by Ariel Tachna
Once Gerald was in the right motion, he could tell it was the correct one. It felt right, and Misfit seemed to relax under him too, though he couldn’t have explained why he felt that. He trotted her around the ring several times before coming to a stop, a wide smile on his face. “That was great!”
“Now you just have to get used to figuring it out on your own,” Brett said, returning the smile. He crossed the ring to fetch a long lunge line and whip. He snapped it to Misfit’s bridle and returned to the middle of the ring. “Ready for something new?”
“Well, I’m not in the dirt yet, so I’ll try it,” Gerald answered.
Brett laughed. “Hold the pommel with one hand and Misfit’s mane with the other. Don’t worry about the reins. I’ll guide her from here.” When Gerald was situated, Brett shook the lunge whip at Misfit’s heels, clucking to her at the same time. Gerald leaned forward instinctively, and that was all the encouragement Misfit needed to break into a gentle, rolling canter.
“Wow!” Gerald said after a few moments. “This is great!” Sometimes he wondered if he sounded like a little kid, but he just couldn’t help it.
“Keep your heels down,” Brett prompted as Misfit continued with her loping strides. “You don’t want your feet to get caught in the stirrups.”
Gerald corrected his stance, a little clumsily, but he managed it. “This isn’t a trot,” he said.
Brett laughed. “No, it’s not. She’s cantering. It’s a faster gait, but once you get the hang of it, it’s an easier one because it’s a less jarring rhythm. You have to let your hips roll with her motion. A little like with a lover.”
It was another long minute, but then Gerald fluidly relaxed into the movement, his midsection shifting as Brett had described. It didn’t last long before he lost the repetitive motion, but he was already smiling.
Brett shortened the lunge line, bringing Misfit back to a walk. “Nicely done,” he praised, coming up to stand beside Gerald’s booted foot as the other man sagged a little in the saddle, “although we need to work on your stamina or there might be some disappointed ladies out there.”
Gerald chuckled and shook his head, not really minding the comment. “I don’t know that any ladies care since I devote my stamina to the guys instead,” he said matter-of-factly.
Brett blinked a couple of times. “Well, isn’t that nice to know?” he drawled before taking a step back and loosening the lunge line again with a firm reminder that he had a date tonight and therefore had no business coming on to his student. “Let’s try it again.”
Tipping his head to one side, Gerald realized Brett was teasing him. “You were right, you know,” he said as Misfit started walking.
“Right about what?” Brett asked, having lost the thread of the conversation in the surprise revelation.
Gerald grinned as Misfit stretched into the canter. “It is like moving with a lover.”
“Told you.” Brett watched as Gerald picked up the movement much more easily this time. He let the other man find his own position. None of the little flaws were dangerous to Gerald or to Misfit, and Brett was of the opinion that too many directions all at once were distracting. Once Gerald was more comfortable, they could work on all the details.
BRETT leaned against the door to the stall where Gerald was busy mucking straw, enjoying the sight of muscles bunching beneath the sweat-soaked singlet he’d left on when he pulled off his dress shirt upon his arrival from work. Apparently he’d been in a hurry. It amused Brett so much that Gerald would come straight from work, pull on a pair of jeans, and get right to work like that. He’d found himself watching the other man more and more in the days since the matter-of-fact announcement that Gerald was gay. Damn, he wished he’d realized it sooner. Brett could think of a laundry list of things he’d have done differently if only he’d known.
“Enough work for one day,” he declared, ready to have Gerald’s company for himself. “It’s time to ride.”
Gerald glanced up and smiled, straightening and leaning on the pitchfork as he wiped his brow with the back of his forearm. “That’s a first, you who always works telling someone else to take a break,” he teased.
Brett shrugged. “As much as you’re here helping me, I find myself running out of things to do. The work’s done. It’s time to ride.”
“Well, I won’t complain,” Gerald said. He grabbed the old towel he’d thrown over the stall wall and used it to wipe off his face and neck. It was really hot in the barn, and while the horses were smart enough to stay outside, he apparently wasn’t. He plucked at the soaked singlet. “Well, I knew I’d get sweaty today. Good thing I didn’t change into an actual T-shirt. I’d have keeled over from heat exhaustion.”
Brett thought it was a good thing as well, for an entirely different reason. The only thing sexier than a sweaty man in a singlet was a sweaty man with no shirt at all. “So take it off. It’s just us here tonight. I’m certainly not going to complain if you’re cooler without a shirt.”
Gerald shrugged as he walked past with the pitchfork and latched the stall behind him. “So where do you want to ride? Remember I’m not on the level with you and Shah,” he reminded.
“You choose,” Brett replied. “We can do a lesson here in the ring or we can take a couple of horses out through the woods.”
“I don’t have a preference,” Gerald said happily as he turned on the water at the spigot to wash his hands. “I just want to ride.”
“Well then, saddle up Misfit, and I’ll meet you in the ring.” Brett laughed. “Let’s see if you still remember how to canter. Have you been practicing at home?”
Gerald looked up from the water and blinked at him several times, confused. “How would I practice at…?” Then he perked up as his brain caught up, and he rolled his eyes. “Funny. Very funny.”
“What?” Brett asked innocently. “For all I know, you could have a different guy for every night of the week.”
“And one in nice pants for Sundays?” Gerald said drolly as he shut off the faucet and shook his hands out. “No,” he said sweetly. “I’ve not been practicing. Sorry, Mr. Sutcliffe.”
Brett cocked an eyebrow. “You know what happens to naughty boys who don’t do their homework,” he said sternly.
Gerald’s lips twitched, and he cleared his throat. “No riding?” he tried.
“Worse than that,” Brett threatened, grabbing a stray lead rope from where one of the kids had left it and running it through his hand.
Gerald’s brows rose. “Uh…?” He blinked at Brett, trying to figure out what he might be hinting at. “Extra work in the barn?”
“Nope.” Brett advanced on Gerald, the rope hanging loosely in his hands.
“No dinner?” Gerald guessed as his eyes grew wider.
“Not that either.” Getting within arm’s reach of Gerald, Brett threw the rope over his torso, pinning his arms and spinning him around as he swiftly put a knot in the soft cotton. “They get hog-tied and tickled.”
Gerald immediately squawked and tried to get loose. “No tickling! No tickling!” he insisted.
“Why not?” Brett asked, fingers moving more quickly. “Can’t take it?”
“I can’t stand it!” Gerald insisted, jerking around, trying to get loose. And as soon as he didn’t feel Brett’s hands, he bolted.
“Hey!” Brett shouted, dashing after Gerald and tackling him to the ground. They both fell with a thump and a laugh. “I wasn’t done with you yet!”
“No, please!” Gerald wheedled, rolling to his side. “Anything but tickling—anything!”
Brett was tempted to ask for a kiss, just to know what Gerald’s mouth would feel like beneath his, but thoughts of Robbie held him back. They hadn’t explicitly talked about not seeing anyone else, but Brett had considered it understood. And as long as that was the case, he couldn’t bring himself to ask Gerald for what he really wanted. “That’s a pretty broad offer,” he drawled. “I could demand all kinds of sexual favors in exchange for not ticklin
g.” He got to his knees, rocked back onto his heels, and grinned down at the other man. “Or I could make you empty the manure carts for the rest of the month.”
“There’s only a few days left in the month,” Gerald pointed out, relaxing with a huff. He deliberately ignored the other comment, although his body didn’t.
“Fine, then you can empty the manure carts next month too,” Brett joked, offering Gerald a hand. “Come on; get Misfit ready. I promised you a ride, and the state of Connecticut frowns on slave labor.”
“Hey, it’s not slave labor. You pay me eight dollars an hour,” Gerald protested as he climbed up.
Brett paused. “What?” he asked in confusion. “How do you figure that?”
“Eight dollars an hour. It works out to a free riding lesson a week, about,” Gerald said offhand as he stood still while Brett untied him.
Brett shook his head. “You accountants,” he groused. “Always on about the numbers. Honestly, as much as you work, I shouldn’t charge you for any lessons. I’ve forgotten how I ran this place without you.”
“I just help out when I can. And it’s not so much more than a lesson a week, really. And now that I ride several days a week, I try to keep it even,” Gerald said with a shrug as they started toward the door.
“If it’s really that important to you, then keep track,” Brett agreed as they stepped outside into night air only marginally cooler than the air in the barn, “but like I said, you’ve more than earned all the rides you want as far as I’m concerned. So, you want to try a small jump tonight?”
“A jump?” Gerald’s voice reflected his surprise. “I don’t know how well I’ll do, but I’ll try it.”
“Just a little one, a trotting pole really,” Brett explained. “If you get the hang of that, we’ll work up to a little X.”
“WHAT did you think?” Brett asked as they walked Misfit back into the barn. “Want to try an X next time?”
Gerald’s nose wrinkled. “I wasn’t really comfortable with all that. I think I’d rather just ride.”
“That’s fine,” Brett assured him, “although there’s nothing quite like riding a full course. I want you to be comfortable, though. This is supposed to be fun for you.”
“I think it’s more fun to watch you and Shah,” Gerald admitted as he led Misfit into her stall and grabbed a towel to start wiping her down. “I can feel the enjoyment just pouring off the two of you.”
Brett smiled. “Yeah, we enjoy it. I find it’s a wonderful way to relax at the end of a hard day.”
“You always have hard days,” Gerald said, giving him an amused smile.
“Which is why Shah gets so much exercise,” Brett quipped. Leaning against the side of the barn, he sighed. “But I’m not going to get a ride in tonight, I’m afraid. Our annual barbecue and bonfire is coming up later this week, and I’ve got to get things ready for that. You are coming, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am,” Gerald said. “The kids have been all over me about it.”
“Good,” Brett said with a satisfied grin, anticipating spending the evening with Gerald in the relaxed, family atmosphere the bonfire always inspired. “It’s the highlight of the summer for me.”
“It sounds like a lot of fun. Should I bring anything?” Gerald asked as he finished up and stepped out of the stall.
“Just your smiling face. The farm provides everything else. I might put you to work that night. We always need willing hands to help keep the kids busy.”
Gerald sketched a bow after closing the stall door. “At your service, monsieur.”
Brett just grinned, not quite ready to tell Gerald how he’d like to be serviced. The thought of the dark man on his knees at Brett’s feet—or on his hands and knees in Brett’s bed—was far too appealing for comfort, especially since he had a boyfriend of sorts at the moment. “I’ll remind you of that when the kids drive you crazy.”
“I’ll be sure to charge you for an extra hour,” Gerald said almost seriously as he walked over and turned on the hose, soaking down the towel in his hand before turning the water back off.
“You can charge me for as many hours as you want,” Brett said. “I swear, you work as many hours a week as some of my employees.”
“No, I don’t,” Gerald disagreed mildly as he started wiping at his neck and arms with the wet towel.
Brett shook his head. “We aren’t going to agree on this one, so there’s no sense arguing,” he said agreeably. “Just make sure you keep track of those hours. I don’t want to cheat you out of lessons you’ve earned.”
“Yes, sir,” Gerald said before lifting the towel and burying his face in it to wipe away the sweat and caked-on dust.
Brett watched the progress of the towel with far more interest than was good for him, fighting the urge to reach for the towel and do it himself. He really needed to work off this attraction. He’d had no indication Gerald was interested, even if he were gay. Mentally, he calculated how long it would take to drive into town and visit Robbie, if the younger man was even available tonight. “You want a beer?” Brett offered instead, the words out before he could censor them.
“Sure,” was Gerald’s answer, coming out muffled from behind the towel. He uncovered his face to continue. “I just need to clean up a little,” he said, jerking his thumb to the wash basin at the far end of the stables. “Then we can go wherever you like.”
“I was thinking the porch, not out,” Brett said sheepishly, looking toward the wide, wraparound porch longingly. “If that’s all right with you. I’m not sure I’m up for a night on the town.”
“Of course it’s all right,” Gerald said with a smile. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Great,” Brett said, trying to think up an excuse to linger and watch as Gerald cleaned up in the hopes he’d pull off his sweaty singlet in the process. Nothing came to mind, though, so he reluctantly left the barn and headed for the house, leaving his muddy boots outside and slipping on a pair of Birkenstocks. He grabbed two beers and settled into the deep rocking chair on the porch, watching for Gerald across the yard between the house and barn.
Just like Gerald said, it was only a few minutes before he came out of the barn; he carried his singlet as he walked over to the trunk of his car, popped it open, and started rummaging.
Brett’s mouth watered at the sight, eyes tracing the dark hair dusting Gerald’s chest before he turned to the car and bent over, giving Brett an incredible view of the other man’s ass outlined in tight denim. He took a gulp of his beer, trying to douse the heat inside him, but the cold liquid did nothing to cool him down. He averted his gaze, summoning an image of Robbie instead, of smooth, supple limbs and a slender, tight backside. The sound of footsteps drew Brett’s attention, shattering the illusion and bringing him right back to his current dilemma.
Gerald had pulled on a dark green T-shirt, leaving it untucked and hugging his hips. “What are my choices?”
“A full bottle of Heineken or half of one,” Brett quipped, holding the full bottle out for Gerald to take. He couldn’t quite stop his eyes from traveling the breadth of the other man’s chest.
“Choices, choices,” Gerald said with a low laugh as he snagged the bottle and sat down next to him.
Brett propped his feet up on the porch rail in front of him, the motion rocking the chair back as far as it would go. Letting out a deep sigh of contentment, he stared up at the stars and tried not to think how much more comfortable it was having Gerald here than Robbie. His lover never wanted to just sit and enjoy the night. He had to be moving, either dancing or fucking or something. And apparently, Gerald was good with just sitting too, as he sat relaxed and content to be quiet.
Head falling back against the cushion on the chair, Brett let the sounds of the falling night wrap around him. It would be far too easy to get used to this, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t enjoy at least this much while he had it.
BRETT looked up from preparing the fire under the old grill by the lake on
his property for the annual fall cookout. His smile widened when he saw the pickup truck full of the kids who rode at the stables pull to a stop near the lake. The kids piled out, shouting greetings and questions in his direction.
“Yes, you can swim,” he told them with a smile. “Just don’t go out past the ropes. It drops off sharply after that.”
A group of riders topped the nearby hill, pausing and milling about for a moment before they started down toward the picnic area. Several tables were set up under the trees that lined the cove, as well as a couple of awnings to keep the sun off. About twenty yards away there were hitching posts set into the ground in a large grassy area not pounded down by so many feet.
The riders who stopped and dismounted were mostly instructors; they’d brought mounts to give rides for family members who came to the party, but not to the farm on a regular basis. There were also a few other volunteer members of the staff, including Gerald, who tied Misfit on a long lead so she could graze. As a group they moved over to the picnic area that was already well populated.
Gerald approached the grill, a large knapsack over his shoulder. “I was told to deliver this,” he told Brett. “And Jimmy’s got another.”
“Thanks,” Brett said with a smile, opening the bag to see dozens of ears of corn. “I’ll get these on the grill as soon as the fire settles down to coals. They take longer to cook than the burgers and dogs.”
A slightly younger man joined them before Brett could say anything else, giving the stable owner a circumspect squeeze around the waist. “Hey, Robbie,” Brett said. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to make it.”
“I got away from work early,” the artfully tousled man replied. “I wanted to be here for your big shebang.”
“Well, let me introduce you around. Robbie, this is Gerald Saunders. He helps out around the stables on the weekends and quite a few evenings. Gerry, this is Robbie Chauncey.”
“Hi,” Gerald greeted, looking him over curiously.
