by Lynn Lorenz
He was a Weston man, and no coward.
Chapter Fourteen
Sometimes going ‘old school’ was easiest. As a PI, keeping several out-of-date phone books paid off. His first job Monday morning was to go through the oldest of his Houston phone books and search for Sammi’s mother’s name. With over four million people in the greater Houston area, the white pages were in two books, but he only had to check in the one from M to Z.
No Lydia Mae Waters.
Time to go ‘new school’. But he struck out there, too. No reference to her on the Internet.
He sat back. Not finding her at all didn’t bode well. If that happened it might mean a few things, none of them good. A person might have dropped off the radar, like a runaway, changed their name, or died.
Next, he’d look for her family, but he needed Lydia’s birth certificate to find the names of her parents. That meant a trip to Houston’s city hall.
He locked up the house, got into the SUV, and headed downtown.
After pulling into a nearby parking lot, Brian made his way to the building. He dumped his keys and BlackBerry into the tray and stepped through the metal detectors that guarded the entrances. He gathered up his belongings, gave the guard a nod then walked to the elevators and the records department.
The line wasn’t too bad, by Houston standards. He realized this would be a big waste of time if she’d been born outside of Houston. A dozen smaller towns were circled and embedded inside Houston—all had been gobbled up by the greedy fingers of the ever-expanding metropolis. The idea of going to each of them sucked, but if that was what he had to do to get the job done, he’d do it.
Most PI work was legwork. Boring, routine, and a huge waste of time, but absolutely necessary to doing a thorough job.
An hour later, Brian’s number was called and he stepped up to the window. He presented his PI license, gave the overworked woman a smile, and asked to see Lydia Mae Water’s birth record. She gave him a yellow form, and he took it down the hall to another room with another window.
The woman there, a younger version of the woman at the last window, gave him a quick check over then disappeared to pull the records.
Fifteen minutes later, she returned and handed him a huge book. He carried it to an empty spot at a table and sat down to go through it. Birth records from the year she’d been born filled the musty-smelling and yellowed pages.
After he flipped to the month, he skimmed the names, turning page after page. A lot of people had been born in Houston every month, even in the sixties. Brian sat back, stretched, and rubbed his eyes. He’d need glasses after this. Then he returned to work.
“Bingo,” he muttered. He underlined Lydia’s name with his finger. He pulled out his BlackBerry and quickly entered the information. Mother’s name, Rose Mae, father’s name, Walter Samuel Waters. So that’s where had Sammi gotten his name. Brian included their birthdates, just to be complete, then closed the book and returned it to the woman.
She gave him a smile that he returned, then he left the office. It was past time for lunch and his stomach growled. He stopped at a Greek restaurant on Montrose, had a gyro and a beer then headed home. Tomorrow, he’d do his calling after he entered all the info into the meticulous files of all his jobs he kept on his computer.
He spent the rest of the day returning calls, talking to several new clients and turning down a job as a bodyguard. He’d done that work before, but only when his regular work was slow. Right now, business was booming. His reputation for fairness, reasonable prices and good work was getting around.
If this kept up, he might have to hire someone to help him.
He grinned and leaned back in his chair. All his hard labor was finally paying off. He had steady work and he could pick and choose the ones he wanted to and not just take anything. His business was great.
But his personal life? The smile slipped from his face. Without Rush, none of it would mean a damn thing, and right now, with Rush in Spring Lake and him in Houston, it looked as if he’d have to settle for weekends with a man who was deeply closeted.
Brian knew he could never be fully in Rush’s life, not if Rush stayed at the ranch. He understood the small-town mentality and its irrational fear of gays, but he knew he could never go back into the closet, not even for Rush. Those days were over. The thought of hiding his love for Rush made his stomach clench, but the thought of not being at Rush’s side every morning hurt worse.
Life would be easier for them in Houston. Here, in The Montrose, gay men lived openly. Brian still felt the prejudice of others, but it was a small part of his life, and he dealt with it by his actions. He refused to be a stereotype. He was merely a man who happened to find other men sexually attractive.
Spring Lake and the Double T were a hell of a long way from Montrose.
However, he’d never ask Rush to give up something he so clearly loved. That ranch was a part of Rush, of his heritage, of what made Rush, Rush. And it was part of what had made Brian fall in love with the big cowboy.
Going to the kitchen for a beer, he decided all he could do right now was to hope Rush could find the strength to come out.
Brian dropped a wedge of lime into his Corona and took a swallow.
How long could they keep their love alive across the distance that separated their worlds?
* * * *
Rush sat on the porch, his feet on the railing, and sipped his beer. He hadn’t stopped smiling for days. The memory of Brian, of what had happened between them in his backyard under the stars was too good to let go. He’d dwell in it every chance he’d get until they were together again.
Maybe this weekend, Brian could come to the ranch. He’d love to show him around. They could go riding down to the creek. Make love under the stars again. The thought of Brian’s naked body stretched out in the moonlight got his dick stiff in record time. He smiled as he imagined what his father would have said if he’d known Rush was sitting in his chair with a hard-on for another man.
The screen door opened and Manuel stepped out.
“Going to call it a day, Rush.” The Double T’s foreman wiped his lined face with a blue kerchief and tucked it back into the pocket of his jeans. “The men finished replacing the fence. I figured they could move on to that new corral behind the barn you’d been wanting. For the Quarter horses.”
“Sounds good. Tomorrow before you come out, order the supplies you’ll need at Wilson’s.” Rush took another sip and rested the bottle on his hip to hide the bulge in his jeans.
Manuel stared at him and shook his head. “I don’t know who she is, but some filly’s got you grinning like a bearcat.”
Rush shifted in his father’s chair. His chair now. “There’s no filly. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You sure? ’Cause you got that I-just-got-laid look all over your face.”
“Shit, Manuel. Who’d want an old, beat-up cowboy like me?”
“Only half the married women in this town and all the unmarried ones,” Manuel laughed.
“You’re mistaken.” His tone was sharper than it needed to be.
The older man snorted. “Fine. Keep it a secret. I’ll find out soon enough. It’ll be all over town by the end of the week, anyway.”
Rush cleared his throat and crossed his legs at the ankles. Manuel’s shot may have been close, but he hadn’t scored a bull’s-eye.
“There’s nothing to tell, nothing to find out, Manuel.” He pulled his voice back to normal. “Same old, same old.”
“Right.” Manuel walked down the steps then turned and looked at him. “Rush, whoever it is, I’m glad. In all the years I’ve known you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy.” Then he headed to his old pickup truck, got in and drove off.
Rush doubted Manuel would be happy for him if he knew the truth. The old cowboy had worked for Rush’s father for years and was one of the few hands he’d kept on after his father’s death. Rush was pretty sure his foreman had the same prejudic
es as his father. Telling him about his male lover was not an option.
Manuel had gotten one thing right. The whole fucking town would know he was gay once they saw him and Brian together.
There was no way in hell Brian could ever come to the ranch.
* * * *
Wednesday night the phone rang at nine sharp. Rush snatched it off the bedside table and flipped it open. He’d been waiting for the call from Brian all week and thought it would never come. He was tired of jerking off without Brian’s deep voice urging him on.
“Rush?” Brian’s voice filled him up and settled him deeper into the bed as he stroked his hardened cock.
“Darlin’. Been waiting for your call.”
“Have you? How have you been passing the time?”
“With my hand on my dick, thinking of you and me and those stars overhead as I fucked your ass last Friday. How about you?” Rush smeared the pre-cum across the tip of his cock and shuddered.
“Damn, cowboy. I’ve been jerking off every morning in the shower, and every night in bed, calling out your name.”
“I’m here now, darlin’. Talk to me. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
Brian sighed into the phone. “I want your dick so far up my ass you’ll tickle my tonsils.”
“Fuck, yeah.” Rush pulled hard on his dick, his balls already burning in their need to unload.
“I want your big balls slapping my ass, your strong hands holding me down, making me take what you give me. I want you to do it hard and fast and angry.”
“Angry, huh? Your ass needs some pounding?” Shit, he’d explode in a minute if Brian kept this up.
“Yeah, it does. Make me scream, cowboy.”
“It’ll be my pleasure. You like that I’m bigger than you, don’t you? You want me to handle you, dominate you, huh?” That idea made Rush’s dick throb even harder.
“Fuck, yeah. I’m yours, Rush, and I want you to show me who’s boss.”
“I’m boss, darlin’. Say it, Brian. I’m the boss.”
“You’re the boss, Rush.” Brian’s words caused pre-cum to dribble from the slit in Rush’s cock, and he used the glistening droplets to glide his hand over his heated flesh. It was so delicious. He squeezed tighter, fucking his own hand. Not as good as fucking Brian, but it would do for now.
“I’ll fuck you whenever I want, right?” he rasped.
“Whenever.”
“Are you close?”
“Fuck, yeah.”
“Are you leaking?” He stroked faster as his balls pulled up to his body.
“Like a faucet.”
“Good. Is it all over your hands?”
“Coating them.”
“Lick it off, darlin’. Taste yourself and tell me what it’s like.”
“You know how it tastes.”
“I’m the boss. Do it.”
Rush could hear Brian moaning as he licked his fingers. “Fuck, it’s salty, a little bitter. Not as good as cum. I love the way your cum tastes when it’s shooting down my throat.”
Rush moaned and raised his hand to his lips. He flicked out his tongue and licked between his fingers. Salty, and thinner than real cum.
“You’re doing it, too, aren’t you? Bastard. The vision of you licking your cum from your fingers…you’re going to make me come.” Brian moaned.
“Me? If you don’t stop that sweet little moan you do, I’m going to blow my load.”
“Christ. It’s coming.” Brian panted. “I can’t stop it. Don’t want to stop it.”
“Don’t, darlin’. Say my name.”
“Rush, oh God, Rush, I love you.” Brian’s groan was joined by Rush’s as he exploded. Rush shuddered when hot, ropey cum splattered over his belly.
Hearing Brian say he loved him had made him lose control.
Rush closed his eyes. “If you ever cheat on me, Brian, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“I’ll never cheat. You’ve got my dick in the palm of your hand along with my heart.”
“I don’t know if I could take it, you know. I’m taking a big leap here.”
“I know. I feel the same. You’re the only man for me.”
“I only want you.” Rush still couldn’t say it, couldn’t manage to get those three little words out of his mouth and past his lips. They seemed to die somewhere between his heart and his tongue.
“I need you. This weekend?”
Rush froze. “Your place?”
“I was hoping I could come out to the ranch some time.”
“That’s not going to happen, Brian. I’m not out here, and you know that.” Rush ran his fingertip through the cooling cum on his belly, painting Brian’s name on his skin.
“I know. I can’t force you out, and I don’t want to. When you’re ready, you’ll do it.”
Rush fell silent. How the hell could he tell Brian there was a very good chance that would never happen? Instead, he waited for Brian to offer his place.
Brian cleared his throat. “Okay, come here. Can you at least stay the weekend?”
“No. I have to get back on Saturday.”
“Get one of the hands to do the chores.” Rush could hear the disbelief in Brian’s tone.
Rush sighed. He could get Manuel to do it, but he was already suspicious and he’d just ask too many questions. Who else did he trust? Ricky, maybe. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do, but no promises.”
“Okay. If it happens, it happens. But we have a date on Friday night, right?”
“Right.”
“You’re staying all night, right?” Brian sounded pissed off.
“Right. Those are your rules,” Rush bit out.
“If you want my ass, those are the rules. Just say the word, cowboy, and we don’t have to do this at all.” Now, Rush could hear the anger in Brian’s voice, and his own temper flared.
He almost said fuck it, but his need and desire for Brian zipped his lips shut, preventing the smart-ass remark from slipping out. For once, he wouldn’t ruin things.
Brian sighed. “I don’t want to fight, Rush. I want to make love to you, make you moan, make you cry out my name. I don’t want to cause you pain.” His voice was like gravel as his emotions came through the phone loud and clear.
“I don’t want to fight, either,” Rush relented. “Want to make you scream, darlin’.”
“You will. You always do.”
“Night, Brian. See you on Friday.”
“Night, Rush. Can’t wait.” Brian hung up.
Rush closed the phone, put it on the nightstand, then got up to take a shower. He knew he’d have to take another one in the morning, after he whacked off.
Tomorrow, he’d do it in the shower and kill two birds with his right hand.
Rush turned the knobs and needling hot water burst out. He stepped under it and rinsed the dried cum off his stomach, then from his cock and balls.
He turned around, leaned over, propped himself against the tile wall with his hand, and let the water beat on his shoulders and back.
Brian’s face appeared behind Rush’s closed eyes, and his hand went straight to his dick like a fucking homing pigeon.
It sprang to life much too quickly. Rush spilled onto the glass wall of the shower, painting it with his cream and crying out for Brian.
Chapter Fifteen
“Is this Rose Mae Waters?” Brian swiveled side to side in his chair, tapping his fingers on the desk pad.
“Why, yes it is. Who’s speaking?” a firm but aged voice answered.
“I’m calling about Lydia Mae Waters.”
The silence on the other end of the line was thick enough to cut.
Brian cleared his throat. “Are you her mother?”
“Who is this?”
“My name is Brian Russell, ma’am. I’m a private investigator. Lydia’s name has come up in a search I’m doing for a client.”
“Lydia’s dead.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. When did she die?” Brian moved quickly, snatching up
a pen to take down the info. No surprise, he’d expected she was dead.
“Years ago.” She exhaled, sounding incredibly tired.
“Do you remember when?” Could a mother ever forget the date her child died? Brian didn’t think so.
“Back in eighty-six. She was only nineteen.” Now, a palatable sadness overcame the woman’s weariness. Nineteen, that would explain the lack of records.
“I’d like to meet with you. I have something to discuss with you, and I’d prefer not to do it over the phone.”
More silence. A sigh. “All right.” There was no mistaking her reluctance, but she’d still agreed.
“Is tomorrow fine with you, Mrs. Waters? Around ten a.m.?” He wanted to do it right now, but sometimes it was better to give folks a chance to get used to the idea of chatting. Sometimes, that backfired, and they grew reticent about speaking.
“That’s fine. You’ve got my phone number, do you have my address?” The lady was sharp enough, it seemed.
“Yes. You’re inside the 610 Loop, near Ella Boulevard, right?”
“That’s right. See you at ten.” She hung up.
Brian sat back. He’d wait until after his visit to inform Sammi of his progress. No need to get his hopes up, then dash them if this didn’t pan out.
* * * *
Brian located the small Craftsman cottage with little difficulty. It was tidy, with a well-kept front garden. Large oaks and a magnolia towered behind the house.
Brian opened the cast iron gate, walked up the sidewalk, and climbed the front steps. On the small porch, three cats, their bellies up, backs twisted, eyes closed, lounged in the late morning sun. Well, she was a cat person. Weren’t most old women?
The lace curtains at the windows confirmed that this was an old lady’s house. He wondered if the furniture would have those lace antimacassars draped over their backs and arms or if everything would smell like mothballs.
He rang the doorbell and waited.
The door opened and a small woman with Sammi’s deep brown eyes stared up at him.
“You must be Mr. Russell.”
