by J. D. Light
"Then yes. I will hear this plan, but first…" I pointed down at my feet watching him follow my line of vision, and then look back up at me questioningly. "You're not bothered by feet, are you?"
His grin widened, making me sigh. "Not all feet, but there are definitely feet that I would steer clear of."
"But you don't mind my feet at all, do you?" I asked, trying my hardest not to smile.
"That one crooked toe is a little freaky." He chuckled, when I reached up and smacked his shoulder, holding his hands up to ward off any further blows. "Okay, no. But you kept sticking them in the couch cushions and under pillows and then you were rubbing them like they were freezing. I knew I could offer for you to put them in my lap and let me rub them so they would be warm, but you get all stubborn and stick your nose in the air when I try to do things for you."
I huffed, crossing my arms and lifting my chin––not sticking my nose in the air… well I couldn't help it if that's what it looked like. "I do not," I argued anyway, licking my teeth.
"I knew if I acted like I didn't like feet, you'd try to put them on me, because you are nothing like the sweet, well-mannered man I met at the café, and you have a bit of a mean streak sometimes. I was right, and now you have warm feet."
"You manipulated me into warming my feet?" I pursed my lips, looking to the ceiling while I thought that over. "I don't know if that is really nice, or really annoying."
"Just enjoy your warm fucking feet. Now, do you want to hear it or not?"
"Fine, but if I somehow get manipulated into something because of this, I'm never taking Sheryl's stall again.
Sheryl was the mare who always seemed to have the worst case of spray shits. We couldn't figure out why either. She was on all the same food as all the other horses, so we thought she might be allergic, but we'd tried all the different combinations trying to get her shit more solid. Unfortunately, it was starting to look like grass might be the culprit, since it was the only thing we hadn't changed about her diet, and there really wasn't much we could do about the grass since we had to let them run and get exercise, and neither of us believed in keeping them cooped up all the time, only to get them out when we wanted them to work.
"I'm getting my son and best friend together," Byrum said, nearly vibrating with excitement… and I fucking choked on dust bunnies.
"Huh?" I said, sitting up quickly from where I'd started to relax back against my armrest. "Say what?"
"Wellston and Wilder. They've been dancing around each other for years," he said, pursing his lips and rolling his eyes. "It's time. Wellston is about to graduate, and then either go for more school, or who knows what, and Wilder needs to settle down. He's basically semi-retired, so he has time for a relationship now. Plus, there isn't anyone who can deal with Wellston's shit the way Wilder can."
All very sound reasons… except. "I don't… wait. Wilder and Wellston are gay?"
He frowned, blinking at me for a moment. "Yeah. You didn't know that?"
"No. But… really?"
Byrum huffed out a laugh, giving me one of those sexy smirks that made me confess things sometimes that I shouldn't confess. "You didn't notice the way Wellston was staring at Wilder the last time he was here? And the way Wilder was staring back? It's oddly sweet and extremely disturbing at the same time."
"I left before Wilder got here," I said quietly, my heart racing at the conversation. Not because I was attracted to either one of the two men, though they were both very good looking, but at the implications. "I didn't even actually talk to Wellston. He was arguing with someone on the phone about hash cookies, so all I did was wave in passing."
Byrum nodded, still smiling, but watching my face closely. I had no doubt my shock and possibly hope was written all over my face.
"Gamma or Harlowe," he said, confusing me a little more with his words. "They keep trying to get Wellston to try it, but he doesn't like not being in control. He barely drinks."
Boy, could I understand that. I knew better than to drink around Byrum. It was hard enough not to blurt everything about my life to the man when I was sober, I could only imagine all the interesting things I would tell him if I was drunk. I had no doubt I'd start with how fucking kind and sexy his eyes were when they were focused on me so intently. Like right then.
"There's a lot I want to tackle right now," I told him, biting my lip. "Where to start?" I shook my head and shrugged. "Your son is gay? Like, really gay? And you're okay with it?" I waved my hand in the air as soon as I realized how that sounded. "Not that I think you shouldn't be, but you are. I didn't grow up with many out gay people in my hometown, but I heard horror stories about the way the parents treated the few that did come out… and the town for that matter, and…" I shook my head. "And who is Harlowe and Gamma? Wilder and Wellston? Wouldn't that be a little weird for you?"
My thoughts were all over the place, but there was just so much. Wilder and Wellston were gay, and possibly pining after each other. That was really fucking sweet. And even though Wilder was old enough to be Wellston's father, and was, in fact best friends with Wellston's father, Byrum thought they were right for each other. And apparently, they knew drug dealers.
"Yes, Wellston is gay," Byrum said, chuckling. "Like gay enough to throw his own coming-out party like I didn't already know from his internet history. And yes, Wellston and Wilder being all creepily in love was a little hard for me to swallow at first, because they are both like my family, but honestly, I'm sick of watching them sit around and stare at each other with longing. That's far more uncomfortable, and I'm a sucker for a happy ending, so I'm good with whatever makes them both happy. Unfortunately, I don't think they will go for it if not pushed a little, because of me." He stopped for a moment blinking. "And Harlowe is Wellston's best friend and Gamma is Harlowe's boyfriend's grandmother. She likes the pot."
More gay people? My stomach flipped at the thought. Maybe I could actually come out. Maybe, I could actually see someone in the open.
"Huh," I said, hoping he couldn't see the tears starting to form in my eyes. I smiled, taking a deep breath. "Wellston threw his own coming-out party?"
"Mmm hmm," Byrum said, rolling his eyes while sweeping his hand through the air like he was presenting the interior of the house on a game show. "Streamers, balloons, cake and everything."
I scooted closer on the couch, wrapping my arms around my bent knees while still keeping my feet securely stuffed under his thighs. "Did the people here respond well?"
He gave me a soft smile, tilting his head to the side. "Very. There are a few that weren't okay. Some of them came around, some of them won't talk to Wellston, or me, but you know how it goes. Those aren't the people I want in my life anyway. Thankfully, there were never any all-out hateful people, though there was a man at the little bar in town I thought I was going to have to shut up, but it turned out, his issue was that Wellston had ended up using a different photographer for the event instead of his daughter."
A stupid, hysterical laugh slipped out of my mouth, and I swallowed hard. "Photographer?" Wellston's biggest issue had been over a photographer. But could it be the same for me? A lot of people knew me, because I was always riding into town with Byrum, almost constantly with him, since I was the only hand that actually lived on the ranch, but that didn't mean people here had any fealty to me. I'd barely spoken a handful of words to Byrum's son, but it was pretty clear to me, that he was the kind of person who was hard not to like. I wasn't necessarily that type of person. The people here might not be as receptive to a stranger coming into their tiny little town and amping up the gay population.
That kinda makes it sound like I'm going to start popping out gay babies everywhere.
"Yep." Byrum said, giving me a sympathetic look that made me think maybe he suspected exactly what I'd been worried he suspected from the first time we met. "Things are getting better. There is still a long way to go, but most of the time, even if people don't agree, they keep their mouths shut about it. Wellston was shy
and reserved for so long. Not necessarily at home, but definitely out in public. But the day he decided to come out, he did. In more ways than one."
Smiling again at the thought of Wellston throwing himself a coming-out party, I nodded, looking Byrum over for probably the millionth time since I'd met him, and wishing I could find even one flaw in the man, so this fucking crush would wither and die, but no. He was even a really great dad.
"He's lucky to have a dad like you," I said, feeling like he needed to know. "Not everyone has that."
"That's definitely true. Unfortunately, there have been far too many families ruined from a lack of understanding, or even a lack of wanting to understand, but Wellston wasn't completely sure I'd be okay with it. We'd never actually discussed it because I didn't want to bring it up before he did, just in case he wasn't ready. There is just so much that goes into finally being comfortable enough to come out, and some people don't ever come out."
He relaxed back against the couch, moving his legs around, so that they stretched out next to mine, and then he pulled my feet into his lap, gently rubbing them to keep them warm. I nearly panicked, not sure I could keep everything in check if he was touching my feet like that, but glancing down at the front of the giant sweatshirt I was wearing that had actually been a sizing mistake on me a few years ago, and ended up turning into my favorite thing to wear before bed, was bunched pretty good in the front, and should hide anything that popped up due to the soothing but hot hands rubbing against sensitive flesh.
"The party was also going to be a fuck you if I'd have acted like an asshole," he said, when my body relaxed again, and I wasn't lying there doing an impression of an anxiety-ridden ironing board. "He was still in his teens when he'd had enough of hiding himself, but just like with everything, some people almost have to reach that breaking point where staying quiet is just no longer an option. For Wellston, it was a bunch of girls at school suddenly flirting with him, and then one of them telling everyone that they'd had sex. Apparently, there was some kind of bet going on about it. I honestly didn't know girls made bets about that shit. I thought that was just a guy thing, but he was the super-shy virgin who never really gave anyone the time of day, so he was the ultimate challenge or something."
"I hope she felt like an idiot," I grumbled, picturing the mean girls from my school and the things they'd done to some of the people that went there.
"That's why he didn't use her as a photographer."
I chuckled. "Good."
I'd never really been picked on, and nobody really thought badly of me that I ever knew of… probably because they didn't think of me at all. A lot of the people around our town worked for my father in some way or another, so most people just ignored me rather than mess with me, probably having been warned by their parents not to. I'd been completely okay with being ignored for the most part. It meant less people noticing I was different, but it also meant I didn't really have any friends.
A lot of that was me too. I had been pretty reserved and quiet. I didn't go to parties or run around, because I always felt so fucking exposed. Like at any second, I was going to make the wrong move and let people see the part of me that I didn't want anyone knowing about.
Apparently, I'd been right to be leery. I'd let my guard down with Martin, and look what that got me. Fleeing the only place I'd ever called home, to live three hundred miles away… with a gorgeous man who was willing to rub my feet to keep them warm, and didn't seem to be bothered in the least that his son was gay.
Okay, some things had worked out.
Byrum cupped my feet in his hands, his warm palms warming the sometimes bone-deep cold I always seemed to have in my feet, even when the rest of me was warm, and I melted back into the couch, relaxing.
There was a lot running through my mind, most of it exciting, but with his warm hands on my feet, and my body humming with an odd joy, I could feel the business of the day catching up with me.
"Byrum," I found myself saying, as I eased into sleep. "Do you think this town would be okay with me if they knew?"
"Yeah, sweetheart, I do. And if they didn't, I'd fight every single one of them for you."
I woke a bit later, to Byrum jostling me gently. "Wake up, sweetheart. I'd carry you, but you're too damn big."
I blinked awake slowly, realizing I was in the living room and all the lights except the light to the hallway were off, and the room was quiet and still.
"Sorry," I whispered, taking his hand when he offered it to me, so he could pull me up. "I passed out hard."
"Long day."
He eased me to my feet, catching me by the hips when I nearly fell over backward, and I sucked in a harsh breath, when one of his hands squeezed my bruise.
"What?" he asked freezing, his hands spasming, but loosening. "What's wrong."
"Nothing. Just a bruise, I spun so that the light from the hall was shining on the bruised flesh and pulled my sweatshirt up and the tops of my pajama pants down just a bit. "That's what I get for checking out the scenery," I grumbled unthinkingly, shaking my head… and then freezing too.
I swallowed hard, afraid to meet his eyes. Would he put it together? Rudy's big damn mouth had run so much, and with everything he'd said earlier, I'd gotten noticeably embarrassed. It would be really hard for him not to start putting shit together before long and coming up with an answer that he might not care for.
"Damn, that's a good one," he said, leaning closer to my bare hip to get a better look, his hand inadvertently moving forward, his fingertips brushing the crease of my hip bend, making me shudder, and since his hands were on me, I was sure he'd probably felt it too.
He glanced up at me, and we locked eyes. I bit my bottom lip, forcing myself not to whimper at how intense that look was. I didn't know what he was thinking right then, but I could imagine him looking down at me like that while he slowly moved inside me, or up at me while I lowered myself onto his dick and rode him nice and slow.
"Are you okay, Jefferson?" he asked, his fingers skating over the material a little too close to my rock-hard dick. "You aren't coming down with something, are you?"
He stood, his chest brushing my side on the way up and I pulled my pants back into position and let my big sweatshirt fall into place to cover things once again.
Reaching out, he pressed his palm to my forehead before brushing his hand along my cheeks and then my neck, feeling for any excess warmth, but all that was doing was making me hotter as his rough hands scraped loudly against my whiskers, making me shudder again, which really wasn't helping my case.
"No," I said, licking my lips. "I'm fine."
I needed to move away. Things were getting muddled in my sleepy brain. It sure felt like he was caressing my face instead of feeling for fever, but that didn't make sense at all, did it?
"I don't know." His thumb brushed the corner of my lips and I gasped, freezing in place and watching his face as he looked me over. "You look flushed. Maybe you should stay in bed tomorrow just in case."
I'm flushed because you keep fucking touching me, and I'm turned on as hell.
"No way. Tomorrow's when Rudy is supposed to try to get on the mustang." I wasn't about to miss that. It was either going to go really, really well, or really bad, and I wanted to see it either way.
The mustang wasn't actually a mustang. He was broken, and had even been ridden before. We'd tracked him backwards to his original owner and they'd informed us that he used to be the sweetest horse, but they'd had to sell him. The man who showed up to buy him, wasn't who he'd actually gone home with, though, because the man had used a horse trader. The man who he went home with believed in hurting his animals when he wasn't happy, and he'd apparently gotten piss drunk at a ropin' one night and beat the hell out of the horse right there.
Thankfully, they'd hauled him off to jail and taken the horse from him. He wasn't allowed to have any kind of animal for a long, long time, and I secretly hoped he died before his time was up. He was just lucky his ass didn’t go to jail.
The horse had taken a while to recover, and had the scars to show for it, but he was a handful sometimes. We'd all taken the time to get him comfortable with us, and he was actually starting to come put his head on our shoulders every once in a while. Of course, the last time he'd put his head on Sam's shoulder, it had been to steal the apple he was eating right out of his hand on its way to his mouth.
"But you shivered," he said, his eyes going all wide while he tried to look innocent. "I don't want you getting faint while we're out there working and falling under a horse or something."
I narrowed my eyes on him, smelling a rat. I had a sneaking suspicion he was trying to get me to admit something, but I wasn't about to fall for his tricks. Thrusting my chin in the air… my nose leading it, I reached out and smacked his hand away.
"I'm not missing Rudy getting dumped over the fence."
I turned and marched away toward my room, nearly turning around when I heard his deep, soothing chuckle, just so I could see his handsome face lit up with laughter, but I didn't, because I had self-control.
Had I admitted to Byrum that I was gay? I kinda remembered something, but I couldn't remember quite what it was. Had I been dreaming? I should be panicking. There was a possibility that someone I knew and saw every day of my life knew I was gay. That hadn't worked out so well the last time that happened, but this was Byrum. He wouldn't throw me out just because I was gay. I knew that. I was pretty sure he'd suspected from day one, and he'd only ever treated me respectfully… well, to a point. As respectfully as he treated anyone.
Though, he might not be so inclined to treat me that way if he knew how often I'd fantasized about him under this very roof, or that the box he'd handed me two days ago with the nondescript packaging and my name on it was a beautiful chocolate-colored dildo that made magic happen when I quietly whispered his name into my pillow.
Bet he wouldn't be all up in my personal space testing for fever if he knew I'd called it Mr. Rodgers, and used it so much my first day off that I hadn't been able to sit down the next morning for breakfast.
