Dreamspinner Press Year Nine Greatest Hits

by Michael Murphy

  Shane didn’t look judgmental, just thoughtful.

  “I had no idea a town this small would have so many culinary delights,” Jimmy said lightly.

  “Well, we don’t have a lot of options, but a few of the choices are good. Avoid Jade Garden, though, unless you like soggy Chinese dishes that all have the same sauce no matter what you order.” He chased a bit of sausage with his fork before popping the food in his mouth, chewing, and swallowing. “So you’ve traveled a lot, huh?”

  “I’ve been everywhere, man,” Jimmy said, smiling.

  “Hey, I know that song. I used to be able to sing it.” Sorrow flitted across his face for a moment before a weak smile replaced it. “I love old-school country.”

  Jimmy remembered Tom’s letter, which was still tucked in his jacket pocket. “Johnny Cash.”

  Shane squirmed uncomfortably. “He’s… not my favorite. I like Hank Williams. Buck Owens. Merle Haggard.”

  Because Jimmy didn’t really know much about country music—or any other genre, for that matter—he just nodded. “How about you? Not much traveling?”

  “Hardly any at all. I used to go to Nevada sometimes when I worked at the ranch. We sold cattle at auction there. When I was a kid, I went to San Francisco a few times with Jes—” He winced before continuing. “Sowed some wild oats. It was nice being around other queer folks for a while, but that crowd was way too cool for me. I was just a big old hick.”

  “Oh, c’mon. I bet those boys ate you up with a spoon. I mean, you’re cute as hell, and then there’s the whole cowboy deal….”

  Shane blushed slightly, which made him even cuter. “I wouldn’t have had any trouble getting laid. But none of ’em took me seriously, you know?”

  Jimmy did know, although people usually dismissed him for other reasons. “So you haven’t been anywhere else?”

  “Not really. I think by the time my ancestors settled here in Rattlesnake, they’d used up most of the family wanderlust. Anyway, it’s hard to leave town when you run a ranch. Gotta care for the livestock.”

  Of course, Jimmy had never cared for anyone or anything but himself. He squirmed at the idea of being tied down like that. It would feel like being in jail.

  His water glass was empty. When he stood to get more, he snagged Shane’s too, then refilled them both at the tap. Shane didn’t look happy when Jimmy set the glasses back down. “I could’ve done that.”

  “Yeah, but you spend all day getting people drinks, and now you’re on break. It’s my turn.”

  That response apparently cheered Shane a bit. “You better be careful or I’ll end up corralling you to help in the bar on a busy Saturday night.”

  “Sorry to say, waiting tables is one thing I don’t have much practice with.” He didn’t look respectable enough to be trusted to interact with customers and handle cash.

  “It’s not that hard. Even I figured it out.” Shane played with his fork for a moment before drinking some water. He had strong hands with long fingers. Jimmy wondered if they were calloused like Adam Little’s.

  After a while, Shane caught Jimmy’s gaze again. “So what do you do with yourself when you’re not working or traveling or being sick from too many tomatoes?”

  Jimmy chuckled softly. “Those activities take up most of my time, I guess.” And then he added, slightly hesitantly, “I… like to read.”

  To Jimmy’s relief, Shane didn’t mock him. He looked genuinely interested by the revelation. “What kinds of things?”

  “Whatever I can get my hands on. I’ve… I don’t have much education. Not even a high school diploma. But I learn a lot from books. They’re cheap entertainment too. Lots of times I can find free books, or I buy ’em for fifty cents at thrift stores. A nice thick book could last me a few days. Good bang for my buck.” He glanced around the living area of Shane’s apartment and didn’t see any books at all. Not even a magazine. “How about you? What do you like to read?”

  Shane bit his lip and looked down at the table. “Not much of a reader,” he mumbled, hardly above a whisper.

  “Nothing to be embarrassed about. Lots of people aren’t. Especially active types.”

  When Shane looked up again, his face was lined with pain. He closed his eyes and kept them shut for a moment before opening them again. Then he tried on a smile. “Want some dessert? I have ice cream.”

  “If I eat any more food today, I’m going to burst. But thanks. I really enjoyed the calzone.”

  “Good. I—” Shane glanced at his watch. “Shit. I have to get back to work.” He stood and began to gather the dirty dishes.

  “Now?”

  “Five minutes ago, actually. Sam can only hold his own for so long.”

  “But… I thought….”

  Shane turned to face him with an evil grin. “Waiting. It makes things better, don’t you think? And sometimes a little teasing is a good thing.”

  Still trying to process the fact that they weren’t going to fuck, Jimmy rose. He stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do next—until Shane dumped the silverware in the sink with a clatter and limped close. “Maybe just a taste,” Shane said before leaning in for a kiss.

  This kiss wasn’t as big a shock as the first, but it was at least as intense. Shane cradled the back of Jimmy’s head while Jimmy settled his hands flat against Shane’s back. Shane tasted garlicky from the calzone sauce, but then so did Jimmy, so that was okay. And Jimmy might have thought it was lingering spices that made his lips tingle, except the tingle spread all over his skin like a sleeping limb awakening. God, he wanted more. He wanted skin and he wanted—

  Shane pulled away, proving that wanting got Jimmy nothing but disappointment. “I have to go,” Shane said. At least his voice had gone husky.

  “Okay.” Jimmy turned to walk to the door, but Shane caught his arm.

  “Will you come hang out in the bar tonight? Things are slow. I’d like your company.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Please? I close at one.” His eyes sparked.

  “I, uh….” Jimmy swallowed. “All right. I have a few things to do, but I’ll be there soon.”

  “Good.”

  Shane would have gone out the door first, but Jimmy stopped him. “I think you left the oven on.”

  “Fuck!” Shane hurried over to turn it off. He looked miserable when he turned back in Jimmy’s direction. “That’s one reason I don’t cook.”

  “It’s no big deal,” said Jimmy, who didn’t understand why Shane was worked up over it.

  “Not when it’s the oven. But if it’s a burner on the stove or maybe a coffeepot in the machine… I have a list at the bar. All the things I have to do when I close so I don’t end up burning the place down.”

  “Well, it’s easy to forget things like that, I bet.” Jimmy rarely had the opportunity to forget, seeing as he rarely had access to a kitchen. But Shane just shook his head.

  Abandoning the dirty dishes, they left the apartment and walked together as far as the lobby. Belinda sat at the counter in front of a computer. She glared at Jimmy but didn’t say anything. “See you in a while?” Shane asked Jimmy, either oblivious or uncaring about his aunt’s expression.

  “Sure.”

  Jimmy waited until Shane entered the bar, and then he turned to Belinda. “I got to quite a few things on the list today. Is there anything that urgently needs doing, or can the rest wait until tomorrow?”

  “There’s nothing urgent,” she grudgingly admitted. She opened her mouth as if to say something more but then closed it, so Jimmy started for the hallway leading to his room. He’d gone only a few steps before she called out, “James?”

  He stopped and turned. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Shane is—” She stopped and sighed, now looking more sad than stern. “Never mind. Good night, James.”

  “Night, ma’am.”

  Chapter Eight

  BACK IN his room, Jimmy spent a long time in front of the mirror. He’d gone to the sink intending to splash water
on his face, but when he caught sight of his reflection, he froze. Not that he saw anything unexpected or frightening in the glass—just the same old boring, slightly weathered face. But he stared into his own muddy-brown eyes as if he might find something there. Some fundamental truth. But his eyes were no more honest than the rest of him.

  Fuck. He should leave right now. It would be easy; he hadn’t even unpacked his duffel. But instead of slinging it over his shoulder, he found himself opening it, taking out his few belongings, and tucking them away in the drawers of the armoire. He placed the bag itself in the closet, and when he closed the door, the soft thud had an odd finality to it.

  He paced the room, which didn’t take many steps. He felt claustrophobic, caged in. But he didn’t walk out the door—not to go to the bar, not to go outside, not to leave Rattlesnake for good. He tried. But every time he reached for the doorknob, he tasted Shane on his lips and felt the soft wool of Shane’s Pendleton shirt against his palms.

  Finally, with a growl of frustration, he unfastened his jeans and pushed them and his underwear down past his knees. He wrapped a hand around his cock, which had been hard since that goddamn kiss. Even Belinda’s steely gaze, his reverie in front of the mirror, and the banality of unpacking hadn’t been enough to get rid of his hard-on. He ached. So he tugged at himself roughly—enough to hurt a little—and thought about cowboys and the color of Shane’s eyes, and in a ridiculously short time, he came hard enough to make his knees buckle. His hand sticky and his clothes pooled around his ankles, he leaned against the wall for support as he tried to catch his breath.

  This was fucking asinine. He wasn’t a kid. And hell, even when he was a kid, he hadn’t been the type to swoon. If he’d had a motto, it would have been I fucked, I came, I left. He shouldn’t be feeling all twisty over some guy he’d kissed twice.

  Kissed and had dinner with. And that was the real core of it, wasn’t it? Shane had gone out of his way to buy a nice dinner for them both, had invited Jimmy into his home, had sat with him over the meal and had a good conversation. And not because he wanted to get into Jimmy’s pants, because doing so was neither a difficult task nor a spectacularly rewarding one. No. Apparently Shane just wanted to share a private meal with him.

  Nobody ever, ever invited Jimmy over to their house for dinner.

  He shuffled to the sink to wash his hands and groin. As he zipped up his jeans, he glowered at his reflection. “Get over it, fuckwad. It was a calzone and a kiss, and that’s all.”

  When he went to the lobby, Belinda still sat at the desk. She couldn’t possibly stay there all night, he thought. He’d have to ask Shane what the deal was. Thin-lipped, she glanced up from her monitor but didn’t say anything.

  Shane was filling a glass from a tap as Jimmy entered the room. When he caught sight of Jimmy, he grinned and waved. The other customers turned to look, which made Jimmy want to slink away. Head up and shoulders straight, he walked to the bar and took a stool.

  “Thought you changed your mind,” Shane said.

  “Nope. Just had to take care of a couple of things.”

  “Cool. Hang on.” Shane carried the glass to a man sitting at a table across the room. On the way back, he detoured by two other sets of patrons, checking to see if they needed anything. When he returned to the back of the bar, he set his hands on the counter in front of Jimmy. “What’ll it be?”

  “Coffee.”

  “We have other options, you know. Nonalcoholic ones. We have sarsaparilla!”

  Jimmy lifted his eyebrows. “Sarsaparilla?”

  “Sure. You can’t run a place in gold rush country called the Rattlesnake Inn and not have sarsaparilla. It’s probably a law. And this stuff is pretty good. It’s made just down the road in Columbia.”

  “What does it taste like?”

  Shane shrugged. “Root beer. Want a bottle?”

  “Sure. Why not?” Jimmy watched as Shane pulled a bottle out of the cooler and, with great ceremony, flipped off the top and poured the contents into a glass. After Shane pushed the glass to him, Jimmy took a tentative sip. “Yeah, root beer. Not bad.”

  “Back in Wild West days, they used to think it was a cure for venereal disease.”

  Surprised, Jimmy sprayed a mouthful of the stuff onto the counter, which made Shane laugh loudly. “Safety first,” Shane said, still snickering as he wiped up the mess with a towel.

  Although there weren’t many customers, they kept Shane busy. But every time he passed Jimmy’s stool, Shane gave him a sunny smile that made Jimmy feel like Shane was truly happy to have him there. Shane kept refilling his popcorn bowl too, and even though Jimmy could have sworn he wasn’t hungry, he kept eating the stuff. Possibly it was spiked with something addictive. Possibly Shane was spiked with something addictive, which would explain why Jimmy watched him and thought about him and yearned to touch him.

  God damn it. He needed to go.

  But before Jimmy could force himself to get off the stool, a young woman entered the room. Shane limped back to the bar with a tray full of empties as he called out, “Charlie!”

  Charlie waved at Shane before turning her attention to Jimmy. And it wasn’t friendly attention. If this had been Wild West days, the other patrons would have ducked behind tables before the gunfire broke out. But instead of pulling out a six-shooter, Charlie stomped toward the bar. She was tall and thin, wearing faded jeans and a turquoise sweater, and her red hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail. She plopped herself down next to Jimmy without a bit of ceremony and without breaking her stony glare.

  Shane walked behind the bar, set the tray down, and leaned toward her. “Where’s Jorge?”

  “Home with the kids.”

  Looking slightly troubled, Shane turned to Jimmy. “This is Charlie, my pesky baby sister. Charlie, this is Jimmy Dorsett. Aunt Belinda just hired him.”

  “Pleasedtameetya,” Jimmy mumbled, but she didn’t reply. She looked a lot like Shane. Pretty. Her eyes were a paler shade of blue, though, and of course she didn’t have his scars. She didn’t have the same slight cant to her nose either.

  Shane crossed his arms and bent closer to her. “Tomorrow is Wednesday and you have to work.” As an aside to Jimmy, he said, “She teaches fifth grade.” Then he faced his sister again. “Why are you here?”

  “I’m thirsty. I’d like a Diet Coke, please.”

  With a scowl, Shane filled a glass. He set it down hard enough to slosh a little over the edge, and he didn’t clean it up right away. He threw a paper-wrapped straw in her direction. “Aunt Belinda called you, didn’t she?”

  Charlie sighed loudly. “We only want to—”

  “I am a grown man,” he said in a low growl. “And I don’t need a fucking babysitter!” An angry flush had bloomed on his cheeks, but Charlie didn’t look the least bit cowed.

  “I’m not babysitting, Shane. You know it’s only ’cause we care about you.”

  Shane looked so furious that Jimmy expected steam to come out his ears. And although Jimmy didn’t really understand what the fight was about, he knew for sure it had something to do with him. He stood. “Look. I think I’d better—”

  “Stay here!” Shane snapped at him. And then added, much more softly, “Sorry. I like having you here. Don’t let my interfering relatives chase you away. Please.”

  Jimmy nodded slightly and sat back down.

  With the acid back in his tone, Shane pointed at Charlie. “You want to give the poor guy the third degree? Go ahead. But he doesn’t have to tell you anything, Charlotte. It’s none of your business. And if you scare him away….” He clamped his mouth shut, and for a second Jimmy thought Shane was going to cry.

  “Shane…,” Charlie said, sounding sad and slightly resigned.

  But Shane just gave a savage headshake before looking at Jimmy. “She’s going to tell you I’m all fucked up. I guess I should have told you myself before now. Maybe you guessed some of it already, the way I drag myself around like a goddamn walking corpse.�
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  Jimmy reached over to cover Shane’s hand and give a quick squeeze. “I don’t think you’re fucked up at all.”

  “I am, though,” Shane whispered. “She’ll tell you.” He gently pulled his hand away and then limped to the far end of the room.

  Jimmy tried not to fidget under Charlie’s scrutiny. But when she didn’t say anything, he let out a long breath. “About a year ago, I was in Wyoming. Some town about the same size as Rattlesnake, I bet. I had about ten dollars in my pocket and that was it. A late storm hit. One of those bastards that starts out as a thunderstorm before changing its mind and turning into a blizzard. A man could die in conditions like that, easily. And I didn’t have a place to stay.”

  She still hadn’t said a word to him, but she was listening. He could tell. He chewed on a couple of pieces of popcorn and chased them with the coffee that had replaced his empty sarsaparilla bottle. She twitched a little, like she was dying to ask what happened next, and he had to suppress a grin.

  “I tried everywhere, but most of the businesses close early in a place like that, and pretty soon even the bars shut on account of the weather. Sometimes there’s a bus station for shelter, but not there. They had a single crappy old motel out by the highway, but they wouldn’t give me a room, not even when I promised to work real hard for them the next day. And I would’ve too. I tried to hitch a ride, but nobody was fool enough to drive in that snow, and the town didn’t even have a police station where I could beg a few hours of warmth. I got so desperate that I even knocked on a few doors, but not a single person would let me in. Not one. And I got so cold I got a little confused and I couldn’t walk right. When I fell, I couldn’t stand back up again.”

  Another sip of his cooling coffee. He glanced across the room, where Shane was pointedly ignoring them, repeatedly wiping a table that was perfectly clean.

  “When I woke up, I was in the hospital. I ended up spending a couple of days there, and the docs said I was lucky I didn’t get frostbite. I was also lucky some idiot went out in the storm and found me before I died of hypothermia.”