by V. L. Locey
“No,” Clint said and got a dark look from his employer which the old cowboy ignored.
“That’s mighty neighborly.” I tapped the rim of my hat.
“We would appreciate a call before your guests show up on our land though,” Shepherd tossed out.
“That can be done. Thanks for being so understanding. It’s much appreciated,” I tacked on, inclined my head, and gave Tiberius a tender squeeze with my calves as I led him to the left.
We rode back the way we came, crossing at the pinch point of the Jante then taking a sharp right that would lead us past the guest cabins that sat by Smoke Lake. I stopped to relay the rules to our guests about staying on the Prairie Smoke land and what to do if wounded wildlife crossed the property boundaries. They all nodded and agreed to the rules, once more, and vowed to study the online map that we sent to all new guests. With that settled for the moment, it was a yearly thing with new visitors, I headed to the lake.
Smoke Lake was small in comparison to some others in Wyoming, only fifty acres or so, but she ran deep and cold. Runoff from the mountains kept the water chilly, so chilly that only the bravest—or drunkest—of souls would dive in. I had once, many years ago, when I was young and filled to the gills on whiskey. I thought my heart had stopped it was such a shock. To this day, I can’t decide if I made the drunken leap out of bravado or some deeper and darker reason. There had been low times back then when dying had seemed preferable to living.
But here I was so I had to guess living won out. Tiberius stopped to drink. I looked out over the surface, the small waves rolling placidly to shore. In the dark waters lurked all manner of game fish from trout and bass to Kokanee salmon. Moose, elk, and mule deer came here to quench their thirst, but nothing was to be seen this evening. When my horse had drunk his fill, we rode along at a pleasant clip. I didn’t like to push the old man too much. An hour passed as the sun sank lower. Birds were still flitting about, diving to catch the swarms of bugs that were warming up. Soon we’d be inundated with flies, mosquitoes, ticks, and all manner of stinging insects. Seeing the snow melt was a double-edged sword.
Clearing a small hillock I looked down to see the flapping yellow tape surrounding the dig site. Tiberius stomped a foot, a sign that he had winded the men at the dig. His alert posture said that he knew a stranger wearing a bun was down there.
“Try not to stare,” I said, rubbing his powerful neck before leading him down to the mound of fresh dirt.
The closer I got the louder the music from Perry’s old Jeep grew. It sounded like some sort of alternative rock. The song wasn’t familiar to me at all. It made Tiberius’s ears twitch. Both men were lying in the dirt, mouths going steadily, brushing at something buried in the ground. The whicker of my horse managed to get through the screaming rock tune. Perry and Bishop glanced my way. Perry blushed. Bishop grinned. A funny, fuzzy feeling spread out from my stomach at his smile. His bun was a mess, and so was he. Dirt smeared, globs of white stuff on his cheeks and arms, sunny hair dancing around his face, he radiated joy.
Perry scrambled to his Jeep to turn down the music. I slid down to the ground, letting the reins dangle so T could nibble at the short green grasses. A fly zipped past my face as I neared the two giddy fossil hunters.
“Sorry, boss,” Perry said as he came to stand beside me. Bishop stood up, stretched, and my eyes darted to that exposed inch or two of firm, tan belly. He had a golden treasure trail that disappeared into his shorts. I wet my lips, my throat and mouth going dry.
“What? Do you not get into Weezer?” Bishop asked as he slapped at his ass. Dust billowed out of his pants.
“Guess not,” I replied, my sight riveted to the man spanking himself.
“Nathan, don’t tell me you’re a non-Weezer geezer?” Bishop asked. Perry laughed aloud then quickly swallowed down his mirth when I looked his way. This had been a stupid idea. Why on earth had I ridden out here? To be teased by a Point Break extra? Perry was here with Bishop. If anything had happened, he would have been able to get the man to the big house for assistance. I wasn’t into bones like they were. Why the hell was I even here?! I should have gone home and done some work instead of—
“Boss digs old music,” Perry said which got him another sour look. He turned four shades of red then hurried off to wrap up a rock in tin foil. Once I got my eyes peeled away from Bishop’s dusty ass, I noted that there were small silver foil packages all over the place.
“I was just kidding,” Bishop announced. “You’re not a geezer. You’re the sexy man in the reindeer briefs.” Perry’s eyes flew from his rock wrapping to me. I pretended not to have heard what had just been said about my underwear. Sexy. Shit. I was a long way from sexy. Worn and ragged maybe. “Come over here. Watch where you step. We don’t want any other mishaps. Yep, good, over here. Okay, now, do you see this?”
He went to one knee, so I did the same. The winds were lessening now as the sun sank, but a playful zephyr skipped around us, picking up some dust as well as a dozen or so long strands of sandy blond hair. He needed to tuck that hair back into his stupid bun. It was distracting and needed to be tucked. Into the bun or behind his ear or—
“Boss, this is amazing!” Perry’s voice right beside me startled me. “We think we might have a frill!”
I looked from one beaming face to another. “And a frill is...” I asked because I only knew of one kind of frill and that was on a dress that she had worn on her third birthday. Pink it was, with white lacy frills, and—
“A frill is the bony support on many horned dinosaurs. You know what a Triceratops is?” Bishop asked and I nodded, happy to be talking about dead lizards. “Well, that flare behind the two largest horns is known as a frill.” He ran his brush along what appeared to be a long stretch of rock with small dips. “This is just the tip obviously, as the skull itself, if it’s intact, would be about ten feet long.”
“Can you believe it, boss?!” Perry asked, his excitement gushing out of him.
“Well, let’s not count our trikes before we unearth her. It could also be a Nasutoceratops or a Mercuriceratops. It could be the frill of one of several Ceratopsia.”
“Right, sure, yeah, that’s true.” Perry nodded. I nodded too although I had no freaking clue. I knew three dinosaurs. No. Four. And all my dino knowledge came from watching Jurassic Park a few times. I did know what a Triceratops was. It was the sick dinosaur that Laura Dern was so concerned about that she pawed through dino droppings to help. Did she ever figure out what was wrong with the beast?
“Still though, this is pretty substantial and incredibly exciting!” Bishop grinned widely. “Before we go we should cover up the site in case of inclement weather.” We all stood. “Oh! I will need to contact the university to relay my findings and see if I can scrounge up a team of undergrads who would like to help on the dig for extra credit. There is cell service at the big house?”
“Most of the time but it can be spotty. If not there’s landlines,” I explained.
“I’ll help,” Perry was quick to say. “I mean...I’ll help when I can, of course.”
“I have no problems with you helping out as long as your work on the ranch is done,” I told my top hand. He nodded vigorously then ran off to grab some tarps out of his Jeep.
“He’s an incredibly bright young man,” Bishop stated.
“Yes, he is,” I agreed then helped them tidy up the best we could.
We gathered the bone fragments that had been wrapped in foil after being plaster casted. That explained what the white mess Perry and Bishop both were speckled with. The site was riddled with buckets, boxes, bags, shovels, picks, and water bottles. By the time we had things as Bishop wanted, the sun had dropped behind the Tetons and the air was growing colder. Nights in May could dip to near freezing.
“I wish I had my tents and gear. I hate to leave her,” Bishop said then sighed. “I’ll need to borrow a four-wheeler so I can come and go from the site without pulling anyone from their work.”
Tiberius whinnied as if offended by that notion. Bishop’s blue eyes skipped nervously to my horse who was impatient to get back to his stable for some grain and a good brushing.
“I’m sure we can find one for you to use. There’s a dozen or so horses as well,” I pointed out, waving a hand at my gelding.
“Uhm, yeah, thanks but I like things that don’t bite or kick you when you try to get on them.”
Ah, okay. Someone had a bad horse experience as a child I surmised. We could work on that while he was here. Maybe even get him past his fears enough to get him into the saddle.
Or holding on behind with his chin on your shoulder. That was nice, wasn’t it?
“We’ll find you something without teeth and hooves then,” I said and got a grateful nod from Bishop.
“Okay, we’re ready!” Perry called as he cranked over his Jeep. Bishop clapped my shoulder and jogged off, jumping into the Jeep then breaking into song with Perry as they trundled along the dry riverbank, leaving me staring at their taillights. An odd feeling wriggled around inside me. It took me a moment to recognize what it was. Envy. Did I really want to be in that Jeep singing along to Weezer, whoever that was? Seemed I did. I sighed as I cradled my rifle.
“I need to do bookwork,” I muttered to my horse. Yep, dull, boring bookwork. That was the ticket. Nothing like columns, numbers, and invoices to get a man’s wandering mind back on business.
Chapter Four
Over the next week I had more than enough work to keep me well occupied.
Between wrapping up the calf tagging, daily chores such as graining and haying the cattle, and riding fence in preparation of turning the herd out, I fell into bed exhausted every night. I didn’t tend to dream much, so my rest was a short black stretch that ended at four-thirty every day. Bishop Haney and his bun were being well taken care of by Perry, our shy cow hand. During the day, all I heard about was dinosaur bones, how cool Bishop was, and how exciting it was to be helping make casts and log finds. Kyle and the others took it in stride, but I was slowly becoming more and more inclined to blot it out.
Not that I begrudged Perry his fossil fun. I was glad he had found something and someone to share his time with. He tended to stick close to the ranch, keeping to himself in the evenings with a book or writing in his journals when the other men would go to Copper Falls to drink and dance with the ladies. Nope, Perry’s friendship with Bishop was amazing. Fantastic even. They were well suited being of the same general age and sharing a love of bones. I was happy for them. Wished them well. Hoped they made a lasting friendship.
God knows everyone needed someone. Perry was too young to spend his nights alone. Staring out the front window at the mountains shrouded in fog, I had to ponder on if there was an age where it was good to be alone. I’d been by myself now for over twenty years and not a one of those years had felt like the proper time to be a solitary being. The past seven days my lonely existence had sat heavily on my shoulders. The jealousy that I was feeling when I watched Perry run off after his chores were completed to join Bishop were unreasonable. And I was not, by nature, an unreasonable man. I kept my cards close to my vest and my emotions so deeply buried Bishop wouldn’t be able to dig them up. I’d loved once, been happy once, and then had lost it all in the blink of an eye.
Bane appeared as he did, meowing as he slunk around my ankles. I placed my mug to the counter then scooped up the cat. He rubbed his face on my chin.
“You like the beard, huh?” I asked and got a rough tongue on the tip of my nose in reply. “Thanks.” I turned and placed him on the counter. When he’d first moved in I’d had a rule about cats on the counters and island when I was eating. Now he went everywhere. Hell, I even placed him on the off-limits places. “Tuna or salmon?” He meowed, crooked tail sliding under my nose, and paraded back and forth. I reached into the cupboard, found a can of tuna cat food, and as I popped the top headlights cut through the night. Dumping the ground fish into his dish by the bubbling fountain cat waterer, I placed the can into the sink and slowly made my way to the front door.
I was not prepared to see a van parked by my door with college-aged kids pouring out. This must be the ragtag caravan of undergrad paleontology students Perry had been jabbering about. There were four. Three guys and a girl. All far too pert for this time of the day. Did fossil diggers never sleep? When I had been in college all I did was sleep. Well, sleep, drink, and fuck. My how my life had changed. Now all I did was work, work, and rub heating cream on my lower back when I overdid. Sex was a warm but distant memory.
Bane ran out to greet the newcomers as I leaned on the doorjamb waiting for one of them to work up the courage to approach me. It was the young miss with the red curls who came forward. A light rain began to fall.
“Hi! You must be Foreman Nate. I’m Paula and these three nerds are Will, Craig, and Veer.” The guys—or dudes as Bishop would undoubtedly call them—all raised a hand in greeting. “We stopped at the big house, but the place was dark and no one answered the door.” Which made sense. Mona had gone to California to be with her son and his family while Landon was in Europe. She padded up the two steps, extending her hand as she came. “We’re looking for Professor Haney.”
“Welcome to the Prairie Smoke Ranch. I am Nate yes. Why don’t you all come in out of the rain? I’ll call the professor and let him know you’re here.”
“Thanks,” Paula said, and they filed in, chattering amongst themselves.
“Have a seat. I’ll make more coffee.” I left them to talk and went back into the kitchen. Bane had emptied his bowl, so I placed that in the dishwasher and picked up my phone. It was barely five-thirty yet, but I rang the landline of guest cabin five. The wind picked up, and rain began to lash the house. Thunder rolled down the sides of the Tetons, rattling the windows. One never knew from day to day what kind of weather Wyoming would bless one with. I’ve woken up to two feet of snow in May, and I have also awoken to tornado warnings. The Cowboy State kept a man on his toes. The call never connected. I tried four more times, but the line seemed to be dead. Nothing new there. Tree limbs snapped and fell on the old lines all the time.
I’d make coffee and jump in the truck to fetch their teacher. He only had an old four-wheeler that Kyle had loaned him to get to the dig site and back at night, and that wasn’t going to cut it during a gully washer like we were having. Once the kids were settled with coffee and their phones, which seemed to be having their own issues connectivity wise, and Bane too, I pulled on my old raincoat from the coat rack by the door, slipped my feet into my boots, and told them to hang tight while I went to gather up Haney.
I ran to my truck, feet splashing in muddy puddles, a low rumble of thunder building overhead. It hit its crescendo as a jagged bolt of lightning speared the earth. The strike was far off but lit up the murky dawn sky. Windshield wipers slapping, I eased away from my place and made for one of several dirt lanes leading from the main drive.
“Early Morning Rain” was playing on the stereo. I smiled at Gordon singing about sand in his pockets as I crept along, rain dripping off my nose. I wiped away the droplet, cranked up the heater to clear the steamy window, and trundled along until Smoke Lake appeared. There was a low cloud hanging over the water, warm air meeting cold water, giving the area a creepy aura that the thunder and lightning magnified. All the cabins were dark aside from number five. I pulled as close to the front porch of five as I could. It was good to see that the power was still on even if the phone lines were down.
I killed the engine as rain pounded down on the hood and roof, the sound nearly deafening. Whipping up the hood of my raincoat, I threw myself out of the truck, slamming the door before making a dash for the tiny little stoop. I shook like a dog when I was under the short roof, the wind blowing the rain into my face as I pounded on the door. No one answered. I leaned in, placing my ear to the door, and could hear some sort of rock music blaring away inside.
A gust hit me in the cheek, small pebbles of what must be hail
stinging my face. I tried the doorknob. It turned with ease and I slid inside, dripping wet, and shouted his name.
Bishop appeared a second later, soaking wet, with a green towel hanging off his lean hips. My mouth dropped a bit as my eyes touched every bit of exposed slick skin. He had a nice frame, rangy yes but not skinny, yet not too defined either. A light spattering of gold hair covered his chest and belly. His nipples were pinkish-brown. There was a small tattoo on his left pectoral that I couldn’t make out.
“Hey! It’s the sexy surly foreman,” he called, making my sight leave the tempting sight of his pelvic lines. A filthy little scenario flared to life with me filling those cum gutters with spunk as I rode him like a wild mustang. “Let me turn this down. You ever listen to any Gulch?” he shouted as he rushed to the portable speakers his phone was plugged into.
“I know an Elvira Gulch,” my mouth spit out as I ogled his wet back. Wide shoulders, trim waist, smooth skin. Water ran down his spine from his sodden hair. The air smelled of coconut. I licked my lips, shoved at my hardening cock, and pulled my raincoat shut before he turned around. It would not look good for the foreman of the Prairie Smoke to be talking to a guest with a raging hard-on but shit he was delicious.
“Right. The old lady on the bike in The Wizard of Oz,” he replied just as the room went silent. “Shit, that is some nasty storm.” He laid his phone on the mantle then turned to face me. “Are you doing a safety check on all the guests?”
No, I’m here to tell you that your students are at my place. Also, I want to jackoff all over your stomach and watch it run down to your balls.
“Something like that.” I forced myself to look at his face—and only his face. “Your students are at my place so if you can get dressed, I’ll take you to them.”
He lit up. “Excellent! Give me five. There’s a kettle of hot water in the kitchenette and a box of rooibos vanilla chai tea. No sugar, sorry, but I do have honey for the tea. It’s a great blend that really dances on your palate,” he said then walked off but never stopped talking. Like a damn dunce, I watched him disappear around the corner of the single bedroom/bath combo. “I found it when I was in college. It’s caffeine-free so that’s a plus when you have a mind like mine that won’t turn off a night unless I’m exhausted or recently screwed into a coma.”
