by Sarah Black
"He's still scared and doesn't want to tell me. I don't know where he is, he hasn't said one single time that he wants me to go get him. He won't even tell me! Does he really think I'm just gonna let him go? What the fuck is wrong with him?"
"Oh, yeah, the ladyboy's got you on a short leash. I don't reckon it'll take long before you bust loose, do something stupid."
Colton felt better somehow. Doing something stupid sounded just about right. He snuck a glance over at Manuel's grizzled old head. Maybe he'd just missed having an old man around to talk to.
They found a beat-up horse trailer, hitched it to the truck, then bounced down a bumpy dirt road, drank some beer and haggled with a couple of ranch women for a mare with a new foal. The mama and her baby walked into the trailer sweet as pie, and when they pulled back up to the ranch, Samuel came out to lead the mare into the stables, and the three Juans led the baby, their hands stroking it everywhere. Colton watched them, his hat pulled low over his eyes. You would have thought that pony was walking on golden hooves.
"The place is starting to look like a ranch again, not a home for wayward girls,” Manuel said, and they went to the bench under the palo verde tree.
Where was Diego? One of his e-mails was some cryptic bullshit about they needed a vacation at the beach when this was all over. What beach? What the fuck was that all about? Manuel listened to him complain and consider and wonder what to do, until Colton looked over and saw the old man had fallen asleep, his head propped against the tree trunk.
Colton couldn't concentrate, couldn't sleep, and he lay in bed that night, his head like a dust storm, and it wasn't the concussion or the broken neck. It was him. He thought about that commercial: This is your brain on drugs. Well, this was his brain without Diego. Colton took his pillow and an old yellow quilt from the top of the closet and walked outside. He went out past the palo verde tree, around the side of the stables and past the garden where the land started to get wild again. He kicked a few rocks out of the way, then put the quilt and pillow down and stretched out on his back, studying the stars.
The night was deep and clear, and the stars lit up the land around him, a tiny saguaro no taller than his hand, a cluster of teddy bear cactus looking so fuzzy and sweet, the scuttle and chirp of the tiny desert creatures who came out at night, their lives lived under the light of the stars, and the moon.
How could he have been so wrong about nearly everything? How could he not have seen? One by one his foundations had been kicked over, and his house was resting on sand. The things he had believed about himself, about the law and his place in it, about right and wrong, everything had been turned upside down. How could he trust his own judgment in anything? Seemed to him if he did, most likely he would be wrong.
His face had been plastered all over the TV, along with Diego's. He thought the heading should say: a picture of a clueless wonder. If there was a single human being in all of Southern Arizona or Sonora who didn't know every pathetic detail of this sorry affair, he would have been surprised. Naturally everyone wondered what was going to happen now: was this romance doomed? Colton wondered that himself.
Diego was slipping away from him. If he did something about it, and he did the wrong thing, like he seemed to be doing about everything lately ... If he lost Diego. That was simply inconceivable, one loss too many, and in his mind, he wheeled up like a panicked horse. Yeah, yeah, he was an idiot and a loser who couldn't see his own house infested with poisonous snakes. But no way was he gonna lose Diego, not from being too afraid to try, that was for damn sure. The day would never come when Colton Wheeler would stand shivering in his fucking boots, afraid to try because he might be wrong. So that was settled. He picked up the quilt and shook it out, and left the desert to the night animals.
Early morning he woke up again, to the sounds of little boys sneaking out to the stables to check on a foal, and he knew where Diego was. Cabo. What had he said? Tortillas, tequila, sunshine, and sand.
Chapter Six
Cabo. Three miserable dusty days across Mexico and down to the very tip of the Baja peninsula, to a town that was as far away from everything as you could get and still be in Mexico. Colton was in a foul mood, the headache threatening from the back of his head. When were the fucking headaches going to stop?
But he checked into a room a block from the beach, took a cool shower, and lay down with a fan blowing on him until the headache receded a step. It felt good, lying cool and clean on top of a sheet that was so worn it felt as soft as skin. If he didn't feel so lonely for Diego that he thought his heart was going to melt and weep tears in his chest, he might just lie here and relax and forget the whole fucking thing.
Diego. The only Mexican in the world who had escaped to the north, come across the border to the great USA, to avoid the power and influence and money his family had in Mexico. He came to America to be a regular guy. To have a career, a life, a lover to watch over him. He shouldn't be afraid to come home. Colton hauled himself out of bed. Time to go find him.
He attracted way too much attention cruising the bars, obviously looking for someone, but not looking for one of the pretty girls dressed in slinky hot pink who kept trying to get his attention. He found Diego at a smoky New Orleans-style jazz bar called Tino's, a saxophone in neon lights in the front window. They had a band and a woman in a long dress singing the blues, and Diego was slow dancing with his artist. It couldn't be anybody else. Diego was wearing faded Levi's and the snakeskin boots Colton had given him for Christmas, and a tight black T-shirt. The bastard with his arm slung around Diego's waist was even better looking than Colton had imagined. He walked across the dance floor, took hold of Diego's wrist, pulled him away from the other man. “Sorry. He's with me."
The man narrowed his gorgeous black eyes, put his hands on his hips. Was the shit-heel wearing a black silk shirt and smelling like Polo? Jesus, this was Cabo, not the Riviera!
"Diego,” the man said, and of course his voice was like black velvet. He lifted his chin, and a couple of bruisers with jackets over their shoulder holsters slid over, stood on either side of him.
Colton just stared at them. “I said he's with me.” He looked down at Diego. His face was beautiful, flushed and sweaty, and there was a piece of black hair falling across the eye patch. His mouth was ripe as a plum, wet and open and Colton bent toward him just as Diego reached for him, their mouths meeting in a kiss that seemed to last forever.
When Colton looked up, the artist had retired to the bar. He held his martini glass up in a little toast. Colton nodded at him, wishing it could be pistols at dawn, tucked Diego under his arm and pulled him outside.
"He drinks fucking martinis? Give me a break. Nobody drinks martinis. Let's go.” He pulled Diego along by the wrist until they got to his little room.
Diego looked around. “Where's the bathroom?"
"The end of the hall,” Colton said. “You can manage for tonight.” He flopped down on the bed, still wearing his boots. “My head is fucking killing me."
"Really?” Diego morphed into Dr. Del Rio in a flash. “Any dizziness, blurred vision?"
"I don't know,” Colton said, throwing one arm up over his eyes. “Maybe I am having blurred vision. I can't see anything but your face. And it doesn't have ‘victim’ written across it in big red letters."
Diego was silent, then Colton felt his boots being tugged off. He didn't want to move his arm because the headache was so bad it was bringing tears to his eyes. The headache or something else. Then Diego's soft hands were touching his face, his soft mouth was kissing Colton so sweetly, slow and deep like he could kiss him forever, and after a few minutes the tears receded, and Colton could reach for him, and hold them close together.
"You're coming home with me, right?"
"I guess so,” Diego said. His head was nestled into Colton's shoulder, fingers tangled in the hair across his chest. “You'll probably freak if I say no. Besides, I've never been so fucking bored in my life. If I don't get back to work I'm gonna
go nuts. You stole my great-uncle Manuel?"
"I was gonna trade him for you, one of those hostage deals. But actually, me and him, we get along."
"You're alike, you two. Fearless."
"I'm not fearless,” Colton said, stroking the black hair back from Diego's face. “There is one thing I'm afraid of. But you won't let that happen to me, will you?"
Diego shook his head. “No. I won't let that happen."
* * * *
Christmas Eve
Diego lay back against the pillows like a pagan god, wearing a blood red silk robe and his snakeskin cowboy boots. Colton could see him in the mirror. Diego was watching him tie his bowtie. He was going to try again, because any fool could follow directions, and he had looked it up on the Internet when he realized that the tux didn't come with instructions. Diego was grinning at him, not saying a word.
Colton had to admit the monkey suit looked good on him. It almost made him look elegant or something, taller and thinner, and he couldn't help but notice the way Diego's eyes lit up, the way he'd leaned back to watch Colton get dressed.
Colton walked over to the bed, carefully pulled aside the folds of the silk robe until Diego's slender body lay like a dark arrow between the rich cloth. He was still wearing the eye patch, and Colton tried not to let him know how hot it made him look.
Diego's face was flushed, his lips swollen and red from their make out session earlier in the shower. His hair was spread across the pillow, and Colton reached for his chest and his belly, spread his fingers through Diego's curly black hair. His cock was filling, rising from a black nest.
"Nice robe. It looks good on you. Was this what came in that box from Mexico?"
"Yeah, Colton."
"It wasn't from Esmeralda?"
"Nope."
Colton climbed up on the bed, and Diego turned and looked at the clock. “We've got to leave in about an hour, or we'll miss the curtain. The Nutcracker. I can't believe it. You know, since I was a little boy, I've loved...” He paused and blinked. Colton ran his hand down Diego's long thigh. “Did Uncle Manuel tell you..."
"Yes, ladyboy. He did. Hot boots. Wear them with the tux, okay?"
"Okay. You're gonna give me a blow job wearing a tux? Wow. Cool."
Colton grinned and bent over, felt something like happiness spread out in his chest, took the head of Diego's cock between his teeth. He slid one big hand down, pressed his middle finger against Diego's ass.
"Let me in,” he said, pressing gently against the tender skin, and he felt Diego sigh and open to him. “Let me in to play,” he whispered, and he bent over and sucked Diego's cock deep into his mouth again, and he pressed his long finger in, skin like velvet surrounding him. Diego moaned, his hands reaching for Colton, fingers sliding through his hair.
Colton reached deeper, reached for that place where he loved to be touched. Diego was stroking his head, and he reached deeper, touched the spot, and Diego moaned and wrapped his cowboy boots around Colton's head. When Diego came in his mouth, he tasted like dark chocolate. He tasted happiness, and this felt like happiness, like this day was important, and worth remembering.
Diego reached around his shoulders and tied Colton's bow tie in the mirror. Diego looked like he'd been born in a tux, like he could do surgery in a tux and not get it dirty. “You've got to practice.” He met Colton's eyes in the mirror. “Or not. I'll just do it for you if you want."
"I got you a Christmas present."
"Really?” Diego brushed some lint from Colton's lapel. “I thought The Nutcracker was my Christmas present."
"No, that was still an IOU from last year.” Colton handed him an envelope, watched Diego's face when he pulled out the title to his granddad's ranch. No, to Colton's ranch. Now their ranch. He'd given Diego half of what he loved most in the world.
"Come on,” he said, pulling Diego out the door. “We can't be late for The Nutcracker."
The End
About the Author:
Sarah likes to drive around on empty, red-dirt roads on the Navajo reservation in a beat-up blue Ford Ranger pickup. Unfortunately, she still doesn't know how to change a flat tire.
Every Christmas, Sarah tries to make her grandmother's fudge recipe, the one on the back of the Hershey's cocoa box. So far no luck. This year she's going to break down and buy a candy thermometer.
Sarah has a secret addiction to reading books from Mother Earth News about building your own house. Right now she is reading about Cordwood and Cob.
Sarah will use any excuse to buy cashmere sweaters from Land's End. She has even been known to do it without an excuse.
When she was young, Sarah wanted to marry Barnabas Collins, the vampire from Dark Shadows.
Life goal: To visit all of America's National Parks.
Sarah has lived in: California, Connecticut, New Hampshire, Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Florida, Mississippi, Texas, Arizona, and Alaska. Also Italy, and one year in the Persian Gulf on the Hospital Ship USNS Comfort.
First pet: Janet, a red-eared turtle the size of a quarter. During a hurricane evacuation in 1968, Sarah's father carried Janet in his pocket wrapped in a damp washcloth, inside a plastic bag.
Sarah has a secret crush on Brett Favre, and believes that he redeems the sins of the rest of the NFL. He is one of the few remaining quarterbacks playing who is not young enough to be her son.
When she can't sleep, Sarah gets up and reads a random selection from the Oxford English Dictionary. Sometimes those words show up in her stories.
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