Dreamspinner Press Year Nine Greatest Hits

by Michael Murphy

  “Where’s your mother buried, Jimmy?”

  “I don’t know. Near Chicago somewhere, I guess. Robert kicked me out before the funeral.”

  Shane squeezed him. “You didn’t go to your own mother’s funeral?”

  Jimmy shook his head.

  “Well, if you feel like it someday, we can ask Ty to track her down. He can find anything on the Internet.”

  “Maybe someday,” Jimmy said, and he meant it.

  “And then maybe… if you wanted… we could look for your brothers. Jenn says she knows a good private detective.”

  Jimmy turned to look at him. “Have you been scheming, Shane Little?” Because something had been going on for the past few weeks. Jimmy kept catching Shane in furtive conversations with various family members, and people kept casting him knowing smiles. It was driving him a little nuts.

  Shane gave him a Cheshire-cat grin but shook his head. “I wouldn’t do anything about your brothers unless you gave the go-ahead.”

  “Okay. Because I’m not at all sure about it.”

  “Fair enough. Besides, as part of the Little clan, you’ve probably got more family members now than you know what to do with. Just remember the words a wise man once told me: learn to forgive others and forgive yourself.”

  Jimmy reached over and tickled his neck.

  They remained several minutes longer, then detoured by George’s grave. Shane gave the stone a friendly pat, and this time so did Jimmy. He was fond of the old guy. He felt he owed George a debt, and he intended to pay it back by lavishing his best care on the inn.

  “I’m starving,” Jimmy finally said. “And it’s French Toast Friday at Mae’s. Let’s go.”

  They walked out the gate, and he smiled at the NO HORSES BEYOND THIS POINT sign. In the unlikely event that Shane ever persuaded him to get on horseback, Jimmy would ride right up to George’s grave. But maybe it wasn’t all that unlikely. Shane was firmly convinced that Jimmy ought to play the sheriff during the stagecoach robberies next summer. And he was probably going to get his way, partly because he was Shane Little and partly because he kept mentioning how sexy he thought Jimmy would look with a holster slung low on his hips.

  They walked slowly down the hill. Shane’s gait was still uneven, but he winced in pain far less often now that the plates had been removed from his leg. During the summer, he’d been able to sit comfortably with Jimmy on the park grass, watching John Wayne and Clint Eastwood ride across the big screen. He’d weathered the surgery so well that he’d even mentioned getting the bend in his nose fixed, but Jimmy put his foot down at that idea. “I like your nose just the way it is,” he’d said, kissing it to make his point and settling that argument once and for all. Jimmy could be stubborn too, now and then.

  When they got to one of the narrow streets that ran parallel to the ridge, Shane turned right instead of continuing down to Main Street.

  “Hey,” Jimmy said. “I’m hungry.”

  “Me too. But I want to show you something first.”

  Full of curiosity, Jimmy followed. After a couple of long blocks, they came to a house sitting all alone among several empty lots. Jimmy remembered it from his first days in Rattlesnake, and he’d passed by a few times after that. But not lately. Shane had a photo of the place on their apartment wall. “Hey! Someone’s fixing the old place up. It looks good.” The sagging roof had been repaired, the peeling paint replaced with a fresh coat of pale yellow with white trim. Even in the cold weather, the porch looked inviting with a new swing and several planter boxes waiting to be filled.

  “The inside’s still rough,” Shane said. “But I figured you’d want some input on that.”

  Jimmy blinked at him. “Huh?”

  “C’mere, Jimmy.” Shane took his hand and towed him across the unkempt lawn and up the broad front stairs, then opened the front door and led Jimmy inside. It was dim, lit only by the weak sunlight coming through the front windows. Bare studs for walls, and that was about the extent of it. But Jimmy suspected the flooring was original and would look really nice when it was refinished, and most of the fancy wood trim had been salvaged and set into piles.

  Shane let go of Jimmy’s hand only long enough to take out his phone and poke at it a few times. Johnny Cash’s familiar baritone began to sing “I Walk the Line.” Shane set the phone on a windowsill and held out his hands. “Dance with me?”

  “What’s going on?” Jimmy asked, but at the same time, he moved forward into an embrace that had become so familiar, so beloved. They began to shuffle slowly around the floor, their boot steps almost louder than the music.

  “Tom used to sing this song to me right here,” Shane said quietly. “It’s one of my earliest memories, and even the accident didn’t knock it out of my head. My bedroom was right down that hall behind me.”

  Jimmy’s breath caught as he understood. “This was your house.”

  “Still is. Mom just kind of abandoned it when she married Dad and moved to the ranch. Nobody wanted it. I used to walk by now and then. Take some photos. I thought I was happy to see it going to ruin, but… I don’t think I really was.”

  Shane was warm against him as they moved, his hands strong on Jimmy’s back. Jimmy loved how he could lean in and know Shane would support his weight—and sometimes Shane would lean in to him.

  The song ended and another began, also Cash. Jimmy didn’t know the name of the tune, but sometimes Betty Diamond sang it. “What’s with the remodel?” he asked, still dancing.

  “Aunt Belinda can get us a good deal on a lot of the stuff. Hotel supply connections, I guess. Brandon—he works at the lumberyard—says he can get us a discount too. I figure you can do a lot of the work, and we got plenty of relatives willing to chip in. I could probably even manage some basic stuff, if you’re patient with me. And I’ve got a pretty big chunk of money saved up to pay for plumbers and electricians and all that.”

  Now Jimmy had a good idea where this was going. And he hoped—God, he really hoped—his guess was right. But he took it slow. “And what happens when the house is all fixed up?”

  “Well, it’s only a few minutes’ walk to the inn from here, but this place is a lot more spacious than our apartment. Plus, we could be as noisy as we wanted without worrying about disturbing the guests. And Mom says she’ll sign the deed over—to both of us—as long as we promise to let her design the front garden. She’s thinking roses and herbs, I guess.”

  “To both of us?” repeated Jimmy, who didn’t care what grew in the garden.

  Shane stopped dancing and moved slightly away so he could look into Jimmy’s face. He cupped Jimmy’s cheek in his hand. “You have a home here in Rattlesnake. I think you know that already. But I think it’s high time you were a homeowner. High time for both of us, actually.”

  Jimmy finally did the one thing he’d sworn he would never do. But that promise had been a lie, and a stupid one at that. He burst into tears.

  They danced some more, and Jimmy got salt water and snot on Shane’s coat and Shane did the same to Jimmy’s, and Johnny Cash crooned at them from the tinny speaker of the phone. Jimmy thought about how it might be nice to have a mural on the living room wall between a couple of built-in bookcases. The mural, of course, would feature a rattlesnake.

  It began with a man alone in the wide, empty desert driving a decrepit old Ford with a dead man riding shotgun. But the tale progressed to two men together, alive and dancing and ready to establish their very own home. Jimmy was confident the ending was a long, long time away.

  KIM FIELDING is very pleased every time someone calls her eclectic. Her books have won Rainbow Awards and span a variety of genres. She has migrated back and forth across the western two-thirds of the United States and currently lives in California, where she long ago ran out of bookshelf space. She’s a university professor who dreams of being able to travel and write full-time. She also dreams of having two perfectly behaved children, a husband who isn’t obsessed with football, and a house that cleans it
self. Some dreams are more easily obtained than others.

  Blogs: kfieldingwrites.com and www.goodreads.com/author/show/4105707.Kim_Fielding/blog

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/KFieldingWrites

  E-mail: kim@kfieldingwrites.com

  Twitter: @KFieldingWrites

  Chapter 1—An Unanticipated Turn of Events

  DAVID HAMMOND proudly held the Bible on which Grayson Alexander took the oath of office as Vice President of the United States. While some might be nervous knowing millions of people all around the globe were watching his every move, David was not at all anxious. Instead, he was overwhelmingly happy—not for himself but for his husband of ten years, who had achieved what few men in the nation’s history had been able to.

  “So help me God,” Gray said, concluding the oath of office.

  “Congratulations, Mr. Vice President,” the Chief Justice said as he shook the hand of the newly inaugurated Vice President. Gray gave David a quick hug and a kiss before he and David returned to their seats so the program could proceed, culminating with the inauguration of the new President.

  While the President was giving his inaugural address, David quietly leaned over to Gray, being careful to keep his mouth hidden from view in case anyone could read his lips, and whispered, “I’m freezing my fucking nuts off out here.”

  “I know. Who would have expected a cold, snowy day in January in Washington? Later I’ll help warm the little guys up.”

  “Promises, promises.” David smiled slyly at Gray but didn’t dare to continue their whispered conversation, since the eyes of the world were on them. They behaved themselves for the remainder of the speech.

  The new President was many things, but a dynamic speaker was not one of them. On Inauguration Day, however, the President had a captive audience. The West Front Lawn of the Capitol was a sea of faces, tens of thousands of faces, all cold but anxious to hear what the new President had to say about his plans and expectations for the next four years.

  David’s world was medicine. Politics was Gray’s business, not his. As a nonpolitical animal, David let his mind drift to work, and he quietly outlined a lecture he was scheduled to give the following day to the first-year medical students. He and Gray were expected to put in appearances at some ridiculous number of formal balls later that night, so he was dreading the thought of getting up in the morning to go to work, but he had promised he would be there on time and ready to teach.

  When Gray gently jostled his arm, David’s focus snapped to the present, and he rose with everyone else to head back inside the Capitol—the heated Capitol. It meant sitting through what promised to be a dreadfully tedious lunch with members of the House and Senate, but at least it would be warm.

  The lunch was every bit the fascinating time David had anticipated. He did his best to be sociable, but the topic everyone in the room wanted to talk about—politics—was not his subject. Still, he played the dutiful spouse and talked with people as needed.

  Two hours later, when they stepped out of the Capitol to move to their limo for the ride down Pennsylvania Avenue, snow was falling heavily. David’s instinct was to open his mouth, lean his head back, and try to catch a snowflake on his tongue. He reminded himself that hundreds of cameras from all around the world watched their every move, so he was able to suppress his naturally playful urge. Anything he said or did that day would likely be seen by millions of people, so he knew he had to behave impeccably.

  Safely ensconced inside their tank-like limousine, David automatically moved to take his husband’s hand in his. Holding hands for the trip down Pennsylvania Avenue was as natural as breathing. Gray and David were out and proud and had never hidden anything about who they were or about their relationship. Gray was the first openly gay Vice President in the history of the nation.

  They had a short distance of only two miles to cover, but it would take some time because the parade moved relatively slowly. Most participants would walk the route, but not so the newly inaugurated President and Vice President.

  “Do you think the snow is going to create a problem for the parade?” David asked. “It’s really coming down out there.”

  “Probably not.”

  “Well, not for us, since we’re inside this tank. But think about all those people behind us who have to march all the way—I hope they’re dressed for this weather.” As a medical doctor, David automatically thought of the fundamental law that said cold equals hypothermia and frostbite.

  With less delay than David had anticipated, their car began to slowly move. For ten minutes both David and Gray looked out the windows of their car and waved to the crowds assembled along the parade route. An inauguration drew a huge number of people to Washington, DC, swelling the city’s population by upward of one million for that day.

  “Wow,” David observed quietly as he tried to take in the crowds that lined both sides of Pennsylvania Avenue. “So many people,” he said. People stood just about anywhere they could to have the chance of seeing the new President.

  David was surprised when their car slowly braked.

  When they remained stopped for more than a minute, he asked the agent in the car with them, “What’s happening?”

  The agent, who rode backward, facing them, said, “The President and his wife are about to leave their car to walk along a portion of the parade route.”

  “Should a man of his age be trying to do that?” David asked Gray.

  “Behave,” Gray warned him.

  “Don’t I always?” David said with a smile.

  “Yeah, right,” Gray snorted. “The President told me he wanted to show the people that he’s physically fit and able to walk part of the route.”

  They continued to wave out of their respective sides of the car as they sat there, not moving. With the scene outside not changing for a few minutes, David looked at the agent. The man raised his hand to his ear and his expression momentarily flashed to—to what? Was it surprise? Upset? Concern? David was positive he saw something pass over the man’s face, but it happened so fast he couldn’t tell what he was seeing, and it was hidden away again almost immediately.

  “Is something wrong?” David asked.

  “A disturbance along the parade route” was the cryptic answer he got immediately.

  Quite suddenly two things happened simultaneously. Their agent yelled at them to “hang on,” and their limo made a fast, sharp U-turn and accelerated back down Pennsylvania Avenue in the direction from which they had just come. The road was lined with the parade groups that were in position behind them waiting to move, spread all across the wide avenue. But their driver was good. He wove from one side of the crowded street to the other, constantly accelerating and somehow managing to miss hitting anyone.

  David looked out the front and noticed they had acquired a contingent of motorcycle police and a couple of police cars in front of them. World War III could be happening outside their car, and they wouldn’t hear it. But the number of flashing lights and the speed at which they were traveling told him that if they could hear, the sound of sirens would likely be the primary sound right then.

  “What’s happening?” Gray asked once he caught his breath from a very near miss with a member of a band well back in the parade. The street suddenly opened up, apparently with police along the way quickly moving people to one side of the road and creating a clear path for their car. They accelerated even more now with a clear open stretch of road. David had no idea what their speed was, but it was faster than he’d ever driven down that road.

  They took a corner back toward the Capitol, and both David and Gray were thrown to one side of the car. David felt the heavy limo slide sideways on the snow-covered Washington streets.

  They both gasped in fear, but their slide stopped, and the car was once again rapidly accelerating. David saw they were headed back to the Capitol. Before anyone could ask, though, they skidded to a stop. They were under an awning when the door on Gray’s side opened and a new face appeared. “Mr
. Vice President, please come with me—quickly.”

  “What’s happened?” Gray asked, already moving to follow the agent.

  “Please, sir, not here. Quickly.” David slid over and followed Gray as they were rushed into the Capitol Building. Surrounded by a veritable wall of security, they walked at a fast pace to a holding room of some sort.

  “What’s happening?” Gray demanded.

  “There’s been an incident along the parade route that constitutes a serious compromise to the security perimeter,” the lead agent said. “I need to get an update, but we had to get you to safety first. Please remain here while we attempt to sort out what’s happening. I’ll be back as quickly as possible once I have some idea of what we’re looking at.”

  Alone in the room, David turned to Gray. “I don’t recall this being on the schedule.”

  Spying a television set, he reached for the remote control and turned the set on, then flipped to CNN. The channel number was printed on a sheet of paper in large print and taped to the wall beside the screen.

  “…This is unbelievable,” a commentator was saying when the picture appeared. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes…. My God. How could this happen?”

  “What?” David yelled in frustration at the television, since they were just now coming into a story that CNN had apparently been reporting when he turned on the television.

  A clip of footage was played that showed the new President waving and smiling at the crowd as he and his wife got out and stood beside their limo. David and Gray watched the new President take his wife’s hand in his and turn to start walking along the parade route. While the President smiled and raised his right arm to wave to the crowd, his wife smiled and raised her left arm and waved to people on the other side of the avenue.

  David gasped as he saw the President’s smile disappear suddenly, replaced by a grimace. And then…

  “Oh my God,” David said, as shocked as the commentators on the television. It couldn’t be…. No. There was no way. It was impossible.