by Aislin, Amy
With Bo was a gentleman a few years older than Sam, a brown-haired girl who looked to be about five years old or so, a little pygmy goat, and PomPom. The girl kept trying to get PomPom and the goat into the bed of an animal transport truck, but the animals appeared so happy to see each other that they continued to ignore her in favor of playing together in the grass.
Sam didn’t want to interrupt, but Bo stood a little apart from the others, shoulders straight and a tight smile on his lips. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else, yet also like he was desperate to be part of the small group.
“Bye, PomPom,” Bo said. The pig ignored him and finally followed girl and goat into the truck. After a quick chat with Bo, the gentleman—the girl’s father from the look of things—shook Bo’s hand, hopped into the driver’s seat, and pulled away.
Sam crossed his driveway and, when he reached Bo, put an arm around his shoulders and tucked him into his side.
“Do you like working at Big Sky?” he asked Bo.
“Most of the time.” Bo rested his head on Sam’s shoulder. “Sometimes I wish I could keep all the animals, though. I don’t like saying goodbye.”
Something in the way Bo held himself, in the way his voice sounded like he had to scrape the bottom of a well to find it, in the way his fists clenched at his sides… It made Sam think there was more going on than Bo being sad at PomPom’s departure.
“Is everything okay?” He ran his hand up and down Bo’s back in what he hoped was a soothing gesture.
“Yeah. It’s just been kind of a craptastic morning.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. He distinctly remembered their morning being less craptastic and more orgasmic.
Bo caught Sam’s look and threw him a small smile. “Not that part. After you left, I mean.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Bo’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly. He shook his head. “What are you doing today? Wanna get out of here?” Changing the subject, something Sam was beginning to understand Bo was a master at.
“Don’t you need to be around for the animals?”
“It’s just the chickens right now and I already fed them and did the weekly coop cleaning and gathered the eggs. I don’t need to be back until early afternoon.”
“Aren’t you expecting pigeons?” Sam asked, recalling the phone conversation he’d overheard between Sam and Laura.
“They’re not coming,” Bo said. “They healed fast and were released back into the wild yesterday.” Bo looked right, then left. Scuffed his shoe against the driveway. Scratched his arm. “Wanna go for a hike?” He looked Sam up and down and his eyes heated. “Or something?” He slipped a finger through one of Sam’s belt loops and gave a tug in the direction of the house.
Bo was clearly restless. Something was bugging him and the only way Bo could think of to fix it was to get away from it—whatever it was. Bo had admitted that sex got him out of his own head. Given the way Bo’s eyes shifted and his hands clenched, it looked to Sam that Bo needed a friend more than he needed to get off right now.
Sam told his dick to pipe down and said, “Ever been to a horse farm?”
Bo came to a halt, brow furrowed. “Because…you want to ride me like one?”
Sam choked on a laugh. “No! Well, maybe later, but… Jesus, I’m seriously impressed your mind made that kind of connection.”
“Where else was it supposed to go with a segue like that?”
Where else, indeed.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Sam said. “Have you ever been to a horse farm?”
“Yeah,” Bo said slowly, drawing out the word as he likely tried to figure out where Sam was going with this. “We lived on one in Saskatchewan when I was younger. My parents worked as stable hands.”
“Wanna tell me about it on the way to my parents’? We can do some horseback riding.”
“You want me to meet your parents?”
It was fast, sure; they’d only been on friendly speaking terms for a few days, and though they’d slept together they’d yet to define their relationship. Bo just seemed so alone. A sister in BC, parents he hadn’t once mentioned though Sam knew existed from a passing comment from Laura, all of his friends were in Ottawa, and all he had for company were evil chickens and random animals that came and went. Sam wanted to wrap Bo up and keep him safe at the same time that he wanted to surround him with worthy people who would see Bo for who he really was and accept him despite his closed-off, prickly nature. And Sam wanted to start with his parents because they were the most easy-going, accepting people Sam knew.
“Sure,” Sam said, shrugging. “Why not?”
Bo’s eyes turned into dark pools of uncertainty. “I don’t know, isn’t it too soon? I mean, how would you introduce me?”
“How do you want to be introduced?”
Sam didn’t mean to pressure him, he just didn’t want to do something that would offend Bo and he didn’t want to move so fast that he freaked Bo out. But Bo freaked out anyway if the look on his face was anything to go by.
“You don’t have to answer that,” Sam assured him. “Forget I asked. We don’t need to label this.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to label it, it’s just…” Bo seemed to run out of words. Blinking against the morning sun, he shifted until Sam blocked the sun and he didn’t have to squint. “Well, what do you want?”
What did Sam want? What didn’t he want with Bo? He’d been so wrong about Bo not being his type it was utterly laughable. Sam remembered what he’d overheard Bo saying to PomPom a few days ago—“I was really looking forward to being his friend”—and started there.
“I want be your friend.” Sam took Bo’s hands in his. “I want to keep getting to know you. I want to go out with you again, and I want to spend nights chilling, and watching movies and baseball games on TV. And I want to keep sharing a bed with you, finding out what makes you tick.”
Bo bit his lip, but his smile shone through and his cheeks pinked. “I want that too, but…”
Sam ducked his head and tried to catch Bo’s eyes. “But?”
“But I…I don’t want to be on my deck one day and catch you making out with some other guy on the other side of the fence.”
Sam smiled at him. “So you want to be exclusive? So do I.”
“Yeah?” Bo’s smile was tentative. “So we’re friends who sleep together exclusively. Wouldn’t that make us boyfriends?”
“Sure, if that’s what you want.”
“Is that what you want?”
Oh, Bo. So afraid to ask for what he wanted. Sam didn’t know how to tell him that he didn’t need to be afraid with him.
Instead of answering, Sam tugged Bo forward and kissed him slowly, letting Bo determine the answer for himself.
§§§§
They were a few minutes away from his parents’ house in Puslinch when Sam remembered what Bo had said about living on a horse farm.
“Tell me about living on the farm in Saskatchewan,” he said to Bo. “Did you like it?”
Bo grinned at him, white teeth flashing, sunglasses hiding his eyes. “For the most part it was great. I was fifteen. Laura was off at university in Toronto, so it was just me and my parents. When the owners saw how fast I learned to ride and how good I was with the horses, they let me start doing some of the Saturday afternoon trail rides.”
Sam smiled as he listened to Bo talk about his favorite horse, and the wide open prairie sky, and about the owners’ tiny Yorkshire terrier that would go right up to the horses and play with them but the Great Dane was scared shitless of them. His voice was animated and he spoke with his hands, recanting tale after tale. Sam loved listening to him talk when he wasn’t censoring his words or second guessing himself or changing the subject.
“So what part wasn’t great?” Sam asked when Bo wound down.
“What do you mean?”
“You said it was great for the most part,” Sam reminded him. “What wasn’t great?”
&
nbsp; Bo’s face shut down and he looked away, fiddling with a loose thread in his cargo shorts. “Are we far from your parents’ place?” he asked. It was his least subtle attempt at changing the subject yet.
Sam kept his eyes on the road and reached out with one hand to thread Bo’s restless fingers through his. “You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “I’m sorry I asked. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” God, he wished they were having this conversation when he could look Bo in the eye, but if he waited he’d probably lose this opportunity. “But I just want you to know that you can talk to me. You can trust me. I’m here if you ever want to get anything off your chest. I won’t judge you or laugh at you or…think you’re unworthy.” His heart clenched when Bo’s fingers spasmed. Sam hit too close to home with that last point. “You can talk to me,” he repeated.
“Thank you,” Bo said. Sam could barely hear him over the sound of the road beneath his tires. “I know that.”
Do you? Sam wanted to ask. But he didn’t want to pressure Bo, so he held his tongue and instead answered Bo’s question. “We’re coming up on the house now. This land to the left is theirs.”
“Are those the fields they rent to other farmers?” Bo leaned his elbow on the center console to peer through Sam’s window. Sam didn’t bother resisting the urge to run his hand through Bo’s hair.
“Yeah. I can’t remember what they farm though. Never paid much attention to that side of the business, to be honest. Soy or bamboo or something like that. That driveway there,” Sam pointed, “leads to the guest parking lot.” Next to the lot entrance, a wooden sign read McAuley Stables.
Sam pulled into his parents’ circular driveway and parked off to the side. Before they got out of the car, Bo leaned over and kissed Sam’s cheek. Sam’s heart melted.
“What was that for?” he asked. He cupped Bo’s neck with one hand and rubbed a thumb along his smooth jaw.
“Thank you,” Bo said.
“For what?”
“For being so patient with me.”
Sam’s heart cracked wide open at Bo’s words, uttered in a tone that told Sam they’d been hard to voice. Reaching over, he gently pulled Bo’s sunglasses off his face and placed them in his messy blond hair. Then he placed his hand back on Bo’s neck, lifting his head so his eyes met Sam’s.
“You’re worth it,” Sam said.
Bo blinked furiously and swallowed hard. Leaning forward, he buried his head in Sam’s shoulder and inhaled sharply, as if committing Sam’s scent to memory. Sam ran his hand through Bo’s hair and kissed his temple, letting the man take the time he needed to gather his thoughts.
Pulling back, Bo opened his mouth to speak when his eyes shifted to something over Sam’s shoulder.
“Um…we have company.”
Sam looked over his shoulder and was met with the big black nose and lolling tongue of his parents’ Bernese mountain dog.
“That’s Shelby.” Sam opened the door, forcing Shelby’s front paws off his car and onto the ground. “Hey, girl.” He gave her a rub and her tail thumped against his leg. When Bo came around the hood of the car, sunglasses still on top of his head, Shelby barked and trotted over to him, giving him a good sniff.
“Hi Shelby. I’m Bo.” Bo crouched and let the dog run circles around him. “What are you smiling at?” That last he directed at Sam.
Sam just kept grinning at him. “Come on, Shelby,” he said, holding out a hand for Bo. Hand-in-hand, they followed Shelby to the front door. Sam wisely didn’t comment on Bo’s nervous-sweaty palms.
The front door opened directly into a long, open room that ran the width of the house and was divided into sections: a living room on the left, a cozy sitting area with a TV in the middle, and a formal, seldom-used dining room on the right.
They left their shoes by the front door. Sam led Bo past the sitting area and through a door that led into a long kitchen. Like the front room, it spanned the width of the house, with the cooking area on the left and a large, rustic kitchen table and chairs on the right. Past the table, a set of stairs led up to the bedrooms on the second floor.
“Well, well,” his sister said from her perch on a stool at the kitchen island. “Look what the cat dragged in.” Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, long hair the same reddish-blonde shade as Sam’s up in a messy bun, she diced onions at a rate a master chef would admire.
“You just saw me last week,” Sam said, giving her a brotherly shove. She retaliated with a kick to the shin but he moved before her foot made contact.
He saw Shelby nosing the back door and opened it to let her out.
“Yes, but we see much less of you since you moved out,” his mom said from behind the open fridge door.
“I come for dinner every Sunday.”
“But we used to see you every day.”
“Well, that’s what happens when your kid moves out.”
Sam knew his mom was only making a fuss because she could. She’d been his biggest champion when he’d talked about moving out, a firm believer that kids eventually needed their own lives away from their parents.
“I suppose that’s true.” She emerged from the fridge with snow peas, carrots, and cauliflower.
“Hi,” his sister said to Bo. “I’m Taylor.”
Sam placed his hand at the small of Bo’s back. “Bo, this is my mom, Margaret, and my sister, Taylor. Guys, this is my boyfriend, Bo.”
The look Bo shot him made Sam feel like a fucking superhero: wide eyes, flushed cheeks, and a pleased grin he tried to contain by biting his lip. Sam rubbed Bo’s side in acknowledgement of the word “boyfriend.” Had they not had this conversation this morning? Yet Bo still looked surprised.
His mom also shot him a look, but this one clearly told Sam she wasn’t impressed that he hadn’t told her about the new man in his life earlier.
Taylor smiled at Bo like he was the best thing ever.
Handshakes and introductions over with, his mom said, “Are you boys staying for lunch? I’m about to whip up a stir-fry.”
“Sure, thanks Mom. No carrots, though. Bo’s allergic.”
Again with that surprised look from Bo.
“Oh, that’s fine, I’ll just replace it with something else.” She set the cauliflower in front of Taylor with an order to start chopping before returning the carrots to the fridge. “How about celery? Or broccoli?”
Sam let Bo answer, unsure if there was anything else he was allergic to.
“Those are fine,” Bo said. “It’s only carrots I’m allergic to. Sorry, I don’t mean to be a bother. I didn’t know we were coming for lunch.” The look he sent Sam this time was bland bordering on you-so-owe-me-an-explanation.
Sam shrugged, unrepentant.
“Oh, that’s okay, sweetheart,” his mom said. She turned from the fridge and set the celery on the island. “It’s easy to swap one vegetable for another. We’ve been doing it for Robyn since she was born. One week she likes tomatoes, the next she doesn’t. Girl’s the pickiest eater I’ve ever seen.”
“Now she’s doing some kind of gluten-free thing,” Taylor said with an eye roll.
Next to Sam, Bo’s nose wrinkled adorably. “Gluten-free cookies?”
“Right?” Taylor spoke while chopping cauliflower into small pieces. “How gross is that?”
“There’s nothing wrong with eating healthy,” their mom said.
“She can eat healthy all she wants, I have nothing against it,” Taylor said. “It’s the fact she can’t decide how she wants to eat healthy that’s annoying. Next week she’ll have switched to a no-carb thing, the week after that could be that new diet everyone’s talking about.”
“She’s just trying to figure out what works for her,” their mom defended. “You never know unless you try.”
“Where is Robyn, anyway?” Sam asked.
“Working.”
Robyn waitressed at a restaurant in Guelph. Of the three of them—Sam, Taylor, and Robyn—only Taylor had an interest in working on
the farm. She was an award-winning show jumper who’d switched from jumping to teaching horseback riding after graduating from the University of Guelph with a degree in equine management. She’d helped turn their parents’ farm from one that offered trail rides on weekends, to one that now offered corporate team building sessions, kids’ birthday parties, and stabling services.
“Are you guys going to help with the cooking?” Taylor asked. “Or are you just going to stand there?”
Sam took Bo’s hand and started for the front room. “I’m going to show Bo the horses.”
“Typical,” he heard Taylor mutter behind him.
“We don’t put guests to work, Taylor,” his mom said.
“Bo’s not a guest. He’s Sam’s boyfriend.”
Sam watched the smile form on Bo’s face as he slipped into his running shoes. He led him outside and around the side of the house to the horse corral out back.
“Your sister seems nice,” Bo said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them.
“Meh,” Sam said. “She’s okay.”
Bo elbowed him in the arm. “Shut up,” he said, chuckling. “You’re super close.”
“We always have been,” Sam agreed. He didn’t miss the wistful look that crossed Bo’s face.
“You look a lot alike, you and Taylor.”
“I’m the better-looking one, though,” Sam teased.
“I won’t argue there.”
There were only two horses in the corral when he and Bo arrived. When they saw Sam, they came over for a greeting.
“Hey, guys.” He gave them each a rub on their muzzles. “This guy,” Sam said to Bo, referring to the chestnut horse in front of him, “is Jelly. And this one,” he rubbed the muzzle of the other chestnut, this one with white markings on his forehead, “is my horse Moby.”
Bo grinned so wide his cheeks must’ve hurt. “Can we go in?”
They went into the corral and Bo let both horses get acquainted with him. When they nosed at his waist, he laughed and said, “Sorry guys, I don’t have any treats. What you’re smelling is probably an aroma of lingering-chicken.”
Sam chuckled and leaned back against the corral, one foot hooked over a rung. He watched Bo talk to the horses. Bo’s light hair glowed in the afternoon sun and his entire face shone with happiness. It was a far cry from the mood he’d been in this morning. Sam’s heart soared knowing he’d had something to do with putting that look on Bo’s face.
