by Jodi Payne
Chapter Twenty One
Ratchet Ranch was positively enormous. Seemed like Frank Ratchet employed most of the county in one way or another, either on his ranch, or working in the lumberyard that he and his brother had inherited from their father. The ranch had two horse barns and a cattle barn, plus acres of pens and open grazing. Aubrey had been given a tour, during which Mack Williams, the ranch manager, had asked him four or five questions about his experience and countless more subtle questions about horses and riding as they toured the ranch. He got a phone call the next day asking him to come back down to the ranch if he was interested in working in the riding barn.
Aubrey was surprised because his experience was really with the working horses, but Mack confirmed it with him when he arrived and after some discussion about pay and hours and all, Aubrey accepted. He was offered a bed in the bunkhouse with the cowboys, but he politely turned it down, accepting instead an offer to rent a small house on the road into town.
After a few days of disorientation, Aubrey found he was starting to fit in well. A couple of weeks later it was hard to tell he was the new guy. The riding barn was very different from a barn full of working horses. There were lots of different faces coming and going all day long; some riders boarded horses, some leased or half-leased a stable horse, and some just showed up for a weekly lesson and rode the horses owned by the ranch. Aubrey also looked after the Ratchet family's personal horses, and a couple of ponies for the tykes. Kids were an interesting challenge for Aubrey, and, apart from having great difficulty watching his language, he found he kind of liked them. They certainly had a love of animals in common and there was nothing bad to be said about that.
Once he had some money in his pocket, he set up his little house, gave his truck a much needed overhaul, and started looking at horses for himself, thinking maybe he'd adopt one when he got a little more cash together. Best of all, he stayed dry. He missed drinking most late at night and so he just didn't stay up. He'd hit the sack early and get up before the sun.
Things were looking up for him. He was gaining confidence and feeling proud of his sobriety and the work he was doing, but the most important element of his new life was still missing.
Kelly Ayers.
He hadn't heard a word from the kid since he sent the letter. Nothing. Not a yes, not a no, not even go to Hell. Not a blessed thing.
He consoled himself with the idea that maybe Kelly had to think about it. After all, it was a lot to ask of someone to forgive you on the strength of one letter. Maybe he needed some time, maybe he'd already written back and the letter was on its way.
One month to the day after he'd mailed his letter to Kelly, one finally arrived for him. It wasn't from the kid, though, it was from Thelma, and she had all kinds of news about her boys and how they were growing. She had news about Haley, too; he'd finally bought a new truck, but all he did was complain about it and the old Chevy was still in the driveway. She told him about a couple of new stud stallions they'd invested in and about how Guinevere still missed him, though how she could tell that, he had no idea. Oddly, and the only disturbing thing about the letter, there was no news about Kelly at all. Nothing about Kelly's health or his work, and her usual plea in the post script for him to call or write or come visit Kelly was missing from the bottom of the letter.
It didn't make sense to him. It didn't seem like Kelly not to respond at all, and it surely wasn't like Thelma not to at least tell him the kid was okay. There was really only one explanation he could think of—that Kelly had found someone else, that Aubrey's letter was too late.
Aubrey was so heartbroken that he stopped by the local liquor store on his way back from the barn that night and bought himself a bottle of Johnny Walker Red. He took it home and dumped an inch or so of the spicy-scented drink into a glass and looked at it, lifting it to eye level as if staring it down.
Staying sober was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. Getting away from home and moving from job to job to job, being fired by Haley and leaving Kelly behind, looking into Carl's eyes the morning he was forced to leave town ... those things had been hard for him; but staring into the glass in front of him and deciding not to take that drink was brave. For once he wasn't doing the easy thing, he wasn't doing the cowardly thing.
Aubrey thought briefly about the fourteen pages of psychotic agony that he'd written while detoxing. If he needed more convincing, that letter to Kelly was powerful enough. It wasn't so much what he'd said, but how he'd said it; painful words, hurtful, self-loathing thoughts, things he hadn't even realized were buried underneath his addiction . That fucking letter still scared him.
He lifted the glass and the bottle together and dumped them both down the kitchen sink .
His hands were shaking slightly, but he was proud of himself. Getting sober might have been about his past—Kelly, Haley, Carl, a barn full of horses—but in that moment staying sober became about him. About a new respect for himself.
A respect he intended to show the rest of the world as well, and Kelly, if the kid would ever let him.
He got Thelma's letter on a Tuesday. One week went by and then another without word from the kid. He realized that all in the time he'd been waiting for a reply, he really hadn't made an effort to get to know anyone. He hadn't been unfriendly, but he'd just been going through the motions, showing up for work, doing his job, not really wanting to invest much of himself in case Kelly called him away. But without word, he finally decided he needed to start looking around himself and get to know some people on more than a first name basis. Of course, socializing for him used to involve alcohol and bars and he really wasn't interested in either anymore, so he had no idea how or where to start.
But somehow things had a way of happening for Aubrey right when he most needed them to, and that particular Friday was no exception.
"Hey, Mr. Jacek!"
Aubrey barely registered the greeting, figuring Anna was running by like she always did on the way to her afternoon lesson. “Hey there. No running in the barn, little lady."
"Sorry.” She looked contrite for exactly one second and then blurted, “You coming tonight?"
Aubrey looked at the girl. Anna was a kind but lanky teenager with braces and glasses. Her feet were too big for her body and her hair was a wild tangle that her mother usually tried to tame by braiding, but curly strands were always making an escape at her temples and across her forehead. “What's goin’ on tonight?"
Anna looked shocked. Her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open almost comically before she answered, “It's the Big Game tonight! Everybody knows that."
Hm. Everybody but him, it appeared. “Oh, yeah? Where's the game at?"
She rolled her eyes at him and her tone was patronizing in a way that only a child could manage. “Pawson Field, duh. Out behind the high school? Where all the games are? Geez. You're coming, right?"
Aubrey started to shake his head no, but thought better of it and changed his mind. If he hadn't learned by now that opportunities only came around once, then he never would. He'd promised himself he'd try to be more social, and here a football game landed right in his lap. Easy enough to do, right? Show up, eat a hot dog, cheer on the home team, and then go home. “Sure, Anna, I'll be there."
"Cool!” Anna flashed him a metallic grin and, ignoring his admonition once again, ran off.
When Aubrey was growing up the “Big Game” was usually between rival high schools and, as people do in close-knit communities, the whole town turned out in force. At the very least he knew he'd be able to tuck himself into the crowd, and who didn't like a little football?
He worked hard that afternoon, wrapping up all the details of the day so he could get home and shower before the game. He arrived home about five, which considering he'd left the house at five that morning, was a good and decent hour. He put up some pasta to boil and then headed for the shower.
The water was hot enough to melt the sweat and the dust from his skin as it poured over his heavy
shoulders and muscular thighs. He'd worked hard with his hands for many years and his body showed both the benefits and the drawbacks of his exposure to the elements, his tan not quite hiding the scars and his muscle giving him the bulk and the strength that made him both attractive and dangerous. His fingers were thick and wrapped deliberately around his cock as the steam and water caressed his skin.
It was possible, Aubrey had to admit to himself, that Kelly had finally moved on and found someone else to care about. It was entirely possible that the kid had finally given up on Aubrey, and who could blame him? But just the idea made Aubrey jealous and anxious and part of him wanted to hurry back to Kelly and tell the kid what a horrible mistake he was making. He wanted to tell Kelly that he didn't want anyone else; prove it to the kid with his lips, his skin, his body. But with no word to go on, he wasn't going walk back in where he wasn't welcome.
Aubrey couldn't help but imagine someone else's lips sucking Kelly's cock into his mouth, someone else's hands on Kelly's perfect ass. It wasn't right, he told himself, stroking his cock until it was hard and angry and aching. Kelly was his. He might have fucked up, sure he did, but Kelly had once told him as much.
Although that was before Aubrey lost control. Before he stepped out onto the road to Hell.
Aubrey groaned, jealousy and frustration building in him along with his need. “Shit,” he swore, and groaned again, reaching out to steady himself with one hand on the damp tile. “Fuck."
He could see them now, some other man, maybe not as big as Aubrey, maybe with darker hair, maybe with blue eyes or green or brown, holding Kelly by the hips and thrusting, and Kelly, beautiful Kelly, his face like an angel's, writhing under the guy in that way he did in the loft that night, trembling with need and desire.
"Fuck. Ah, fuck,” Aubrey breathed, forcing the image from his mind, concentrating instead on the spiraling ache heading from his gut straight to his balls and making his cock jerk in his fingers.
The bathroom filled with the sounds of Aubrey's efforts; grunts made louder by the enclosed space, groans echoing off the tiled walls, his own hot breath mixing with the steam and heat that clouded his vision. It seemed that he rode the trembling edge of his climax forever, almost but not quite there. He wanted it, God, how he wanted it, but it teased him, dancing just out of reach for what seemed like forever. He shoved off the wall and stood upright again, both hands working now; one on his cock and the other kneading his balls.
It was just enough to set him off. Just barely, but enough.
"Shit!” he shouted at the walls as he came, his seed spilling into the spray of shower water and washing neatly down the drain where it lost all significance. “Fuck! Jesus!” he swore. “Christ, it's about goddamn time!” His breathing was shallow, his thighs felt like rubber, and his arm ached. He decided he'd better get out of the cooling water and sit the fuck down before he fell down.
He dropped the lid on the toilet and sat to dry his hair.
Chapter Twenty Two
Aubrey arrived at the field a little late, but it was crowded and he wasn't alone in trying to find a seat even as the game started. The home team, the Cougars, went nuts after the kick off, and Aubrey had no hope of hearing the announcer over them, but the enthusiasm made him smile. Finally, he gave up trying to find a seat and hung out behind a fence with a view of the away team's end zone.
As it turned out, Anna was a cheerleader. Aubrey squinted at her, thinking that she didn't seem as gawky tossing pompoms around as she did in the stables, but maybe she was just too far away to tell.
The first half of the game was slow, neither side scoring at all. The Cougars seemed good with that, content to cheer on their defense and thumb their noses at their rivals. The halftime show featured an outstanding marching band and Aubrey had actually relaxed enough to enjoy himself, but before the third quarter could begin the heavens opened up, rain soaked the fans and the players, along with the field, and the game was declared a tie at zero/zero. That didn't sit well with the home team crowd and Aubrey bolted for his truck, happy to have escaped the mud-laden riot that ensued.
Aubrey had planned on going straight home, but with the poor visibility, somewhere east of town he made a wrong turn. Wrong turn, no map, and the rain wasn't letting up. It took him nearly a half an hour before he got himself turned around right. He recognized the road he was on as route 80, he'd been down it two or three times. He'd done it on purpose then, checking out Charlie's, a bar he'd heard about where men like him were welcome, but every time he'd headed out there he'd been less lonely than he was afraid of falling off the wagon, and so he'd get as far as the parking lot, turn around, and head home.
It seemed naive to believe that he was going to meet anyone anywhere other than a gay bar in these parts, and since tonight was supposed to be a social evening, this time he pulled into the parking lot and actually parked. One step at a time, cowboy, he told himself. He'd go in and just have a look around. He gave himself permission to turn around and walk right back out again the minute he felt like he couldn't handle it. No shame in it, no cowardice, just a smart man who knew his limits. The point was to test the waters, not to drown in them.
He shut off the engine, pulled his slightly damp hat off the front seat, and headed inside. Stepping through the front door he expected to feel uncomfortable, but instead he felt immediately at home. The room was mostly full of men, but there were women here and there as well. The music seemed to be country or country rock and the bar itself wasn't overcrowded at all. Charlie's had a friendly neighborhood feel; a little smoky, a little warm, and very welcoming.
He'd been noticed right off, of course, but he didn't meet anyone's eyes except to tip his hat as he headed to the bar and took a seat. This was the moment of truth, he told himself as he pulled up a stool and stared right at the local brews on tap and some of his former close friends: Jim Beam, Cuervo Gold, and Johnny Walker. When the bartender came his way, he ordered a Coke.
"On the rocks with a twist,” he joked, and the bartender winked at him, understanding without Aubrey having to say another word.
"I hear ya'."
Social was the point, Aubrey reminded himself, so he turned his back to the bar and had a look around the room. Most of the guys were talking at tables or standing in pairs or threes, a few couples were dancing, and others were hanging around the edges of the dance floor smoking cigarettes or nursing drinks. He took the appraising looks a bit more seriously this time and let himself smile back once in a while, but no one bit right off so he turned back to his Coca-Cola on the rocks.
"Something cold on tap, Thomas,” a man said, stepping up to the bar beside Aubrey. “Howdy."
Aubrey looked up into lush brown eyes, a rakish five o'clock shadow, and the warmest smile he'd seen all week. “Howdy."
"Gale."
"Aubrey."
"You're new,” Gale said, teasing.
Aubrey chuckled, well aware that in these parts fresh meat was probably a rarity. “Why, so I am."
"Mind if I sit down?"
"Nope.” He took a sip of his Coke.
Gale straddled a stool next to Aubrey. “Uh oh. Strong silent type, huh?"
Aubrey looked into Gale's warm eyes again. “Huh? Oh, no.” He let himself smile. “No, sorry. Just been a while since I was...” Since he was a lot of things other than drunk in a bar.
"Since you were?"
"In a bar? Cruised? I don't know."
Gale laughed. “Half the bar is watching your ass right now."
Aubrey laughed.
Thomas, as Aubrey now knew the bartender to be called, set Gale's beer down in front of him. “One beer,” Thomas said. “On your tab?"
Gale nodded. “You know it."
"You want another on the rocks with a twist?” Thomas asked Aubrey with a wink.
Aubrey smiled, and used Gale's words. “You know it."
Gale laughed. “Your accent puts you a lot farther south. Where's home?"
"Hm. Alabama originall
y, then all over the map until I landed in Tennessee. Now? I'm not sure. Right here for the moment."
Gale nodded. “Out here back east is back east. We can't tell one place from another."
"Oh, there's a difference."
"I just bet.” Gale took a swig of his beer. “So what brings you so far from home, southern boy?"
Aubrey shrugged. “Just trying to make a living."
Gale glanced over, but didn't question him. “Where are you working?"
"Ratchet's place."
Gale grinned. “You and half the county."
"Seems like.” Aubrey grinned and sipped his Coke.
"I've never been far from home."
Aubrey was surprised. Almost everyone he knew was trying to get away from something. “You're local?"
"Born and bred. Got a little place up the road, a couple of horses, sheep."
"Nice,” Aubrey said, nodding.
There was a short silence while Gale sipped his beer and Aubrey stirred some of the bubbles out of his Coke, and then Gale started up again.
"Had a long damn day,” he said with a sigh. Aubrey just nodded. “Kinda looking to blow off some steam, you know?” He glanced sidelong at Aubrey. “Don't want to give you the wrong idea, seems best to be up front about it."
Aubrey pondered that for a while. “Yeah, okay. I've got steam."
Gale smiled and laughed gently. “That's the way to make a new friend, cowboy."
And make a friend he did. He and Gale hung out chatting at the bar for a while longer and then got even more friendly in Gale's Caddy about midnight. By the time they'd made it back to Gale's place, Aubrey was hard and wanting and Gale was burning holes through Aubrey with his eyes.
They stumbled over each other, groping obscenely all the way to the front door. Gale produced his keys, and they fell inside, panting and stripping after Gale locked the door behind them. Hands reached out to touch and tease as they made their way into the bedroom.
