cold even huddled under a blanket beside a horse.
Somehow, in my head, Seth got mixed up with my father, with that last night I’d spent at home.
The heavy thud of his feet behind me was pain and anger, a brandished weapon, waiting to land on my head.
I’d almost reached the door when he tackled me. We hit the floor hard with me underneath, the breath knocked out of me. Despite my pained gasps, I tried to fight, swinging wildly.
Seth grabbed my wrists. “Stop! Quit it!” He pinned me to the ground.
My chest heaved futilely as I struggled for air and fought to get free.
Seth barked, “Austin, stop!”
The sound of my name got through. I wasn’t Frankie anymore. This wasn’t my father. I slumped, letting myself go limp until my lungs quit spasming.
Seth bent over me, his narrowed eyes boring into mine in the faint glow of a fallen flashlight, holding my arms pinned over my head. “You’re not going out there in the snow.”
The fuck I’m not. I managed to wheeze, “You’re not my boss. You’re not my father.”
“Thank God for that!”
For an instant, something hot and heavy passed between us, lightning in a thunderstorm. Seth yanked his hands from my wrists like my skin burned him, and scuttled away, pushing to his feet.
He put his back to the door. “I’m not the kind of guy who can let even a stranger run off and die, and you’re not a stranger.”
What am I? I couldn’t argue with the rest. I was tired and lost, down to spinning stories in my head as I huddled against the cold, hour after hour. It’d be so easy to let go. I sat up, feeling achy and weak, and rubbed my eyes. “What, then?”
“What was your plan before you ended up here?”
“San Francisco.” Since I didn’t much care anymore, I added, “Somewhere I could be gay and not worry about a chair cracked over the back of my head.”
I saw his throat ripple as he swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut for a second, and wondered if I should be afraid, but he said, “Wouldn’t that be most places, these days?”
Not my house. A flash of Dad coming after me, swinging that chair with his beefy arms, made me sway, but I shoved the memory down. “Frisco just sounded nice.”
“The locals don’t call it Frisco.” Seth ran a hand over his head, further mussing his curly blond hair. From the look of him, down to the pillow crease on his tanned cheek, I’d somehow roused him out of his bed.
If this was a porno, he’d invite me back into that bed. I wouldn’t say no this time. Sadly, real life didn’t include hot queer cowboys. Other than Joe, who’d sent me on my way.
“Do you have plans when you get to the coast?” Seth asked.
“Not really. Sleep in the truck. I wouldn’t freeze my ass off there. Try to find work.” With an impulse to shock him, I said, “On my knees, if necessary.” An instant later, I regretted it because who wants to hire a cowboy interested in sex work?
He just nodded kind of slow. “Face like yours, they’d pay. Crappy work, though, and dangerous.”
I shivered, although his casual reply made me wonder things I shouldn’t. I said, “Probably not more dangerous than ranching.”
I expected a bored nod. We all knew those numbers. Instead, Seth went pale and turned away, staring down the aisle at the stalls, his hands curled into fists. “No. Maybe not.”
What was that? I couldn’t help wondering why he looked shaken, but it wasn’t my place to ask. I said, “I should’ve taken a friend up on a possible lead to work in Denver, but I needed to get out of the state.”
“Colorado? Why? I thought it was a nice place.”
“Yeah, but my dad’s a sheriff’s deputy there, and law enforcement all cover for each other. If he wanted me back, odds are he’d have me.”
“Ah.” Maybe Seth could tell I didn’t want to talk about Dad, because he said, “I could give you gas to get you to San Francisco.”
“I hate handouts.” For years, Dad told me it was up to me to earn every bite of food on my plate, every new item of clothing, be obedient, do my chores.
The only times he praised me were when I did extra work for a neighbor and brought home a little cash and gave it to him.
He used to say it showed he raised me right.
He’d refused to let me live in the bunkhouse last summer, even though I’d graduated, and Mr. Ford wouldn’t go against Dad while I was still seventeen. Dad didn’t want me out of his control, I guess. I’d run at last, but I had a hard time shaking off his words.
“Maybe you could work here a day or two,” Seth suggested.
“Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. The boss is flying out for a week to visit his grandkids, and a couple of the hands headed out yesterday to San Francisco to see their family.
It’ll be just me, Colby and Davis for the long weekend.
We can manage, but an extra hand wouldn’t be a bad thing. ”
“Thanksgiving.” I’d almost forgotten, even though some years my birthday came right on the holiday. “Yeah, I can do that, absolutely. Whatever you need.” My hands shook, and I tucked them against the concrete under my thighs to hide the trembling.
“I’ll clear it with the boss in the morning.” Seth reached down to me. “Come on. You can sleep on my couch for the rest of the night.”
“I’m fine—”
“Until Bingo rolls over and crushes you. I don’t want to come across that first thing in the morning…” He’d started out joking, but he sobered at the end, his eyes bleak. “Come on.”
I should’ve said no but I couldn’t turn down a warm place to sleep.
His firm grip on my fingers as I grabbed his hand let him haul me up with ease.
Seth wasn’t that much bigger than me, maybe five-ten, but he clearly had some muscles under that gray parka.
Baggy sweatpants hid his thighs and ass, but two days ago, his jeans had shown off a medium build without a lot of fat on him. A man built for work.
Thinking about his body was a bad, bad idea. I let go of Seth’s hand as soon as I was on my feet. “If you’re sure.”
“Come on.” He bent, retrieved the flashlight he’d dropped and flipped his fur-trimmed hood up. “You have gloves?”
“In my pockets.”
“Wear them.” Seth pulled on his own and opened the door.
“Yessir.” I tugged my beanie lower and stuffed my hands in my leather gloves. This was his show.
“Make sure the door’s latched good and follow me.” He set out, following a set of tracks in the snow.
I walked behind him, placing my feet where he’d put his. The old Christmas song came into my head. In his master’s steps he trod, where the snow lay dinted. Seth wasn’t King Wenceslas, wasn’t my master, or my anything, but something inside me settled, following him.
A bright moon hung overhead, faintly haloed in the still, cold air. Snow wasn’t my friend right now, but the blanket of white sure looked pretty. Seth’s path led to one in a row of dark, silent cabins.
“Not the bunkhouse?” I murmured, the hush of the snowy world softening my tones.
“Nope.” Seth pulled open the door and waved me inside.
“There is a bunkhouse,” he went on once he’d shut the door, blocking out the chill.
He flicked on a light. “That’s where the seasonal hands stay, but when Kendrick— Mr. Bowen— took up dude ranching, he had them build cabins for the longterm folks like me, alongside the guest housing.
He said having our own places and some privacy would be a perk for his cowhands, reduce turnover. He wasn’t wrong.”
“Have you been here long?” I pried off my snowy boots, stepping on the heels even though it left one sock wet, and set them in the tray by the door. The cabin’s main room wasn’t overheated, but it was a hell of a lot more comfortable than the barn.
“Thirteen years and change.” Seth set his snow boots next to my Durangos. The tray held two pairs of cowboy boots, worn and dressy, steel-toe work boots, sneakers, and mahogany polished lace-ups. A man with a whole life lived here. Unlike me.
Seth hung his parka on one of the wall hooks, next to an array of outerwear. “Give me your jacket.”
I stuffed my gloves in the pockets and hesitated. I had my wallet, the truck keys, registration, and a pair of clean shorts stuffed in those pockets. My world, stripped down to its lowest essentials.
Seth said, “Give me your hat too. I’ll put it on a hook to dry.”
Resistance was stupid. If someone did steal my stuff, I’d be no worse off than I’d been ten minutes ago. I pulled off my beanie and passed it over, shrugged out of my parka and let him hang it up beside his.
“Good,” he said, and that word settled warm inside me. “Come sit down. Did you have any dinner?”
“I don’t want to eat your food before Mr. Bowen says yes to work.” I was lying through my teeth, but clinging to my pride.
“Don’t be a fool.” Seth waved me to a small table with two wooden chairs and opened his fridge. “Mr. Bowen’s not going to say yes if you fall over faint on his floor.”
“I had a couple of carrots,” I admitted, heat flushing my face. “I stole them from the feed room, but I did clean the counter and sink and swept the floor to pay for them.” Stopping at two had been so hard, but it was all I’d felt I deserved.
“The horses won’t snitch.” Seth set a loaf of bread and a jam jar on the counter. “Peanut butter and jelly? Should be easy on your stomach.”
“Yessir. I mean, yes, please.”
He flashed me a look, hazel-green eyes narrowed as if trying to puzzle something out, but only said, “Have a seat. Milk or coffee?”
I craved the warmth of coffee but milk was easier and more filling. “Milk, please.”
“Coming up.”
Seth wielded a knife and spoon, filled a glass, and set the food in front of me. “Eat up.”