by V. L. Locey
Those warblers inside me broke free when our eyes met. “Finally work up the nerve to get on my horse?”
“Uh, no, not exactly.”
“He won’t bite.” I paused to reconsider. “He probably won’t bite.”
“I’ll pass. Rumor has it you’re good at paperwork?” I nodded warily. “Excellent. I have a cubic shit ton of data to get logged into our files. Give a guy a hand?”
“Is that an official scientific measurement of weight?”
He stepped over the string, lifting his leg high, then threw me a “totally, dude” over his tanned shoulder. I followed him to one of the rather nice tents pitched around the site. Inside the tent was a thick sleeping bag, his rucksack, and piles of papers scattered all over the place.
“I’ve been too busy to keep up with all the data we’re collecting,” he confessed sheepishly. “With two of us on it, we should be done in an hour.”
I sighed as my gaze touched on the mess. “If I help you do this what do I get out of it?”
“What do you want, cowboy?” he asked in a fairly passable Mae West impersonation. That made me chuckle.
“I’ll think of something.”
We sat down on the sleeping bag, the inflatable mattress under it making rude noises whenever we moved. His knee rested against my thigh, making concentration difficult. Nevertheless, I shook away the tingling sensation in my leg and focused.
“Hmm, I’m much better at numbers than I am at collating taxonomic and stratigraphic data, but I’ll do my best,” I admitted while trying to make sense of the hastily scribbled jumble of letters and drawings in an old-fashioned notebook.
“Just move the geological context from the paper to the tablet while I work on the notes the students turned in today on treatment history.”
I nodded, removed my hat, and hunkered down to the job at hand. I’d not been working two minutes when I glanced up and caught Bishop staring at me, the pencil in his hand caught between his teeth. When our eyes met a nice rosy blush crept into his tanned cheeks. He lowered his gaze as he slid on his dark-rimmed glasses.
“Sorry, I’ve never seen you without your hat before.”
“Sure you did. That first morning you showed up at the ranch.”
“Ah yeah okay. Guess seeing you in your reindeer boxers grabbed all my attention.”
I patted the Stetson resting beside me. “I’m just like Bandit,” I tossed out. He stared at me in loss. “Bandit. Smokey and the Bandit. Burt Reynolds?”
“The movie with the black trans am?”
“That’s the one.”
“My father loves that. I’ve never seen it, well, no, I lie. I saw about ten minutes of it once. The guy in the truck ran over motorcycles. So how are you like Bandit?”
Somehow the humor of the joke had faded. “He only took his hat off for...it’s not important.” Christ I was old. What the hell was I doing sitting in this tent, trying to flirt with a man who was literally half my age and didn’t know why Bandit took off his hat?
“You look surly again,” he murmured, peeking at me around a loose strand of hair. “It looks good on you.”
“My hat?”
“No, well, yes, the hat, and the surly.” He smiled softly then lowered his head as he went back to work. My dick liked the compliment. Okay so maybe sitting here flirting with a man half my age wasn’t totally stupid. “Do you secretly love my bun?”
“Nope.” That made him snort in amusement. I turned my head away to smile. The work was tedious, which normally didn’t bother me. I enjoyed such things or else my career in banking would have been short lived. It was the proximity of Bishop that was messing with my head. He was incredibly science-geeky with his glasses on, yet the bun and the sun-kissed surfer skin was an amazing juxtaposition that kept me tuned into him. The way he breathed, the rich scent of coconut, the brush of an arm. Thirty minutes into the “work session” and I had entered ten lines of data at the most. “Jesus Christ,” I muttered.
His gaze lifted from his tablet, the blue striking. The tent grew hot, sticky, oppressive. “Problem?”
My eyes moved from his dirty face to a dried fleck of plaster in his hair. Why I reached out to grab and tug the tiny bit free I cannot say. Nor could I ever give a rational explanation for why, when his breath hitched and his pupils grew, did I card my fingers into the mess of gold and wheat. Maybe if Bishop hadn’t taken the reins so perfectly I might have been able to pull back. But that small assertive move knocked the pins out from under me. His mouth claimed mine. No toying or teasing. A claiming that surprised the hell out of me and knocked out the weak supports holding up the walls around my desires.
With a grunt, his tongue slipped between my lips as we tumbled backward onto the air mattress. My heart thundered as he stroked my tongue with his.
Yes, yes, fucking hell yes!
He kissed me with a passion and boldness that made my balls ache. No sooner had my back hit the mattress, I shoved my fingers upward, shaking out the bun. He groaned into my mouth. My cock throbbed. I shifted a little and perfect alignment occurred. His hard cock ground against mine. There was no coming back from this now. I now knew the taste of him and the feel of his long, hard body pressing down on mine. Holding his head tightly, we licked and lapped at each other. His teeth clamped onto my lower lip. I sucked in a lungful of air as I teetered dangerously close to blowing a nut right then and there. Hooking a leg around him, I rolled my hips and was rewarded with a growling huff of pleasure. How a man this young could know how to dominate as he did was beyond me, but I basked in his domineering kisses. They went on and on, both of us hot and breathless, cocks rigid and straining. Lost in the glory of a man who knew what I wanted, what I needed, I almost begged for him to do more. To let me please him in ways that I’d not pleased a man in years. Since Devon. Her laughing eyes appeared then, and I stiffened, pushed, and shoved until he was lying on his back stunned, and I was scrabbling to my feet. I fell out of the tent, one knee taking the brunt of the fall.
“Fuck,” I gasped, stumbling to my boots. I looked around the dig site like a frantic stag bolting from the hounds. Then he was there, beside me, blue eyes wide with worry, lips pink and puffy, sunny hair loose around his face. His glasses were cockeyed.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered as he handed me my hat. “I shouldn’t have done that. Forced myself on you...”
“You didn’t force anything. I wanted you to kiss me, to pin me down, to make me feel again.” He drew back, obviously shocked at the confession. He couldn’t have been more surprised than I was, yet there it was. The truth. “I think I need some air.”
“Yeah, sure. I am sorry. I just...ever since we met there was this vibe and I, well, are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine. There was a vibe. Is. There is a vibe.” I desperately wanted to touch him again. It had been years since a kiss had done to me what that meeting of the lips had. I ripped my sight from his face and looked out over the vast Wyoming land. “Let’s ride.”
“Okay.” He adjusted his glasses after placing my hat on my head. I had no idea what to say to him, or even why I’d asked him along, but once we were seated and his arms were around me, it didn’t seem to matter. Why, who, what, where. I was feeling something. Something bright and warm. I’d forgotten how incredible the first rush of attraction was.
We bounded along, him tight to my back, for about fifteen minutes until we parked on top of a soft rise that looked down over the creek bed and dig site. Night was settling over us like a cool black coat. A few stars began to twinkle and wink. I cut the engine and the silence of night descended. Bishop rested his chin on my shoulder. My jittery stomach flip-flopped.
“I hear spring peepers,” he whispered.
“From a small watering hole close by,” I replied, twisting my head to look at him. He smiled. My whole being began to hum like a tuning fork. “I want to kiss you again.”
“Do it.”
I did. It was awkward and rather silly, but I managed
to put my mouth on his. It was a sweet kiss, nothing like the mad passionate groping session back in the tent but just as powerful. I wiggled free, easing out from between his legs, and walked to the back of the Polaris to gather my thoughts.
“Tell me about yourself,” I said, my attention on the night sky. The four-wheeler moved as he climbed off. I felt him beside me, bicep to bicep, his fingers toying with mine. “Are you seeing someone?”
“No, no one. There hasn’t been a someone for about a year. I’m not sure what you want to hear,” he admitted, his pinkie hooking with mine, as our asses rested on the rack that held my rifle.
“Anything you want to tell me. I need to know something.”
“Well, I’m not a serial killer.” He settled in beside me, pinkies still connected. “I was born and raised in California by a single mom, the best mom in the world, Diane. I have a twin brother who lives in Reseda, his name is Armie, short for Armand, and he works in the film industry as a makeup artist. He and his boyfriend have a nice little house and a pug dog named Alphonse.”
“You and your twin are gay?” I asked, eager to learn about him and not talk about me.
“I’m bi, well, probably more pan but whatever label you want, I like both men and women while Armie is all gay all the time.” I heard the affection in his voice when he spoke about his brother and mother. “I have to be honest here, I’m feeling all kinds of confused. I’ve been going back and forth for weeks about if you were really interested in me or not. You’ve been looking at me like I look at Nanotyranosaur bones. If I could ever find a Nanotyranosaur that is.”
“I’m not generally attracted to men with buns.”
“You need to move past my bun.” He gave my pinkie a squeeze. The chorus of the tiny frogs grew louder as the night nestled in. I chuckled. “So are you into me or what is going on? Because that kiss was slapping but then you kind of had a freak out.”
“It wasn’t a freak out it was...something else.”
“What kind of something else? Did you decide you didn’t like the kiss or my being so pushy?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“I’m a scientist. It’s what we do.”
I took a deep breath of sweet clear air then let it out. “I liked the kiss. And your behavior. It wasn’t you. It was a memory. My daughter.”
“Ah.” That was all he said.
“She died.”
“I am so sorry. Your wife left you after she passed?”
“No, no wife. Partner. Devon. Gay men couldn’t marry back then.” I took a deep breath, but the words were jammed up inside me. “I’m not sure I want to say more right now. I’ve never told anyone about any of this. I even lied to Landon when he asked me. Told him it was a relationship gone bad that drove me west. I guess in a way it was. After Kailey...”
He released my finger to drape an arm around my neck. We were of a similar height so it was easy to just let my head drop to the side to rest against his. My hat tipped up a bit on the other side of my head but that was fine.
“This is the most you’ve said to me at one time since I arrived here,” he pointed out a moment later. I smiled into the darkness. “Thank you for having enough trust in me to let me know something that touched you so deeply. Obviously, your daughter’s death and the fallout from that is something that will be with you forever. Please feel free to speak about it when you want, or don’t, either is fine. Just know that I’m as totally blown away by this thing we have going here as you are, and that I’m one hell of a listener.”
“When you shut up long enough for someone to speak,” I replied.
“I know it. Armie is the same way. My mother said she thought she’d go bonkers with two gay boys who chattered like magpies in her house.”
“My sister died ten years ago of bone cancer.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. Were you close?”
“Not really. She and my family were rigidly against my homosexual lifestyle.”
“Wow. Life has been rough for you.”
I shrugged. “No rougher on me than any other person. There have been good times.” I felt raw and open, like a fresh wound, and so to keep myself from bleeding out, I began stitching up things. Bishop, maybe sensing that I was pulling back, began to prattle on about excavations he had been on, life in the UK attending college, and his love of Fig Newtons.
Odd how his rambling about everything and anything seemed as pleasing as the song of the spring peepers. When had it changed from annoying to attractive? It had been ages since I’d felt this at peace. As he chattered about cookies, my eye caught something. The flash of a beam of light down around the area of the dig.
“Looks like the kids are back,” I said, my voice low and lazy.
“That’s odd.” He lifted his right arm to look at his watch. It was one of those digital ones that could access the internet and tell you how to weave a poncho. If there were internet out here which there wasn’t. “The movie didn’t even start until nine according to Perry.”
“Yeah, that’s right. They only have one theater, and the films always start at nine.” I stood a little straighter. Now that I was paying closer attention, I saw not two beams of light but a dozen or so. All smaller than headlights from a truck or van. “What the hell?” All I could think of would be someone rustling cattle, but the herd was—
“Fucking bone poachers!” Bishop snarled, all that laid-back Cali surfer vibe gone instantly. “We have to get down to camp. Now!”
Chapter Six
I’d never seen a laid-back chatterbox of a beach boy move so damn fast.
He was seated before I even got turned around properly. “Hurry! If they touch any of Millicent’s bones I’ll seriously consider violence!”
I doubted he could ever be ugly, but I hurried just the same. The engine rolled over smoothly, and Bishop linked his arms around my middle. I shoved my hat between us.
“Hold on tight. We’re going the fastest way.” His arms cinched tighter, and we sailed down the hill we’d been stargazing on then headed right for the dry creek bed. Bishop yelped at the first huge dip, his weight slamming into my back. “Move with the four-wheeler,” I shouted back at him as he righted himself. “When I turn left or right lean into the turn. Hold on!”
The headlights bounced up and down and so did my passenger. He grunted and huffed, gripping my middle so hard it was difficult to draw a deep breath. We rambled over rocks and down into gulleys, a few impacts so jarring my teeth clacked. The riverbed was unforgiving, and our asses may be bruised, but it was the most direct course. When we climbed out of the rocky ditch about a mile from the dig site, I could see lights aimed at us.
Several, all thin beams but incredibly bright. The knobby tires grabbed at the soft spring dirt just as the report of a gun split the air.
“Shit!” I shouted and jerked on the handlebars, whipping the rear of the Polaris around. Bishop nearly slid off the side and to the ground. Fingers digging into my stomach, he managed to hold on as we dove back into the creek bed. His nose slammed into the back of my head. The four-wheeler listed strongly to the left then righted itself, only to nosedive into a boulder the size of a bison. We both were thrown forward. I threw myself, taking Bishop with me, to the right as the front of the four-wheeler kissed rock. We rolled down to our sides, rocks and stones slashing and gouging, with me ending up sprawled over Bishop.
“Oh...fuck,” he huffed. “My side...”
I sat up, my head spinning from where skull had met dusty rock. I reached up, felt blood, and cussed vividly. Bishop and I sat there for a moment as the radiator in the Polaris steamed and spit, steam filling the headlight beam. Singular. The left beam had been shattered.
“Anything broken?” I asked as I pushed to my feet.
“No, I...no, I don’t think so.”
“Good. Stay down.” I stumbled to the Polaris to get my rifle. I shoved a bullet in and fired a shot into the air. Bishop yelped again. He did that a lot I noticed. Fuck but my head hurt.
“What the actual fuck!?” Bishop shouted.
“A warning shot. Which was more than they gave us.” I shimmied up the bank to scope out the landscape. The site was dark now.
“Wait. They shot at us?!” His voice wavered. I climbed up out of the creek bed, knelt down, and studied the excavation area for a moment. Bishop scrambled up beside me, gasping and groaning. “I didn’t hear a shot, but then again, all I could hear was my blood coursing through my ears. I had several near-death experiences.”
“Mm-hmm, they took a shot,” I replied then stood up, cradling the rifle in my arms. “Looks like they left. Can you walk to the site?”
“Watch me!” He took off at a clip that was hard for me to match. The site was quiet as we stalked up upon it, but the damage had been done. The tents had been torn apart. The tarps over the dig site trashed. The portable camp shower unit was destroyed, and the porta potty that Landon had had delivered to the site had been vandalized. The door now lay in the bone pit.
Bishop had run off to the small white tent where the finds had been stored after they’d been cataloged and casted. I could hear him cursing and winced.
“I hate thieves!” he bellowed as he threw the flap on the lopsided tent aside. I bent down to pick up a flashlight that had been kicked around and turned it on. “I fucking hate thieves! How did they even know we were here?! Miserable dickheads!”
“Did they take them all?” I’d not seen the shelves full of bones, but Perry had run on about them at length.
“They took enough. They took all of Millicent’s tail vertebrae the fuckers. The fuckers!!” He railed and shook his fists at the stars.
“I’m sorry. I know how excited you all were about that Triceratops.” Bishop grunted, words obviously escaping him right now. He flopped down on the ground. Just dropped right into a sit from a stand. I padded over and ran my hand over his bowed head.
“I hate poachers. Go do your own work, thieving bastards. How did they even know we were working out here? The students were not allowed to post about the site primarily for reasons just like this!”
