“What do you mean?” Sunlight picked up glints of gold in his brown hair and eyelashes. “Money?”
“Yeah, for insurance and dog food and stuff. If you didn’t have your parents to help you, how else could you get those things?”
His brows drew together. “I wouldn’t get them. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I couldn’t have those things because I can’t afford them without my parent’s help. You think I like being dependent on them?”
“I never said that.”
“Yeah, but you’d never let anyone tell you what doctor to go to. Is that it?”
“Fuck off.” I gave his arm a gentle swat with the back of my hand. “Who are you talking to right now? It’s not me, ’cause I haven’t had a say in shit for eight years.”
He tilted his head back and stared up. “Sorry.”
“All I’m saying is—”
“I hear what you’re saying.” He let his backpack slide from his shoulders so he could dig out a collapsible dog bowl and a bottle of water. Maisy got her drink before he spoke again. “But you don’t know the whole story, so I don’t think you can judge.”
Well that was clear enough.
What did I care where he went to the doctor, anyway?
I’d forgotten my plan was to keep my head down and do my job. I could do that without complicating things by trying to make friends with everybody. I stuck my hands in my pockets.
“It’s not just the money,” he said.
I waited. Either he was going to tell me what was going on or he wasn’t.
“My father . . . ” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “My father is Elliot McLean.”
Something tickled the back of my brain. “Where have I heard that—”
“He’s the pastor of the Oklahoma Christian Pathways Church.”
Memories surfaced. On television. I’d never watched it but there were bus ads. Billboards.
“The super-church guy? The arena-church guy?”
“That’s the one, son. Can I get an amen?” He raised his hands in praise and Maisy waited happily, thinking he was playing some new game. “My parents, Pastor Elliot McLean and his wife, Cheryl Violet McLean, maiden name Birdwell of the Atlanta Birdwells. My brothers, from the oldest to the youngest, Michael Namath Mclean, Raymond Long Mclean, Justin Elway McLean—”
“I’m sensing a pattern, Rockne.”
“My younger brothers are Andrew Marino McLean, and William Favre McLean.”
“How come you got named after a coach and they’re all players?”
“I am Rockne Montana McLean. I bear the burden of greatness times two.”
“That’s pretty funny.”
“My dad likes football a little bit.”
“Does your mom like football as much as he does?”
He glanced away. “My mother likes what my dad tells her to like.”
We came across some green plastic picnic tables and he sat on one—not on the bench but the table itself. He leaned back on his hands and turned his face toward the sun. “The Oklahoma Christian Pathways church is our family business. I was part of it for a long time.”
“You’re the family that sings, right?”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Nah it wasn’t. Did you forget? I was listening to you a couple nights ago.” Hearing him made something new and warm stretch out inside me. Like I’d been hibernating, and his music was spring. “I liked it a lot.”
Pink flooded his cheeks.
“Thanks.” He leaped down. “If you’re hungry, we can eat at Earl’s.”.
“Sure.” Somebody didn’t know how to take a compliment. “We can do that.”
After leaving the park, we walked past an appliance repair shop, a laundromat, and a barbershop. Not the one I remembered—this one served ladies too.
“Bitterroot is sort of retro, huh?”
“I think it’s actually just old.”
We had to walk a few blocks, the sun beating down on us every time we crossed the street. When we got inside Earl’s, I think we were as relieved by the comfortable silence between us as we were by the air-conditioning. We took a booth right by the front window. After we sat, Maisy crawled under the table, put her chin on Rock’s foot, and fell asleep. In her position, I could have slept pretty well too.
Menus stacked behind the napkin dispensers featured breakfasts and burgers and comfort food dinners like meat loaf and roast turkey with dressing. My mouth watered just looking at it.
“Rock, honey! As I live and breathe. Be right there, baby,” our waitress called. She came from behind the counter with a pot of coffee and a wink, as if Rock was her favorite customer ever. “You get more handsome every day.”
“Aw. Thanks, Earlene.”
“What’s good here?” I asked.
“Everything.” Rock put his menu back. “But I’m partial to the rancher’s breakfast. It’s hearty, and they do my eggs just right.”
I put my menu back as well. “I’ll have that, ma’am. Thank you.”
“New around here, aren’t you?” She propped her elbow on her arm and rocked back and forth. “You haven’t been in before. I’d remember.”
“Sky makes an impression, all right.”
“Hardly.” Our eyes locked just a little too long before Rock’s lashes lowered.
Earlene asked, “Where you from?”
I tore my gaze from Rock’s to answer. “Abilene, originally. But I lived here when I was a kid. My father worked the Rocking C.”
“Sky’s just started,” Rock told her. “He’s learning to cowboy like his dad.”
“Oh, isn’t that sweet? What did your dad say when you told him?”
I picked up another sugar packet to have something to do with my hands. “He passed when I was a kid.”
“Oh. Sorry, hon.” She reached out and rubbed my shoulder.
Rock eyed her like she was getting on his last nerve. I wondered why.
“My dad’s been gone a while,” I said. “I was lucky to have him as long as I did.”
“Well, that’s an attitude of gratitude for you. I’ll get your food right up. Be back soon.” She strode away, a little extra bit of action shaking her hips. I appreciated her enthusiasm, but I couldn’t stop looking at Rock.
He fidgeted, splaying his hands out on the table and then folding them. Rubbing them together. “Elena wants us to go to the Christian Singles Mingle.”
“That’s the Bible study group you told me about?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll go if the boss says it’s okay.”
“Really?”
He seemed surprised by that.
“Will the good Christian folk of Bitterroot be okay with having a desperado like me around?” I spoke lightly, but it could be a big problem. I expected it to be.
He hesitated. “I can’t say for sure.”
It figured he’d be hesitant to answer.
On the inside, I’d learned to question every interaction from every angle. Was Rock really interested in being a friend? Or was he interested in fucking me, with the side benefit of using me to get back at his parents? At Chandler? At all the folks from his church who treated him like he’s less than?
I thought on this, because that’s what you have to do to survive.
But I hoped he just liked me.
The waitress brought our food and warmed up our coffee. The rancher’s breakfast was pure bliss: a platter of ham and sausage and bacon and eggs. Red-eye gravy and homemade salsa and pancakes so fluffy and light, that when I stuck them with my fork I figured they would deflate like syrupy whoopee cushions.
Neither of us talked while we ate. Either I was starving or the food was just that good. When I was satisfied, I wiped my mouth with my napkin and gave my stuffed belly a pat. Rock laugh
ed.
“What?”
“C’mon.” He picked up the check, got up, and I followed suit.
“Mark what I owe you and as soon as I get my first check, I’ll pay up.”
“My treat today. Welcome to Bitterroot.” He showed me his pretty white smile. “And on account of you had to deal with family drama.”
“That was nothing. I should pay my way.”
“Your money’s no good today.” He pulled out his wallet. Earlene slid in behind the cash register. “Thanks for coming by boys. Hope everything was tasty.”
“Sure was,” Rock gave her some cash and as we turned to leave he snatched a handful of pinwheel mints from a bowl by the front door. I pushed out into the blistering heat and held the door for him and Maisy. Handing me a mint, he started across the parking lot, Maisy and me trailing after him.
Three men were coming into Earl’s just as we were leaving. One of them turned to Rock with a sneer.
Aw, what now?
“Well, if it isn’t the fag prince of the Rocking C.”
“Fuck off, Lefty.” Rock tried to pass him.
“The ‘C’ stands for ‘cocksucker’ these days, don’t it?” One of the other dudes grinned.
Piece of shit.
I looked to Rock to see how he wanted to play things. At the same time, sweat started beading up on my skin. The last time this happened, I’d gone to a real dark place.
Aaaand my life spins out of control.
Again.
“The ‘C’ stands for ‘Chandler.’” I stepped beside Rock, my weight evenly balanced and ready to take a punch, just like ’Nando taught me. Nobody with half a brain cell swings first. “I stand for cocksuckers.”
“Goddamn. Would you look at that?” Lefty sneered. “The retard has a boyfriend.”
Rock loomed over him. I didn’t know how the dude had the nerve to get in Rock’s face at all. Anyone could see. If Rock went off, he’d wipe the floor with Wheeler.
I felt like I swallowed an ice cube.
I was going back to prison if I couldn’t get this under control.
“Say that again.” Rock was livid.
“Rock—” I tugged his arm to get his attention. “We’re done here. Let’s go.”
Rock shook off my hand when another one of Lefty’s pals stepped up.
“Who’s your little friend?” the third guy sneered.
This shit was going to catch fire. I could already hear the soul-murdering boom of automated doors locking me away for good.
’Nando told me if I ended up back inside I wouldn’t have his protection.
Maybe he meant that and maybe he didn’t, but I never wanted to find out. Not this way. Not because Lefty fucking Wheeler couldn’t figure out why he wanted to push Rock down so badly.
The dude who’d stepped up to me mad-dogged us, making with the psycho eyes. Loser.
They weren’t a physical threat. But moisture gathered on my forehead and upper lip. A bead of sweat trickled down between my shoulder blades.
I waited, ready to stand with Rock if things turned ugly, but I was a toothless bear on a short leash. I didn’t want to go back in the goddamn cage.
I couldn’t. I couldn’t. Even for Rock. I wouldn’t go back.
“Skyler?” Maisy was barking when Rock’s arms wrapped around me. “Hey. Talk to me. Are you okay?”
“Fuck.” The guy who’d pushed up on me backed off with a laugh. “They’re both retards.”
“Yeah. They’re both fucking retards.” The third guy’s laugh sounded high-pitched with relief. “It’s a match made in fag heaven.”
“C’mon.” Rock led me past Lefty and his little posse and I know the kind of strength it takes to back away from a fight but even so, in my whole life, I never felt less like a man than I did right then. Was this how they made Rock feel all the time? I got lightheaded with rage just thinking about it.
“Sorry, Rock.” I said. “Sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“It’s okay. Come on. Just come into the shade on the other side of the road.” As he pulled me past those assholes, I leaned into him, borrowing his physical strength and the warmth of his skin. He whispered, “I won’t let you get into trouble because of me. I promise.”
But he couldn’t protect me. He couldn’t even protect himself.
“My hero,” I said, my words as corrosive as my shame.
“What’d I do?” His outrage was audible.
“Sorry.” I broke away to press my back against the wall next to the empty shell of an old, broken payphone. “It’s hard to back down when you’re used to fighting. Sometimes, it’s like a reflex.”
He braced his hands on either side of my head. Good thing Lefty and his little pals had gone inside.
“You gonna be okay?”
I nodded.
“Well, all right, then. I told you Lefty Wheeler is an asshat.”
“Yeah, you did.”
He leaned in and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
I let my cheek brush against his. As I drew in a lungful of his aftershave, our beard stubble scraped together, sexy and soft—a stealthy rasping sound that made my blood soar.
Jesus.
I cleared my throat. “Nothing to be sorry for.”
I closed my eyes to keep from doing something even dumber than starting a fight in public.
He stepped back, a smile of pure male satisfaction hovering on his lips, just waiting to blossom on his face.
“Let’s go.”
I took a deep breath. Nodded. I still wanted to beat Wheeler like a goddamn bongo drum, but that was tempered, because I’d learned something important about Rock because of him.
I’d learned my instinct to protect Rock was mutual.
Some new seed of happiness took root inside me.
“Yessir.”
Before, I saw Rock as a kid who needed someone to stand up for him. I figured I could make myself useful—either backing him up or calling his plays.
But maybe what he really needed was a reason to stand up for himself.
Could I be that? Did he see me that way?
The icy fear of our close encounter left hope and a spark of warmth behind.
I startled when Rock laced his fingers with mine. I held him there. Forced him to look me in the eye.
It was Maisy who pulled us out of our trancelike state.
Apparently she’d spotted a tempting place in the dirt behind the parking lot to sniff but she asked permission with her brown doggy eyes, and then waited for Rock to release her.
Rock did, and I followed.
Of the three of us, only she had a clue what to do next.
Chapter 22
Rock
Waiting was torture.
I should know, because I spent every day waiting—for rides, doctors, prescriptions, physical therapists, and psychologists. For calves to be born. For vegetables to grow. For my life to fucking start already.
But good news! Beginning with the shivery scrape of Sky’s stubble against mine.
One little hiccup—we were in a public parking lot in the middle of town. If Lefty Wheeler had any idea how close I was to pushing Sky to his knees . . .
A honk from the street got Maisy’s attention and she turned when Elena’s truck pulled up alongside the curb. Elena rolled the window down and leaned over.
“Did you guys get some lunch?”
“Yeah.” I opened the back door of the crew cab and Maisy leaped in. I got in behind her. Sky got in up front. I couldn’t help wishing he’d sit in back with me again, but there wasn’t any food to share this time.
Sky dropped his hand over the console to pet Maisy. I rested my hand on her scruff. Our hands touched. Caressed blindly. My breath sped up and my heart thundered.
I stared
out the window, but every so often I felt Elena’s eyes on me. The tension was thick as flies on shit and just as pleasant.
“Okay, both of you. Chill.” Elena finally broke the silence. “I’m sorry about that scene in the Doc’s office. I didn’t think Sterling’d come all the way to town over something so . . . insignificant.”
I couldn’t work myself up right then because Sky’s thumb was smoothing curlicues into my palm, making me stupidly nervous.
She sighed. “I was so glad when Doc Winters took over Doc Frazier’s practice. It’s much closer than going to Austin.”
I’d been thrilled too. Having an openly gay doctor right there in Bitterroot? Someone to talk to about my accident and my recovery and my hopes for the future? Someone who didn’t judge me?
“Me too.”
“You’re not changing doctors,” Elena said firmly.
“I don’t want to.”
“You will not have to.” Elena made the decision for me. I wished people would stop doing that, even if they wanted the same things for me that I wanted. “Doc Winters is exactly what you need.”
“I agree.”
“We’ll just have to convince the boss. He’s not normally so . . . I guess he’s worse hurt than we thought, huh?”
“Probably.”
Maisy dozed while I used her as cover to give Sky’s hand a gentle squeeze. Elena turned the radio on. Rascal Flatts’ “The Day Before You” filled the cab. Sky and I stayed quiet, listening to song after sappy song about finding or losing the one. Loneliness, love, loss, and heartache.
I spent the rest of the ride thinking about what songs I’d sing to Sky if it was just him and me in the car.
Or maybe I drifted off to sleep and dreamed we were sitting on the porch in the moonlight, listening to the radio while Foz and Elena danced in the living room.
When we pulled onto the ranch road, I knew Chandler would be waiting to talk to me. He didn’t sit on an argument and let people stew. He made sure they knew they were going to lose, and then he waited for them to capitulate.
My stomach tied itself into tighter knots with each revolution of the truck’s tires.
My Cowboy Freedom Page 17
