Cowboy Dreams

4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Sylvester

I sat at my computer in the parlor I’d designated as my home office and frowned at the screen. As a hotel manager and later owner, spreadsheets had been my friends. Today, though, I resented the paperwork that’d kept me from riding out with Joe. I didn’t get half as much of his time as I wanted.

Joe got one day off a week, mostly Sundays. Even if he showed up Saturday evening, he had to leave for his bunkhouse less than twenty-four hours later, preparing for an early start on Mondays. Today was a bonus, a weekday he’d taken off specially for our meeting later. I couldn’t complain about the wakeup blowjob that morning, but was I out there in the sunshine now, taking advantage of his presence? No, I fucking wasn’t. I glared at the columns of numbers and planning notes that’d kept me indoors on a gorgeous October morning.

Outside the window, Joe rode Donner up to the corral and swung off his back, all easy cowboy grace. The black gelding huffed and tossed his head, still fresh after that ride out to check on a water tank. Joe pulled the horse’s head down against him and put a hand on Donner's nose, that Stetson tipped to shade his face.

I whipped out my phone and took a picture through the window, letting the sash frame the shot. “Rustic cowboy pets horse.” I hadn’t reached the point of engaging a PR firm yet and putting materials together, but I’d started posting on social media, nudging friends and acquaintances with “What do you think?” Most of them thought I was crazy to go live in the boonies when I had a million-dollar downtown penthouse condo. Most of them also thought cowboys were hot. One or two were getting curious in a useful way.

My phone rang in my hand and I glanced down, then answered, “Hey, Mama Cass.”

Cassie’s rich laugh came across the airwaves. “Hey, kiddo.”

“I’m forty-four, you know.”

“I’m aware. How’s life in the sticks and why haven’t you called your mother in a week?”

“I’ve been busy.” Outside the window, Joe eased the saddle and blanket off Donner’s back and hefted them onto the corral rail. He bent and picked up one big black hoof, picking at something in the horse’s foot. His jeans strained across his ass, and he was wearing chaps. While I was stuck doing paperwork. Fuck my life.

“…right, Syl?”

“Um, sure.” I wondered what I’d missed.

“Good. We’ll be happy to see you.”

“What?”

“You said you’d come out to Spain for Christmas.”

“Wait, no.” The holiday might be two months away, but I had way too much on my plate. “I meant someday. Not this year,” I covered.

“Are you okay? You seem distracted.”

“I’m just…” Through the window, Joe saw me watching him. He tipped his hat, gave me a wicked smile and turned Donner loose in the corral, then headed around toward the back door.

“You’re what?”

“I’m fine. Busy. This project is a big one. Hey, is Mom there? Let me say hello.”

“I don’t know what you’re hiding, but don’t make us come back there to find out.”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“Here’s your mother.”

Mom’s voice came over the line, softer than Cassie’s. “Hey, honey, how’s the ranch shaping up?”

“Coming along. McNeil’s been mending fences and I’m beating the renovation costs for the house into submission.” I didn’t mention how I’d rather be out there with Joe, our horses side by side, talking about everything and nothing as we checked the fencelines. I was careful to call him by his last name, and mention “my ranch consultant” when I talked about him. Mom and Cassie knew I was gay and obviously had no problem with that. But I hadn’t had a serious partner since my twenties. They’d be more than curious.

Not that Joe was my partner yet, either on the ranch or off it, but a month of Sundays together and a lot of texting in between, hashing this plan out, made that possibility hover like a mirage. Not quite real, still out of reach, but cool water I yearned toward.

“That McNeil sounds like a good man.” Something in Mom’s tone made me wonder if I’d been as discreet as I thought.

“Very dependable. Lots of useful ideas. This dude ranch wouldn’t be getting off the ground without him.”

“I’m glad you have some support there. Have you been back to the city at all? Seen any of your friends?”

“Not recently. Actually, I’m selling the condo.” A choice I’d been putting off, but the combination of today’s spreadsheet and Joe’s smile made the decision easy. I wanted that equity. The Circle K was where I belonged.

“Are you sure, Syl? I thought the ranch might have difficult memories for you.”

I couldn’t deny a few. I’d walked into my grandfather’s study and been hit by the scent of books and cigars and Old Spice, and the echo of him yelling at me. I’d decided the parlor made a good office, and I could turn the study into a library for guests. I’d stock books and games and DVDs in case of bad weather and lost internet. They wouldn’t care that the room was haunted by the ghost of a bitter old man. Probably not literally haunted.

“I had so many good memories, too, Mom. I was young enough not to notice the tension, and I’d bet you shielded me from a lot of Grandpa’s anger. I mostly remember the horses and the barn cats and snow in the fields and a pair of hawks up high in the summer sun. Cut grass and drying hay and the scent of the wild roses growing up the arbor.”

“I’m glad.” Mom sighed. “I wish that was what I remembered.”

“Hey,” Cassie said faintly in the background. “Remember me acting like a knight in shining armor and taking you away from there.”

“My hero,” Mom called back and her tone had warmed.

I said, “Are you sad I’m keeping the place. Should I have sold this ranch and bought new somewhere else.”

“No!” Mom’s reply came immediately. “I want you happy and if the Circle K does that for you, then I’m glad.”

I wanted to ask if she would ever visit, but that was getting way out ahead of myself. I’d hired a cleaning service to spiff the place up the day after I arrived, and they cleaned for me weekly, but there was a lot to be done before I could house guests, even family. “There’s still a bunch of work to do but yeah, I’m happy.”

Joe came in when I said that and my gaze automatically rose to his. He gave me a phone sign and thumbs up to show he’d noticed I was on a call, but instead of leaving he stayed in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe in a pose that emphasized his long legs. I wasn’t sure if that was on purpose or not. A month in, and I still didn’t have a good handle on when Joe was being sexy on purpose and when it was just the natural hotness of the man.

I told Mom, “I’m sorry to miss Christmas, but we can video call and I’ll show you the changes I’ve made.”

“I’d like that,” she said. “Good luck with the meeting today.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know how it goes.” Tapping out of the call, I turned to Joe. “Good ride?”

“Not bad. Had a fox cross my path in pasture four, bold as you like with a pheasant in its mouth.”

“What did Donner think of that?”

Joe’s lips twitched. “Not much.” From which I gathered Donner had shied or bucked and Joe had sat his antics just fine. Joe was an amazing horseman.

Getting ridden only on the weekends wasn’t ideal for Donner, so Joe had arranged for a local teen, a shy, gangling kid by the name of Molly, to come over and ride him around the pasture Tuesdays and Thursdays. He didn’t want me on Donner, and I admit, as beautiful as the gelding was, I had no big ambitions to try him. I’d seen Donner give Molly some attitude and she could handle him, although not with the easy competence Joe had. She was a skilled rider, way better than me, but Joe and his horse were like one being melded together, like they were made to work as a team. I got hard in my jeans, sometimes, watching my cowboy ride.

“I’m gonna go clean up,” Joe said. “Get ready for the meeting. Don’t want to be late. If you’re sure you still want me there. I’m not really anybody.” He turned his hat in his hands.

I had to get up, go over, and hold him steady for a hard kiss. “I need you there. You’re definitely somebody. You’re vital. What if they ask me about the ranch parts? You want me to look like a fool in front of all the county commissioners?”

“Nah. Only I get to see you act like a fool.” He turned to go and I smacked the dusty denim over his ass.

He threw me a heated look. “On the other hand, maybe we can be a bit late.”

“Get cleaned up, cowboy, and let’s go make a good impression.”

I downloaded what I needed on my tablet, closed the computer, and headed up to get dressed myself. We met in the entry and wow, Joe cleaned up nice. Just slacks and a buttondown with a blue tie and his shearling jacket slung over one shoulder, but he could’ve been a cologne ad for some expensive brand, something with woodsy and musky notes. I’d buy it in a heartbeat.

“Let’s take the SUV,” I suggested. “Prosperous but not too flashy and out of place.”

“Suits me.” He followed me out to the Highlander and got in the passenger side. I handed him the tablet to hold onto and put the SUV in gear.

County Hall turned out to be a long, low brick building probably built fifty years ago. A bunch of cars sat in the parking lot, although how many were there for the planning meeting was anyone’s guess. The place was modern enough to have video screens in the lobby listing the events and locations. We were apparently in Meeting Hall One. A building map on the wall directed us left through the inner doors.

When we arrived, about fifteen people were scattered across a bank of chairs that could probably hold fifty. They all turned to stare at us as we came in. Bored, no doubt, since we were ten minutes early. Most of them sat either at the front or way back of the room, so I led Joe to a couple of seats partway down along the center aisle and waved him in before me.

I wanted to ask Joe if he knew any of these people. A couple of them seemed to be giving us the stink-eye, mostly a heavy-set white guy down front who looked vaguely familiar. But the room was quiet enough people might hear, so I sat beside Joe and flipped through my presentation slides.

Over the next ten minutes the audience straggled in, perhaps doubling in size. The council guys— and I say guys advisedly, because they were all middle-aged to old white men— filed in and took their seats at a table for five at the front of the room. The last guy looked at the video screen that showed the time, just turning ten, and said, “We’ll give folks a couple more minutes and then get started. We’ve got a lot on the agenda today.”

A few people hustled in over the next minute, then the council guy tapped a microphone in front of him, causing a loud click that quieted the audience. “This meeting of the Vickston County Council is now in session. You being here in this room means you consent to having anything you say recorded and preserved in public files. There will be opportunities for audience comments, but wait till you’re called on. Anyone causing a disturbance will be removed. Right, first item on the agenda is widening the bridge over Malfin Creek.”

They went on through three public works projects, getting a lot of negative comments for a proposal to replace the access route to a disposal site with a different one. Folks living along the new route didn’t want the heavy traffic going by, apparently. The council said they’d take the complaints under “advisement” and publish a decision later.

Then the chairman said, “Moving on to private applications for approval, let’s start with the big one. Mr. George-adis, you want to come up here and explain these plans for a hospitality and liquor permit?”

“Sure thing,” I told him. “Can I Bluetooth or log into your screen with some slides?”

“Maybe?” The chairman stared at his laptop with the expression of someone facing a nest of snakes.

A young guy in the front row jumped up and went over to the table, and between us, we got my tablet talking to their screen in less than a minute. I called up the first slide, the original ranch house with three rooms and beat-up siding, back in the 1920s.

“You all probably know the Circle K ranch. My grandfather and his father before him ran it for seventy years…” I said a few words about the history of the ranch, with a slide of its heyday, the big house, my great-grandfather’s nine children, of whom only two stayed to run the ranch and one died young. “And since my grandfather grew too old to run it, the property has languished, the barns, outbuildings, and fences falling into disrepair.” A shot of the old pumphouse, its roof caved in by a falling branch.

I went on, “I’m not the man to recreate a working cattle ranch on this property, but I want to preserve its beauty, its land, and its history.” I smiled. “While making money for myself and this community, of course.” I was pleased to get a couple of chuckles. “And the way I intend to do that is to develop it as an exclusive vacation ranch. I’ll have a small herd of cattle for the atmosphere, plus horses, and luxury accommodations within the big house itself. I have a talented chef who’s ready to sign on to provide an upscale dining experience, and the liquor license will allow me to serve wine and beers. My remodeling plans will pump as much as half a million dollars into the economy, followed by the added income provided by the presence of tourists in the community weekly for nine months of the year and the jobs the ranch will create. I’ve already spent twenty-eight thousand dollars locally, just to complete my feasibility studies.” I figured the horses and supplies counted.

I paused and the white guy who’d been glaring at Joe said, “Feasibility,” with a snort loud enough to be heard.

The council chairman said, “If you got a question, Morse, save it for the comment period.”

Morse? I stared at the man and yes, could see the resemblance that had nagged at me earlier, although this man was older than the cop on that dark, deserted road. Brother? Father? He didn’t seem to like me any more than the cop had, given the curl of his lip.

“And when’s that gonna be?” Older Morse folded his arms across his chest and tipped his chin at the chairman.

“When Mr. George-adis is done speaking.”

“You folks can call me Sylvester, Mr. Chairman,” I told him. “And if you think it serves you better for me to answer questions, I’m happy to do that.”

“All right then, let’s open the floor for questions. Come on up to the mic when you’re recognized and say your name before speaking. Morse, you might as well start.”

The man heaved himself out of his chair, trudged to a mic on a stand at the front of the audience. “You all know me, I’m Hal Morse. And my question is, are you the same guy my brother stopped after coming drunk out of Max’s gay bar and driving a hundred miles an hour?”

I said, “No. If he stopped a drunk driver, that man would be in jail. So it wasn’t me.”

Morse waved his hand. “Okay, maybe not drunk, but speeding with alcohol on his breath after spending time in that den of vice.”

I cocked my head, trying to think of the right tone to take. “Den of vice? Seriously? But yes, I was speeding. It was a lovely night and my cherry red 1967 Mustang seduced me into going over the speed limit.” I scanned the room. “I’m betting a bunch of you might’ve topped the limit a bit, behind the wheel of a car like that. I expect you folks appreciate fine, vintage, American-made machinery, am I right?”

A couple of “Hell, yeah,” mutters from the back made me smile.

Morse glared at me. “And the bar? You do frequent Max’s, don’t you?”

I glanced at the Council table. “Mr. Chairman, could you ask him to explain what this has to do with the business proposal I have in front of you.”

That was a gamble, and maybe a miscalculation, because the chairman frowned at me before saying, “Morse, you care to answer that?”

“It’s about character, isn’t it?” Morse raised his voice. “We’re looking at a business that’s gonna bring strangers into our community—”

“To spend their good money,” I interjected.

“Strangers who for all we know could be queers and perverts, around our wives and kids. We’ve got one rainbow bar right now. We don’t need a whole other business catering to that kind of woke nonsense.”

The word “woke” got the audience rumbling, though it wasn’t clear who was for or against the term. One woman called, “This is Colorado, not Texas, Morse. You can’t ride the gay people out of town on a rail.”

“Who said anything about out of town? I’m just asking Mr. Sylvester, here, if this ranch of his is going to be family-friendly.”

I answered the letter of his question, not the slimy intent. “I don’t plan to open to families the first year. Keeping children happy, safe, and entertained would require additional facilities, like buying ponies and setting up an outdoor play area. Those are on the books for possible future expansion but not in the current business plan. We intend to cater to adults first.”

“What kind of adults?”

“Whatever kind wants to buy a vacation package with us. I’m not planning to discriminate against anyone. That would be illegal.” Although my stomach had gone a little sour at the thought of a hostile community response. I’d hoped the cop was an exception but the audience wasn’t leaping up to shout Morse down, the blond woman excluded.

One of the other council members said, “He’s right, Morse. We’re not going to turn down a good new business because you don’t like something about the guy running it.”

I told the council, “You all received my background check and resume, including my past ownership of a luxury hotel, in the information package with my application. I have the funds and expertise to make the Circle K a success and contribute to the bottom line for the county. Taxes alone will be substantially higher on a business like this than on fallow ranchland.” I figured that would put little light-up dollar signs in front of some of their eyes. “I understand what makes a hospitality business a success.”

“What about a ranch, though?” Morse demanded. “Do you have any idea how to run a cattle operation?”

“I grew up on that ranch,” I said. “But you’re right, I’ve been away for years and that’s not my area of expertise. So I’ve hired a consultant with decades of experience. Joe, you want to answer the man’s questions?” I felt bad for putting Joe on the spot, but he’d been twitching and clenching his jaw, hands in fists on his knees there in the audience, so I thought he might like his say.

Joe strode to the front with that rolling gait of his and pulled the mic stand over when Morse didn’t step away. If Morse could’ve set something on fire with his eyes, Joe would’ve been charcoal.

“I’m Joe McNeil,” he said. “Lots of you folks know me too. I’ve worked on local ranches for the last twenty-five years. Mr. Georgiadis—” He pronounced it just about right. “—hired me to consult on the ranching side.”

“There,” the second councilman said. “You can’t claim Joe doesn’t know a thing or two about ranching.”

“Oh sure,” Morse drawled. “I bet Joe McNeil knows a bull from a steer.”

Joe didn’t even look at him. “I promise, Mr. Chairman, there’ll be no bulls on the Circle K. The beefs will be for show, not for breeding. No safety concerns.”

Morse turned to face Joe. “Gonna be all steers on any place you run, huh, Joey? I mighta guessed that.”

“A few cows, too,” Joe said, still looking at the chairman, not Morse. “Probably some calves every year. We’ll likely buy heavies from someone local, your bottom-of-the-line cows, and let them calve on the Circle K. Tourists like calves.”

“Is it going to be a gay ranch?” Morse demanded. “You gonna plaster those rainbows all over everywhere and invite big city queers—”

“Enough!” The chairman thumped on the table. “We all heard your concerns by now, Morse. Give it a rest. Sit down and make room for people with actual questions to ask.” Morse huffed but the chairman said, “Sit. Mrs. Barrett, you got a question back there? Come on down and take the mic.”

Morse backed up with obvious reluctance and dropped in a chair in the front row, his arms crossed over his chest.

The woman came down and asked a relevant question about whether the dining facilities on the ranch would be open to the public and if so, would it compete with her local restaurant. I was able to tell her that wasn’t in the plans for this year. We got a few more questions about the renovations that mostly seemed to be people working out how they and their friends could get a piece of the money I planned to spend. Then the chairman closed our agenda item, telling me we would hear from them within the month, and moved on to a request from a local bowling alley to serve hard liquor.

I sat next to Joe, barely listening to the discussion and watching the back of Morse’s head. Twice, the old man turned and aimed a glare at us, before facing the front again. When the meeting adjourned, I headed out quickly, not sure if I trusted the old bastard not to key my car if he got out first. Joe followed, but just outside the doors, we got snagged by three folks from the local Chamber of Commerce who wanted to make it clear they welcomed the new vision of the Circle K. Morse passed us as they talked, got into an old beater pickup, and pulled away.

When we were safely in the SUV, driving off, I said to Joe, “That guy Morse doesn’t like you much, does he?”

“Nope. And his brother the cop purely hates my ass. I never have more than one drink an hour in a bar and I drive under the speed limit all the time. He’s waiting for any chance to put my ass in jail.”

“Why? I mean, I get it, he’s a total homophobe, but there are other gay men in the area. Or is he like that with all of them?”

“I guess he don’t like any of us, but he has a particular hard-on for me. So to speak.”

“Why?”

“Ah. Well.” Joe turned his hat round and round on his knee. “Frank Morse— that’s the cop— had a boy. Pride of his eyes after his wife ran off. For which I don’t blame her but she left the boy with Frank. Young Frankie that was.” He paused, staring out the windshield, his face a mask.

“Was?” I gentled my voice. “Is he dead?”

“Huh? Oh, no, not so far as I know. Gone, though. When Frankie was seventeen, he started working for my boss as a barn boy after school, mucking out and hauling stuff, stacking bales in the summer, riding the mower. Hardworking kid and quiet as can be, nothing like his dad. Then, the day he turned eighteen he came to me. He said, ‘I heard you’re gay.” I said, ‘Yeah, I reckon.’ I didn’t figure this was a beatdown, even if he had his daddy’s name. He didn’t have the cold eyes. He said, ‘So am I and I have to get out of here before my dad kills me.’”

“Oh, shit.”

“Right? He said, ‘I got no money but I’ll blow you or whatever, if you lend me enough cash for a bus ticket.’ I asked about his wages and he said his dad kept them. I asked where he wanted to go, and he said, ‘San Francisco.’ I told him living was pricey out West and jobs were scarce but he said he’d rather be on the streets out there than in his father’s house.”

“Poor guy. What did you do?”

“I tried to persuade Frankie to let me figure something out, find a contact in Denver, someone who might help. He was set on running west, though. Said if I didn’t want to pay him, there’d be someone down at Max’s who would. He was a good-looking kid, all pouty lips and big eyes. He was probably right.”

“I guess.”

“No shame in buying or selling, if both folks are adults and know what they’re doing. I’ve bought it a time or two. But not from a boy who was probably a virgin.”

“Eighteen? Maybe not.” I’d started at fourteen, with an older boy from my school. Furtive, rushed handjobs, and in public we pretended not to know each other, but even the bullies of a public school thirty years back hadn’t stopped us.

“Looked like one, anyhow, and I was ten years older. I…” Joe’s voice trailed off.

“I know you helped him. I know you.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to give him a bus ticket and just send him off. Odds were, he’d be homeless on his knees in some alley, a few days down the road. But I was saving for a new truck. Didn’t have a lot of cash to spare. So… I gave him the old one.”

“You what?”

“He was a good kid. I sold my pickup to him for a dollar, transferred the title right and proper at the license bureau. Warned him not to get in a wreck with no insurance. Gave him fifty bucks for gas money. He tried to blow me as thanks after that. Had my zipper down on the side of the road, driving me home, but I told him to hurry up and get out of the county before his dad got wind of it. Gracie at the license bureau is a gossip.”

“You gave him your truck.”

“Was just an old beater I planned to trade in. Might’ve got three hundred bucks for it, not more. I figured he could at least sleep in it. Having a place that’s yours matters.”

My heart did something odd, a flood of swelling warmth in my chest, close to bursting. This man. I set a hand on Joe’s knee. “I knew you’d help. You never heard from him again?”

“Nope. But he didn’t exactly have my phone number and I’m not on social media. I didn’t want for him to look back and I told him so. I hope he found something good out there.”

“Me too.” I steered along the quiet two-lane road, my hand on the warm denim of Joe’s thigh. “How long ago was that?”

“Ten years back.”

“We could search online.”

“Not sure I want to know. Boss never got no calls for references. I did ask.”

I could understand not wanting to find out. Truck or not, a young gay man with no family and no money was in a lot of trouble out in the big world. Some of them made it. Some got used and abused and into drugs, and died out there. “Let me guess. Gracie gossiped and Morse found out.”

“Yep. He tried to put out a warrant for a stolen truck, but we had the new sheriff by then. Breyer asked me and I told him the sale was all legal, and he told Morse he couldn’t haul his adult kid back home with a fake warrant. Luckily, it didn’t come to his ears for two days and by then, Frankie could’ve been anywhere.”

“No wonder Morse hates you.”

“Yep. Was probably good I didn’t have a vehicle for a while. I’d’ve hated to be alone on the road with Morse prowling about and the weight of the law behind him. He came to my work, y’know. Told my boss he had to ask me about a crime. Got me alone behind the barn and gut-punched me a couple of times, asking where his kid had gone. I was lucky my boss thought it was a bit hinky and came looking for me.”

I wanted to ask if Joe told the sheriff, pressed charges, but obviously not with Morse still on the job out there. “Son of a bitch.”

“Yeah. I stayed close to home for months after that. Went out with the other hands. Well, I didn’t have a truck.”

“That’s…” I didn’t know what to say. Disgusting? Infuriating? Just plain wrong?

“After that first time, he never raised a hand to me. Never said nothing when other people were around. Ten years now, time has worn that anger down some, I bet. But I can’t wait till he retires and won’t have the uniform to hide behind.”

I had to ask. “Did you ever tell the sheriff anything about it?”

“I did maybe say Morse was mad at me about the truck, when Sheriff Breyer came asking. Well, Sheriff could tell that. He’s not a stupid man. He told me to keep my nose clean, but he’d keep an eye on Morse.”

“That’s something, anyway.”

“That’s everything. The old Sheriff would’ve helped Morse punch me. The man at the top matters. If he’s fair and lawful, we’re all safer. If he’s prejudiced and mean and just out for himself, everything under him goes rotten too.”

“I guess I’d better change my voter registration to the Circle K so I can help keep Breyer in office.”

“Might be smart.”

I gave Joe’s knee a squeeze and let go to make the turn up the drive. “How do you think the council will vote?”

“Oh, they’ll give you the permits. You said, ‘Half a million dollars,’ and their tongues practically hung out.”

“Money talks, huh?”

“Yeah. Just, for once, it’s on our side.”

I was used to having money on my side especially since Mom got together with Cassie. I’d lived with its cushion, knew how to use it to get what I needed. Joe’s story was a good reminder of how an old truck and fifty bucks could stand between life and death. Once we got the ranch up and running, maybe we could find something good to do with my money around here. There were probably other queer teens who couldn’t wait to turn eighteen and escape. Once we were settled, once I knew what we had to work with, I’d ask Joe what he thought.

He tugged at his tie, loosening the knot. “Okay, that’s my time in a monkey suit put in. Me wearing a tie tells you how much I… like you.”

“Or how much you like the ranch,” I said, because I wasn’t ready to hear anything more from him. He was my smokin’ hot cowboy lover, and my ranch consultant, and was becoming a good friend. And yeah, maybe now and then, my inner romantic tried to poke his head up, but I had enough on my plate without that.

“The ranch, of course. I can’t wait to get up close and personal with that sexy gatepost,” he agreed.

“Ooh, kinky.” I stopped to let him out to open the gate, drove through, and he hauled it shut behind me. We didn’t have any cattle running around loose, but Joe said closed gates were a good habit to learn and keep. When he got back in, I said, “What about that post? You into bondage? Want to get tied up to it while I fuck you?”

Joe tipped his head back and laughed. “You are a seriously weird man, Sylvester Georgiadis, that’s all I can say.”

I watched the way his mouth curved, the line of his neck, the blue-sky color reflected in his gray eyes. “Let’s go get these fancy clothes off,” I said, driving a little faster than the gravel was designed for to get to the house, “and I’ll show you exactly how weird you'll like me to be.”

“Game on.” Joe turned to me, the remnants of that laugh still shaping his mouth and deepening the creases by his eyes. “Game fucking on.”