Dreamspinner Press Year Nine Greatest Hits

by Michael Murphy

  “A lone wolf. King of the road. I know.”

  Jimmy shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “A man can’t change his nature.”

  “Guess not. As long as it really is his nature and not just something he feels like he’s forced to do.”

  “It is. And nobody forces me to do anything.”

  “Because if they try, you just walk away.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Right.” Shane stood with a grunt, collected their dirty dishes, and took them to the sink. “Leave the leftovers here. Now that you have a key to my place, you can come in anytime to use the kitchen or washer or whatever. Or just to take a bath.” He grinned over his shoulder.

  Jimmy stood too and gathered the half-empty white cartons. He closed them and tucked them into the fridge, which he couldn’t help but notice was mostly empty except for sandwich fixings. A paper taped to the freezer contained a grocery list in that same schoolteacherish handwriting.

  Shane noticed Jimmy staring at the list. “After the accident, I could never have managed without my family. I’d have….” His voice was flat and matter-of-fact. “You know, the doctors, they were talking about putting me in one of those places. Where old people and broken people go and wait to die.” His words tore little divots in Jimmy’s heart.

  “You’re not broken,” Jimmy said.

  “I was. Nowadays I’m mostly repaired, with a few cracks left.” He traced one of the scars on his face. “But I’d have been Humpty Dumpty without the family. They…. Healing was hard, hard work. Lots of times I was ready to give up, but they wouldn’t let me. I’d curl up in bed and want to be alone, but then one of my relatives would show up and be such a huge pain in the ass that I had to get out of bed just to get away from them. When I realized I couldn’t work at the ranch anymore, that I was never gonna be the man I used to be, they showed me I could be someone new.”

  “You’re a good man,” Jimmy said. “I bet you always were.”

  Shane shrugged that away. “Who backs you up when you need it?”

  “I wasn’t almost killed in an accident, Shane.”

  Shane looked at him, then dropped his eyes to the dish towel he was twisting tight. “Maybe not,” he said quietly. “Doesn’t mean nothing broke you, though.” He put down the towel and left.

  Chapter Thirteen

  THAT NIGHT Shane came into Jimmy’s room after closing the bar. When he climbed into bed, he smelled of beer and coffee and the polish he used on the counter. Good smells. Jimmy snuggled against his bare body and sighed.

  “Don’t mind me waking you up?” asked Shane.

  Jimmy reached between them to grasp Shane’s hardening cock. “Not when you wake me up with this.” He stroked lazily. “Busy night?”

  “Not really. Tomorrow will be busier, and Saturday. But not as much as next weekend, ’cause we’ll have live music then. The joint gets hopping for that.”

  “I guess people like a little entertainment on weekends.”

  “Mhmm.” Shane snuffled Jimmy’s hair, then licked under his ear.

  They made out for a while, their hands slowly wandering. Jimmy was sleepy and maybe Shane was too, but their movements brought a sense of lethargic pleasure that felt unusual to Jimmy—and oddly satisfying. Eventually, though, their caresses became more goal-directed. Shane wrapped his big hand around both their shafts while Jimmy breached him with one damp finger. Their climaxes were long and slow. No fireworks, just bone-deep shudders and a few quiet gasps.

  Afterward, Jimmy didn’t even have the energy to clean up. He accepted a final kiss and pat on the ass from Shane, who tucked him in before pulling on his clothes. Jimmy was asleep before he heard the door close.

  HE DIDN’T leave Friday morning because that was french toast day. After he and Shane ate together, Jimmy spent several hours dealing with a plugged toilet and a broken curtain rod and moving furniture for Grisel and Candy. They seemed to enjoy chatting with him while they worked, either plugging him for information he didn’t give or sharing bits of gossip about guests or the townspeople.

  “So you and Shane…,” Candy said, leaning on her broom handle.

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you, like, together?”

  Jimmy sighed. “No.”

  “But you like boys, right?”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “Well, it don’t matter to me. I been married twice, got one kid from each of them, and I’ve had enough. I got my babies and that’s all I need.” She didn’t show any inclination to actually use the broom so he could replace the armoire and get on with his day. “But I’m asking ’cause Shane’s a real sweetheart, you know?”

  “I do know.”

  “And he deserves a somebody, but it’s gotta be a somebody who’s gonna be good for him.”

  Jimmy agreed. “I’m not good for anyone.”

  She leaned the broom against her body and adjusted her ponytail. “Well, I don’t know your story, but you don’t seem too bad. You been doing what you say you’re gonna do, at least. And you did a real nice job in that bathroom. Plus you ain’t noisy or messy, and you’re real polite.”

  Right now, he politely wanted to wring her neck. He hated being stuck in a conversation like this. He gave her a small smile and hoped she was done with him. And apparently she was, because she grunted and started moving the dust around. But she and Grisel must have had a tag team thing going, because five minutes later, he was in another room, listening to Grisel bemoan Rattlesnake’s shortage of gay social life.

  “Yasmin—that’s my second daughter—she’s a lesbiana, yes? She grew up here, but she went to college in Berkeley and now she don’t come ’round here no more. Says Calaveras County isn’t gay friendly.” She snorted.

  “Nobody seems to mind that Shane’s gay.”

  “Ah, some ojetes hassled him when he first told people. But he used to be big and strong, yeah? After he beat a few of them bloody, the rest left him alone. Nobody important cares.”

  Shane had said the same thing, but it was good to hear confirmation. It wasn’t just his relatives who had his back. “The locals aren’t as tolerant of your daughter?”

  Grisel waved a hand. “Nobody cares who Yasmin sleeps with. Least I know none of those girls will get her pregnant. She just thinks now she’s too sofisticada for us.”

  Jimmy winced a little, remembering the last words his brother Devin ever said to him. Jimmy had been sixteen and on his own for a while already. In a misguided moment, he’d tracked his brother down, hoping Devin would let him stay for a bit. Devin was twenty-two and had graduated from junior college—a level of education unheard of in Jimmy’s stunted family tree. He had a girlfriend, a good job, a neat little house just outside of a fancy neighborhood. He’d stood in the doorway, looking Jimmy up and down, and then shook his head. We don’t have any extra room. He’d glanced nervously up and down the street as if checking to see if his neighbors watched. You need to go. You don’t belong here.

  “You okay, Jimmy?” Grisel asked, startling him from the memory.

  “Yeah. Sorry.”

  When the cleaning ladies were done with him, Jimmy had to help a guest open a suitcase with a stuck lock, remove a nasty scuff mark left by a different guest on the upstairs hallway wall, and deal with a rattling air vent cover in a downstairs room. By then it was getting too late to hitch a ride out of town, and besides, Shane had a pizza to share. Shane had to work late that night—the bar stayed open until two on Fridays and Saturdays—and Jimmy sat at the counter almost until closing time, drinking coffee and eating popcorn. They didn’t have sex that night, but Shane stopped in just long enough to kiss him good night. Which was absurd. And really nice.

  Saturday turned out to be busy at the inn. Lots of people checking out or checking in, which meant more people to complain about malfunctioning lights, recalcitrant plumbing, or other minor disasters. Sometimes Belinda asked him to carry guests’ luggage to their room when they were staying upstairs and their suitcases
were heavy. He had no idea why some folks couldn’t go away for a weekend without packing more things than he owned.

  The bar was too busy for Shane to escape for a meal, so Jimmy made sandwiches and brought them to the counter. Only as he was delivering them did he realize that Charlie was in the bar too, along with a handsome man Jimmy guessed was her husband. She watched, narrow-eyed, as Shane took a big bite of ham and cheese, limped around the counter, and kissed the side of Jimmy’s head—much to the amusement of the other patrons. But before Jimmy left to check in with Frank, who’d said something about a chirping smoke detector, Charlie gave Jimmy a hesitant little wave. He waved back.

  If Shane visited Jimmy that night, Jimmy was too wiped to wake up.

  Sunday morning, Jimmy went down to the basement with several printed lists Belinda had given him. She wanted him to begin a thorough inventory, and he figured he might as well attempt some organization while he was down there. His previous forays in search of supplies had been time-consuming and had resulted in the occasional discovery of items that might have dated to Rattlesnake Murray’s days.

  But he’d barely begun the job when he heard slow, uneven footsteps descending the stone stairs. He’d become familiar with that sound these past days, so he wasn’t surprised when Shane appeared around the corner.

  “You have cobwebs in your hair,” Shane observed.

  “I have cobwebs everywhere. I’m just hoping not too many of them have the residents still attached.”

  Shane grinned wolfishly. “You’re always welcome to a nice, cleansing soak in my tub.”

  “May take you up on that.” Jimmy had just enough pride not to adjust himself at the thought, although he needed to.

  After tugging at a decrepit cardboard box marked “X-Mas ’87,” Shane peeked inside. “God, there’s a lot of crap down here.”

  “I know.”

  “Rumor has it there’s an entrance to a secret mine down here somewhere. Probably bullshit, but maybe not. At least a couple other buildings downtown have old mine entrances underneath them.”

  “I’ll let you know if I come across any gold nuggets.”

  “That’d be cool, wouldn’t it?” Shane shoved the box back into place. “You could buy yourself a new car. What would you get?”

  Jimmy considered the question. When he was fortunate enough to buy a vehicle—which was rarely—his only criterion was price, an exceedingly low price. He couldn’t be picky about make, model, or lingering smell of vomit. He considered himself lucky if the thing lasted a couple thousand miles. In that respect, the Ford had been a treasure.

  “Don’t know,” he finally said. “Maybe a little sports car. Something that goes fast. How about you?”

  Shane tapped his head. “Not allowed to drive. Seizures.”

  Fuck. Sometimes Jimmy forgot. “But we’re talking hypothetical cars anyway, so if you could drive and if you did strike it rich, what would it be?”

  “Pickup truck. A big one, not too flashy. The kind you could use for real work and not have a stroke if it got dented or scratched a little.” He grinned.

  Nodding, Jimmy turned his gaze to a box that had once held fancy paper napkins but had more recently been converted to a mouse condominium. The rodents themselves were no longer in residence. Maybe they’d lost the place during the foreclosure crisis.

  “Can you take meds for the seizures?” he asked, not looking at Shane.

  “I do. But I still seize now and then.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Well, I’m lucky to be alive.” He said it in a preachy sort of voice, which made Jimmy turn to look at him. Shane quirked the corner of his mouth. “I’ve heard that about a million times. Most of the time I even believe it.”

  “Yeah, it’s easy for people to sermonize when it’s not them carrying the burden.”

  Shane gave him an odd, inquisitive look that made Jimmy turn back to the mouse shit.

  After a moment or two, Shane spoke again. “Sunday’s my day off. Trudy and her friend Melissa take over the bar ’cause we close early anyway.”

  “I’m glad Aunt Belinda doesn’t chain you to the inn 24/7.”

  “Nah, I like working here. Keeps me busy. But a day off is nice too.”

  Jimmy decided the mouse condo could go. He moved it to the side of the room where he’d begun a trash pile. He had two other piles as well, one containing items he wanted to ask Belinda about before tossing and the other with items that might bring some money from antique collectors. He was hardly an expert on the matter, but he’d already found a stash of old room number signs that looked pretty cool, as well as a couple of brass gas lamps.

  Shane remained nearby, playing with what appeared to be an empty paint can. “Don’t you have something better to do on your day off than hang out in a spider- and mouse-infested basement?” Jimmy asked.

  “Most Sundays I have lunch at the ranch. My family…. It’s kind of an event, you know? Dad barbecues, Mom makes her famous beans, my brothers and sisters all bring stuff. My contribution usually comes from Mae’s. I’m thinking pie this week.”

  “Sounds nice,” Jimmy said, hoping he didn’t come off as wistful. “But how will I know what to order for brunch if you don’t have a Sunday dish?”

  “You could get the quiche, because I never order that. Too vegetably.” Shane scrunched up his mouth. “But actually, I was kinda hoping you’d come to the ranch with me today.”

  Jimmy was so startled he almost dropped a chipped ceramic soap dish. “But it’s a family thing.”

  “People bring guests sometimes. It’s fine. There’s always plenty of food. And I thought you might like to see the place. It’s real nice.”

  Jimmy tried to hide his inner conflict. “I have to work.”

  “Oh, c’mon. Some of this shit has been sitting here for a hundred years. It can sit a few more hours. Aunt Belinda can spare you. She’s getting more than her money’s worth out of you already.”

  With a rub of his face that most likely left his cheeks grimy, Jimmy shook his head. “Your family doesn’t like me.”

  “Bullshit. They don’t even know you, hardly. Now’s their chance to see you’re not some kind of psychopath bent on taking advantage of the village idiot.”

  “Shane! You’re not—”

  “I know. Look, Aunt Belinda’s been reporting on you all week. Good reports. Come with, Jimmy. This time of year the grass is that fresh green, and we’ve got a lot of calves. My mom keeps a little herd of goats too—leftovers from Annie’s 4-H days—and by now they’ll have kids.”

  The bucolic picture had more appeal than sifting through dusty relics in a cold basement. Jimmy sighed. “If I show up, are you sure your stepdad’s not going to shoot me or something?”

  Shane narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. “He’s my father,” he growled. “Has somebody been gossiping about me?”

  That gave Jimmy the perfect opportunity to hand over Tom’s letter, which was still tucked away in his room, now in the bedside drawer. But Jimmy had become greedy. He wanted just one more day with Shane—one more night, maybe—before he left Rattlesnake forever. And he knew that if he gave a true explanation of how he’d ended up in town, Shane would never forgive him for his lies.

  One more day.

  Jimmy shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “Then let me tell you the real story, instead of whatever crap you’ve been hearing.” Shane walked closer, his gait especially uneven and his face grim. “I never had a father until my mom married Adam Little when I was eight. He adopted me, gave me his name, and never treated me any different from Annie and my brothers, who were his kids from his first wife, or Charlie who came along a couple years after he married Mom. He never made me feel like I was anything but his son. He taught me to ride—gave me my own horse when I was nine. When I told him I’m queer, he had a hard time with it for a while. Then he told me he loved me and wanted me to be happy, and he said he’d help kick the asses of anyone who gave me grief over it. And when I was i
n that wreck and lying there in that goddamn hospital bed, he came and held my hand and cried over me just like I was his flesh and blood.”

  “I bet he’s really proud of you,” Jimmy said very quietly.

  All the anger drained from Shane’s face as if someone had pulled a plug. “Thanks. And I’m sorry.” He let out a deep breath. “I get kinda worked up over it. Some people think family’s about DNA, but it ain’t. It’s about the folks who want you, who stick with you no matter what. They know your secrets and flaws, and you know theirs, and you love each other anyway.”

  Fuck. Jimmy got dust in his eyes, and his hands were too dirty to wipe it away. He turned to the nearest shelf and didn’t say anything because the dust was in his throat too.

  Shane stood very close behind him, settling a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “Come to the ranch,” he whispered, right into the shell of Jimmy’s ear. He wrapped his free arm around Jimmy’s middle, drawing him back, flush against Shane’s front. “Please.”

  SHANE’S OLDEST brother was officially Adam Junior, but for reasons nobody explained to Jimmy, everyone called him Pokey. He parked his old Chevy truck in front of the inn and waited for Shane and then Jimmy to squeeze into the cab with him. Pokey was probably a few years older than Jimmy, his thinning hair going gray and a sizable paunch at his middle. During introductions he gazed at Jimmy more out of curiosity than hostility.

  “How come you got stuck providing taxi service?” Shane asked as they rumbled down Main Street.

  “Volunteered. Paula and Emma got into it again.”

  Shane chuckled and turned to Jimmy. “That’s his wife and daughter. Emma’s fourteen. They argue a lot.”

  “And when they do, you don’t want to get between them,” Pokey said glumly. “Not if you value your hide.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. They’re both sweethearts.”

  “Yeah, when their precious darling Shaney-poo’s around, they are. You got them two thinkin’ you fart roses. I tried to tell ’em you’re an ugly dickhead, but they won’t face reality.”