by Tara Lain
Merle started walking as quickly as the sand allowed back toward the boardwalk.
Wrong move. Small, mean Ritchie ran and grabbed Merle by the shoulder. “Think again, fag boy. Having people like you on TV is bad for American kids. They think it’s okay to be a homo, and kids start trying to be like you. It’s bullshit, man.”
Merle shook off Ritchie’s hand and backed up a step, clenching his fists. No, he wasn’t the world’s most experienced fighter, but he was in good shape and had to practice a lot of physical shit to do his own stunts. Maybe he could take Ritchie—if his friends stayed out of it.
Sweet Face said, “Come on, Ritchie. Let’s go get ice cream.”
Merle glanced at him. “I recommend rocky road.”
Ritchie stepped forward pugnaciously. “Better we should make that pretty fag face into rocky road first, right, guys?”
No way he could turn and run. They’d catch him before he got three feet.
Sweet Face said nothing, but sadly the other two guys who looked like brothers, overdressed for the beach in black leather jackets, nodded. Brother One spit on the dark sand. “One less cocksucker will do me fine.”
Brother Two smiled, and it wasn’t reassuring. “How about we get him to suck our cocks before we drown his ass?”
Merle snarled, “You want it bitten off, asshole, give it a try.”
That shook Brother Two’s confidence but not Ritchie’s. “Don’t go acting like some fag yourself. All we gotta do is show this homo fag that flashing his sick self on our big screens ain’t cool.”
He stepped forward and threw a punch at Merle’s head. Merle ducked and slammed his fist up into Ritchie’s gut. The guy staggered back for a second but then thrashed forward with fists flying. One of the wild punches landed on Merle’s cheekbone. Shitfire, that hurts.
Merle slugged back, but Brothers One and Two moved in on either side of Ritchie—worst-case scenario. Brother One threw a punch at him, and as he feinted and punched back, Brother Two grabbed him around the throat just in time for Brother One to slam a fist into Merle’s stomach.
White bursts of light flashed in front of his eyes and a river of burning bile filled his mouth, oozing around the pressure of the big asshole’s arm on his neck. Damn. Damn. Who the fuck wants to die on the beach in a tuxedo?
Chapter Two
MERLE STAGGERED backward as the brother tightened his grip and the other sibling from hell moved in to do more damage. Brother One pulled back a fist—and suddenly flew through the air, practically knocking Merle and his captor off their feet.
Standing behind where Brother One had stood was—Sasquatch. It had to be—this huge man, easily six foot six, dressed in what might be a pink puffer jacket, with a shock of curly, dark hair flying around his face. He stopped his forward momentum and snapped a fist at Ritchie, who was staggering back to join the fray. Only the smallest interface between that huge hand and Ritchie’s chin signaled bye-bye, Ritchie. The dude thrashed back and fell on his ass. Merle would have cheered if his neck wasn’t breaking. Sweet Face held up his hands, and Sasquatch nodded with a smile more appropriate to a kindergarten class than a beach brawl.
Then the giant turned to Brother Two, who still held his arm painfully around Merle’s throat. Brother hissed in Merle’s ear, “Don’t come any closer or I’ll break his neck.”
Sasquatch cocked his head and gave that weird smile again. Is the guy nuts? “It’s very hard to break a person’s neck, did you know that?” He walked slowly forward. “You don’t want to hurt him.”
The arm around Merle’s neck trembled and tightened convulsively. Merle made a gagging sound.
Sasquatch frowned, an oddity on what appeared to be a young, pretty face. “It will be very bad for you if you hurt him, you know? But if you let him go, I won’t hurt you.” He looked over his shoulder. “See. Your friends ran away already.”
Sure enough. They’d melted into the dark the second they got the chance.
“You should go too.” Sasquatch stepped forward again. “Go now.”
Brother Two released Merle and ran like a rabbit toward the water as Merle collapsed onto the damp sand. “I hope you fucking drown.” He rubbed his neck and tried to get a full breath into his lungs.
The big man knelt down beside Merle.
Merle glanced up. Yes, on closer inspection the face might have been a choirboy’s—on the body of the Jolly Green Giant.
The big man bobbed his head. “You’re okay, right?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“How can we know?”
Merle almost laughed. “Uh, I guess you can help me up, and we’ll check it out.”
“Okay.” The giant reached down, grasped Merle at the waist, and whoa—sent him flying to his feet. This time Merle did laugh. “Was that fun?” The big man smiled, and huge dimples popped out in his cherub face.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“I could do it again. I like lifting you.”
“No, that’s okay.” Funny how that gave him a little flip in the stomach. He rotated his neck very gently. “I think I’m okay. How does my tux look?” He stepped back and wiped sand from his butt.
“Tux?”
“Oh, my clothes.”
“Good. Really pretty.”
“Thanks. A friend designed the clothes for me, and I’d hate for those assholes to ruin them.”
“Yes. That would be bad. Disappointing.”
“Yes, it would.”
“Friends are good.”
Merle stuck out his hand. “I’m Merle Justice, and I’m extremely grateful to you. I think you might have saved my life.”
The big man looked at Merle’s hand for a minute, then grinned and shook it enthusiastically. “I’m happy to save your life.”
Merle had to smile back. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Tom. Tom Henry.”
“Well, Tom Henry, how did you happen to be here in the nick of time?”
Tom’s face looked blank.
“Uh, why were you on the beach so late?”
“Oh, I like to pet the dogs.”
“Dogs?”
“Sure. Wanna see?”
“Uh, I guess so.”
“Come on.” Tom reached out a huge hand and wrapped it around Merle’s—not a particle of self-consciousness visible. He gently pulled him toward the seawall located beside the boardwalk. For an instant, Merle resisted. Who the hell is this guy?
Tom looked back. “You’ll like it.”
Shit, he liked a lot of things, but he didn’t want to do all of them with a giant stranger on the beach. Still, the dude had saved his life. He nodded and let himself be led.
As they got close to the seawall, he could hear yapping over the roar of the waves. Three mangy dogs—a small white one and two medium-sized creatures of highly indeterminate origin—were scuffling and play-fighting. When Tom’s and Merle’s shadows fell on them, they stopped and bristled, the little one even growling—but just for a second. They took one look at Tom, ran across the sand in a yipping, slobbering pack, and threw themselves into his waiting arms. He grabbed two, then squatted so he could pull the third into a group hug. He laughed and let them kiss his face, then flopped on his butt and began pulling treats from his puffy jacket pocket.
Merle crossed his arms and surrendered to what had to be a sappy look. This big guy who seemed pretty much like a kid himself came to the beach at night alone to feed the strays—oh right, and to save the life of passing TV vampires. Funny how his eyes felt hot.
Tom looked up. “Want to pet them? They’ll let you.”
“I guess so. I can try.”
Tom cocked his head.
Merle heard echoes of Yoda saying Do, or do not. There is no try. “Yes, I’d like to pet them.” He knelt down. One of the medium dogs with a floppy ear gave him a nuzzle on his hand. He scratched automatically, and the dog leaned in for more. The other larger dog sidled over for a little attention, but the small white terrier-type dog gave h
im a low growl.
Tom patted the little thing on its head. “Don’t be scared, girl. Merle’s a nice man who likes dogs, and he’ll pet you. Next time he’ll even bring you food, I bet.” Tom glanced at Merle. “She’s kind of skittish. I think a lot of people were mean to her.”
Merle held out his hand toward the little dog, and her nose wriggled as she sniffed. “What’s her name?”
“I don’t know. She never told me.”
Merle gave a snort, but again, Tom wasn’t joking. He just serenely patted the canines. Merle cleared his throat. “Do you think she’d mind if we named her?”
“Probably not, but you’d have to name the boys too so they’d know what to call each other.” At that, he looked up and grinned.
Merle’s mouth opened, then he started to chuckle. Just when he thought Tom was totally simple, he said something like that. “Maybe we shouldn’t. It seems like a big responsibility.”
Tom nodded solemnly.
Merle stood—though oddly, only half of him wanted to. “I guess I better get back. Thank you again, Tom. If there’s ever anything I can do for you, please just go down Ocean and talk to my friend. He has a design studio there. He knows how to reach me, okay?”
“Okay.” He kept petting and never shifted from the sand.
“Seriously, I’d love to do something to pay you back. Do you know where Maitland Design is?”
Tom nodded.
“Uh, have you got a cell phone?”
“Yes, but I always forget it.” More petting and receiving of licks.
“Okay. But you’ll remember?”
“About Ru? Yes, I’ll remember.”
Shit, he’d done the best he could. “Bye.”
“Bye, Merle.” Tom picked up the little white dog and waved her paw at him.
Merle didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Wait. Did I say Ru Maitland’s first name to Tom? He glanced back and shrugged.
When he got to Gray and Ru’s house ten minutes later, he found only lights in the entry and kitchen and a note telling him they’d left a snack for him on the kitchen island—and to plan on having dinner with them the following night. Merle walked down the hall of the guest wing and entered the room he always occupied when he stayed, which was about a week out of every month lately. That’s how he’d known he’d love living in Laguna. The big guest room had french doors leading out to a small secret garden and then, beyond a hedge, to the ocean. He opened the doors and let in the cool air and the rushing sound of the surf. His house wouldn’t be this close to the sand, but he’d still hear the waves.
His breath rushed out. I almost didn’t live to inhabit that house. Shit. A flood of nausea washed over him, and he shuddered. Turning to the big walk-in closet, he began peeling off his tux. Amazing it wasn’t torn. Still holding it, he flopped onto the closet chair. He wasn’t quite so unmessed-up as the suit. His throat burned and his shoulder and right hand throbbed. Almost gay-bashed. Hell, in his rarified world, shit like that didn’t happen much.
Thank God for Tom Henry.
He walked into the bathroom, turned on the rain shower, and stepped under it. What if Tom hadn’t come? Shit, do not think about that for even one second more or you’ll puke.
But Tom had come. Like the giant Sasquatch from the sky. What a totally strange guy. Obviously Tom knew how to fight. God, he’d taken out three guys in seconds, intimidating the fourth into surrender. But he didn’t seem to have a mean bone in his body and looked totally at home sitting on the sand in a pink puffer coat, petting stray dogs. Merle barked a laugh. Who even makes pink coats to fit giants? And who wears one? Of course, not many people would likely comment on Tom’s fashion choices in view of his size.
Wonder what he looks like under the coat—and in the light?
Merle turned off the water, dried his aching body, threw on his sweats, and padded into the kitchen for his midnight snack.
WHEN MERLE woke in the morning, the house was quiet if he didn’t count the squawk of seagulls and soft rumble of waves. After a quick shower and closer inspection of the bruises on his throat and cheekbone, which squicked him out, he ambled into the kitchen to the smell of bacon and followed its aroma to the warming drawer, where the bacon decorated the edges of a plate of scrambled eggs. Yum. He pulled out the plate, then poured a cup of coffee and added cream he got from the giant refrigerator obviously designed to house food for a small country. Sitting at the island with his breakfast booty, he munched and read the new note that sat next to the one from the previous night.
Gray doing publicity stills all day. I’m at the design studio. Come say hi if you have time. Billy coming to get you for a remodel tour at nine thirty. R.
Merle glanced at the clock above the stove. Nine twenty-five. The sound of the doorbell announced Billy’s usual early punctuality.
Merle swallowed another bite of bacon and rushed to the door. Billy stood there grinning in all his blue-collar glory, decked out in worn jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt that stretched over his bulging biceps. Billy had captured the heart of the wildly, flamboyantly talented Shaz Phillips, one of the country’s top stylists to the stars, by being what Shaz called his knight. Billy made Merle think of Tom—although Tom was even bigger, and Billy might be blue collar but he was also smart as fuck and very entrepreneurial. The lovely Sasquatch probably wouldn’t stack up in that arena.
Merle gave Billy a one-armed guy hug. “Thanks for coming. Sorry I’m not ready. I overslept and didn’t get Ru’s note until a couple of minutes ago. Want some coffee while I get dressed?”
“Sure, and take your time.”
Merle led the way back to the kitchen and poured a cup of black coffee for Billy.
Billy slid onto one of the stools at the island. “We lost you last night. We went to dance, and when we got back, you were gone.”
“Yeah.” Should he tell him? “Actually, I had a really weird encounter. I walked down to the beach, just for some air, and nearly got gay-bashed by this cluster of assholes.”
“Crap, Merle.” Billy looked like someone had hit him. “What happened? Are you hurt?” He focused on Merle’s neck and leaped off the stool. “Shit, did someone do that to you? Did you call the cops?”
Merle held up a hand and grabbed another piece of bacon from his plate. Somehow, telling Billy made it all seem less horrifying. “Actually, some guy on the beach helped me. He intervened and the assholes ran away. I didn’t know enough about them to go to the police. It was dark, so even my descriptions might be off.”
“Damn, Merle. People don’t do shit like that in Laguna. I’m really sorry.”
Leave it to Billy to apologize for the whole town. “It shook me up, but I think I’m fine.”
“Thank God for Good Samaritans, right?”
“Yeah. The guy was big and intimidating. Even bigger than you.” Merle didn’t say more. He didn’t want to get Tom in any trouble for being too loose with his fists. Hell, the guy was so simple, he probably wouldn’t really understand the issues.
Billy said, “Do you feel up to going over to the house?”
Merle smiled. “Hell, yes. Can’t wait. Drink some more coffee while I get dressed.” He pointed at the coffeemaker and ran into his room for something one step up from sleep pants and a sweatshirt.
Chapter Three
MERLE STARED out the window, holding his breath as Billy pulled the truck up to the house on the street one back from the ocean’s edge at Victoria Beach. The sound of hammers and saws rang through the neighborhood, which made Merle cringe a little. Not the best way to endear himself with the locals, but it had to be done. “Wow. It’s moving fast.”
Billy smiled. “Yep. We’ve got the garage framed, and the roofers start tomorrow. Wait until you see the inside. I hope you like it.” He shared that shy smile. Despite his obvious talent at both design and construction, Billy still had to work hard to be good enough for his own expectations.
Merle slid out of the high truck seat. From where they stood on th
e street, he couldn’t see the ocean, although he could hear it. But on the second floor of the house, he’d see the water spread out in both directions to the end of his vision—one of the reasons he’d picked this house.
They walked through the front door. A wide staircase invited visitors to climb up to the living area, but he and Billy went straight ahead and entered a family room where his big-screen TV would be installed on one wall and a wide window let in bright sunlight on another. “This is great. I’m going to spend lots of time in here.” Doors off the big room led to a guest bedroom and a large bath, his home gym, his screening room, and his office.
After a few minutes checking out the progress on the drywall and tile installation in the bathroom, they climbed the wooden stairs and were greeted by the wall-to-wall view. “Wow. Just wow. Opening this room up was the best decision ever.”
“Thanks.” Billy had suggested removing walls that separated the living, dining, and kitchen areas in the original house. Now a huge expanse of gleaming wood and glass formed the main living space of the house.
“I can’t wait to see the master.”
Billy grinned with secret knowledge. “Come see.” He walked down a short hall to the right and swept a hand toward the double doors. “Check it out.”
Merle walked into the bedroom—his bedroom—and froze. Holy shit!
Standing on top of a tall ladder that stretched all the way to the room’s vaulted ceiling was a man—a huge man—bare to the waist and showing off rippling muscles on a mouthwatering, awe-inspiring, sweat-producing back, which the guy had turned to Merle. He was reaching up, apparently installing an electrical outlet for the modern chandelier that would eventually go there, a posture that accentuated his narrow waist and round, bulging buttocks. A hard hat covered his head, and he wore a tool belt jangling with equipment. The smell of leather and steel in the morning.
“Do you like the room?”
Oh right, Billy’s still here. Quickly Merle glanced around at the huge window facing the ocean, the barnwood installed on the feature wall that would go behind the bed, and the, uh, almost chandelier. “It’s fantastic, Billy. I love it.”
