Epilogue – 11 years later
Seth
A blast of cold air followed Austin into our cabin. “Whoo-ee!” He slammed the door and shucked his jacket and boots. “It’s pretending to be January out there, instead of November. Almost wish we had some snow to make the chill worthwhile.”
“I don’t,” I noted from where I had my laptop open on the table. “Then we’d be stuck hauling hay.”
“True enough.” Austin washed his hands at the sink, then wandered over. “Whatcha doin’?”
I quickly switched tabs from “Good places for a short gay-friendly Christmas vacation” to “Dude ranch ideas.” The trip was supposed to be a surprise, if I could swing it. “Looking at things we might add to the dude experience.”
“You’re always working.” Austin bent and I tipped my face up for his kiss. “What now? Baby goats again?”
“I still think those would be a draw,” I insisted.
“But I figured I’d see what other places are doing.
” I checked the screen to see what had come up, pretending interest. “See, here’s a place that’s doing a Christmas event.
” I looked closer. “Five days, all-inclusive holiday fun that’s LGBTQ-friendly.
” I guessed my other search had bled into this one.
“Not a bad idea.” Austin leaned on my shoulder looking at the website, his face close to mine. A little chill from outside still wafted off him, and I set a hand on his cheek to warm him. He kissed my palm, then stiffened. “Holy fuck.”
“What?”
“That dude ranch? It’s in my hometown. Dover’s Ridge. I remember the Circle-K. It was owned by old man Pascal. Total grump and tightwad. It was just a cattle spread then, no dudes. I wonder who bought the place.”
I clicked to the “about us” page. A set of photos dotted the write-up about the ranch but before I could start reading, Austin pointed at an image of a weatherbeaten cowboy holding a pretty black gelding’s head.
Austin’s finger trembled. “That’s Joe.”
“Your Joe? McNeil?” I looked closer. The cowboy was tall and lean, standing at ease, his attention fixed on his mount with one long-fingered hand splayed on the horse’s cheek.
Joe appeared close to my age, early forties at most, which surprised me because I’d imagined him much older, a mentor to Austin.
Joe must’ve been a young man himself when he sold his truck for a dollar to a kid in desperate need.
Ordinary looks, nothing special I could see, but Jesus, I owed that man everything.
Austin spun away from me to stare out the window at the bare November trees. “Read the text.”
Peering closer, pretending I wasn’t starting to think about reading glasses at age forty-four, I read. “The Circle-K welcomes guests to an authentic Colorado cowboy experience—”
“The names,” Austin interrupted. “Who owns it?”
I scrolled down to the contact info. “Owned by Sylvester Georgiadis.” I stumbled over the unfamiliar last name. “Ranch foreman Joe McNeil.”
“Joe.” Austin palmed his face. “I always wondered what happened after I left. Never dared look in case…”
“In case what?”
Austin turned tear-bright eyes toward me. “In case my father killed Joe over giving me the truck.”
“In case what?” I’d known Austin was afraid of his father, and that he’d run from a moment of dangerous violence.
Austin had always been leery of any contact with law enforcement for fear word would get back to his father.
Despite Austin’s nightmares, slowly fading over the decade, I hadn’t realized his terror ran that deep.
“Yeah, I…I always meant to get a message to Joe but…” Austin rubbed his eyes.
“He sold me the truck for a dollar, you know? Legally, at the DMV, and the clerk would’ve told everyone— she was a total gossip.
Dad had to know. Dad already hated Joe, long before then, but finding out Joe helped me slip through his grasp?
Every time I started to put Joe’s name in a search, I’d end up on the verge of a panic attack, so I just… let it go.”
I wasn’t sure how to help. I scrolled back up. “Joe seems to be fine. Several photos here, a couple where he’s riding and roping, looking healthy.”
“Oh. Okay.” Austin came and dropped into the seat beside me. I rubbed his shoulder and he tipped a wan smile my way. “That’s good. Awesome.”
“Maybe you should get in touch now,” I suggested.
“Maybe.” Austin stared at the screen. “So they’re doing a queer Christmas thing?
That might sell. The holidays leave a lot of us lonely, without family.
” I must’ve made a worried sound because Austin wrapped an arm across my shoulders and hugged me.
“Not me. I got you, babe.” He sang the words just enough for me to elbow him in reproof.
“You’re too young to do Cher.” I muttered.
“You’re not.” Austin snickered when I elbowed him harder.
He turned his attention to the website. “I don’t know if that idea would work for us.
We have more elevation than Dover’s Ridge, more snow and cold, worse roads, even with the new exit.
I’m not sure I want to put a lot of money into an event that could get snowed out two years in five. ”
I flipped through the pages on the website, FAQs, photos. The Circle-K looked like a nice spread, fancier than ours, and the guests had suites in a big old house. That would reduce the snow isolation factor if they did get a storm. Austin watched alongside me but didn’t comment.
An idea came to me. “They’re having a sale on the last few Christmas places this year. Looks like this is their first holiday event. Want to go?”
“Us? Why?”
“I was thinking,” I told him. “We never did take a honeymoon ten years ago.” Tiffany had been pregnant and leaving the ranch hadn’t really appealed to us, especially with limited funds.
Since then, we’d taken long weekends in San Francisco, and occasionally down to L.A.
or out to Reno. We’d done a couple of working trips to bring back a bull or a horse, or deliver livestock, but no real vacations.
“I didn’t need a honeymoon,” Austin said. “Being here with you was the dream.”
“Yeah, but it’s our tenth anniversary.” We’d gotten married on New Year’s Day, one year after we met. “I was thinking about taking you somewhere on vacation anyhow.” I flipped to the other tab with holiday destinations in the Caribbean and Mexico, blue water and sandy beaches.
Austin looked at the listings. “You think we should trade lying around in the sun for a ranch in the snow?”
“Put like that—” I felt a bit stupid.
“No.” Austin kissed my cheek. “The Circle-K’s not a bad idea. I’m not a fan of beaches anyhow. Sand gets everywhere. I’d like to see Joe and thank him, but I don’t want to run into my father.”
We’d concluded by the end of the first year that Austin’s father hadn’t made a big push to find him.
Kendrick’s employment background check hadn’t turned up any warrants on Frankie Morse, Jr., real or bogus.
Austin paid his taxes, opened a bank account, and legally swapped his Colorado driver’s license for a California one, all under his full name.
Any lawman who’d seriously tried to find him eleven years ago, could have.
Gradually, Austin had begun to trust he was safe, but his past still cast a shadow. He’d never wanted to look back.
I’d offered to check up on Frank Morse, Sr. a dozen times over the years, maybe more.
Austin had always shut me down, telling me to let sleeping dogs rot, and I’d honored his wishes, but if we were going to Dover’s Ridge, I wanted more information now.
“Can I look up the Dover’s Ridge sheriff’s department? See if your father’s still listed?”
“That’d be the Vickston County Sheriff.” Austin chewed on his lip, then said, “Yeah. Do that.”
I typed in the information. A website came up, typical law enforcement. A broad-faced, wide-shouldered man with a graying crewcut under his hat looked out of the top official portrait. “Says the sheriff is a guy named Breyer.”
“That’s good,” Austin said. “He was elected when I was in my teens, and Dad hated him, said he’d spoil their fun.”
Fun. I didn’t say the word, just looked the page over. “Deputy sheriff is someone named McPherson.”
“Don’t know the guy.”
“They don’t list all their officers. I don’t see your father’s name, though.”
Austin chewed his lip harder. I reached over and thumbed his mouth. “Quit that. Let me do a search for once.”
“I guess. Okay.”
“Frank Morse, right?”
“Yeah.” Austin shifted uneasily in his chair, turning to look away.
I typed the name and Dover’s Ridge and hit enter. Results came back, more than I expected. Except, holy shit. I pulled up an article silently.
“What?” Austin asked. “Tell me.”
“Looks like your dad got arrested last year for arson, assault with a deadly weapon, falsifying official case records, and a bunch more stuff.”
“He what?”
I clicked on a later result. “Yep. Plea bargained, sentenced to twelve years, with the possibility of parole in seven. Sentencing date was just this fall. September sixth. He’s locked up for at least seven more years.”
“He might appeal.”
“I don’t think you can appeal a plea bargain.”
“Shit.” Austin raised shaking hands to his face. “Shit!” I reached toward him, but he dodged. “Check on my uncle Hal. Harold Morse.”
I did as he asked, and read the stories. “Sentenced as an accessory to some of the crimes. He only got three years, so he could be out in eighteen months.”
“But he’s in prison too?”
“Yeah. Sentenced June fifteenth.”
“Fuck.” Austin flattened his palms against his eyes.
This time, when I reached for him, shoving my chair back so I could haul him into my lap, he didn’t resist. He pressed his cheek to my hair, and I held him, feeling the tension in every muscle. Until he murmured, “Wow. All right,” and melted into my hug.
He was a solid hundred and fifty pounds of cowboy on my knees, but I could’ve held him like that forever.
After a minute, he sat up and rose to his feet. “I want to do it.”
“What?”
“The Christmas ranch thing at Joe’s place. If we can afford it because the Circle-K looks pretty upscale, which is a bit mind-blowing when I think about Joe.”
“Might be that Sylvester guy’s idea.”
“Probably. Anyhow, I don’t need, like, a Caribbean vacation. I want to see Joe, and I want you to see where I came from.” Austin bent over the laptop and clicked into the reservations, selecting the holiday package for two. “Ouch.” He eyed the fee. “Wish we could charge our dudes that.”
“It says they have a Michelin-star chef,” I noted.
“Maybe you can pass some pointers to Davis.” My best friend still joined us every summer, feeding our guests better and better food, although he kept swearing the next summer would be his last. At sixty-six now, someday he wouldn’t be kidding, but he was still on the books for next year.
“Davis would probably stab me with a spatula.” Austin eyed the total. “Can we afford it?”
“If we find reasonable flights, it’s within the budget I’d planned for the Caribbean. We might have to stay an extra night in Denver, if flying on the Tuesday’s cheaper than Monday.”
“I could live with that.”
“Okay, shall I book it?”
Austin paced to the window and back. “What about the ranch?”
I got up to intercept him. “They’ll muddle through without us.
I already talked to the others about taking the Christmas week off.
Tiffany and John’s two boys are old enough now not to need Tiffany’s full attention and her folks are coming here.
Isabella and Elena weren’t planning to go anywhere this year.
” Colby had left us to try the rodeo circuit and ended up on a big spread in Texas, but Kendrick hired Isabella, who was a total win, and her wife Elena turned out to be even better with the horses.
Austin took another turn across the floor. “I guess. I feel like, as part-owners, we shouldn’t just piss off on holiday.”
“Part-owners of a thirtieth of the ranch?” The two of us plus John and Tiffany were buying Kendrick out, since he’d retired to go play with his grandkids, but it was slow going, a bit from each paycheck building equity.
“A twenty-seventh, last I did the math.” Austin grinned crookedly. “I know.”
“We’re entitled to some holiday time,” I told him. “If you want to go, let’s go.”
“I do.” He walked back into my arms, and I held him loosely, looking down into those amazing dark-blue eyes. “I want to thank Joe. And I want you to fuck me up the ass and hold my hand in public all over Dover’s Ridge.”
“The fucking part in private, though, right?” I teased.
Austin snorted. “Yeah. I’m not that kind of exhibitionist.”
I swayed with him gently and kissed his hair. “I’m looking forward to our ten-year-late honeymoon.”
“Me too.” Austin nudged me back toward the chair with his hip. “Sign us up before the slots get taken.”
I worked through the form, entering “Austin Grant” and “Seth Grant” from Selbyville, California. Expert-level on the riding. No food allergies. “Do you want me to put a note in the comment box from you to McNeil, so he knows who you are?”
Austin hesitated. “No. It’s been so long, I think we need to talk in person.”
“Fair enough. Can you fetch my wallet?” Austin tossed it to me. I entered my credit card and hit “post.” The page churned, pending for a moment, then said, “Welcome to the Circle-K” and promised me a receipt. “Done,” I told Austin. “Should we look for flights now?”
“Later.” Austin fisted the front of my sweatshirt and hauled me out of the chair. “Right now, let’s go to our bedroom and practice the naked honeymoon part of this trip.”
I never had to be persuaded to get naked with my man. “Sure. Flights are probably cheaper when you search after midnight anyway.”
“Midnight? It’s barely six o’clock.” Austin laughed up at me.
“After one a.m. then. I have many, many plans for this honeymoon.”
Austin kissed me, hot and demanding, then turned and put his forearms on the table, sticking his gorgeous, denim-clad ass out. “The bedroom’s a long way off. How about we start here?”
“I thought you weren’t an exhibitionist.” I pointed at the windows, turned him to face me, and scooped him against my body with my hands under his ass.
He laughed, wrapped his legs around my thighs, and clutched my shoulders.
Staggering, I carried my winter cowboy to our room, where we’d continue making good on a lifetime of promises.