Fine as Frog Hair

by Sean Michael

  “No shit.” Brandon rubbed one hand over his hair and turned the meat. “Not that it's common knowledge. I mean, Marty knows, and you now, but that's it.”

  He nodded. “I don't know anyone to tell.”

  “Fair enough. Meat's ready.” Brandon piled up the fajita meat into a plate. “You wanna grab the tea?”

  'That's not all I want to grab.’ He didn't say the words though, just nodded and went out to get the tea. He figured maybe he'd better have a go with his hand later and then give himself a stern talking to. Brandon had been pissed that Marty was trying to set him up—obviously the guy was not interested in getting together.

  By the time he'd brought the tea back into the kitchen, he had his libido under control. “Supper looks great. I guess this is where I find out that Taco Bell isn't authentic Tex Mex.”

  Brandon gave him a look, then started chuckling. “Oh, Lord. You just wait ‘til Fiesta. Then you'll see authentic. Even my folks head down here.”

  “Fiesta? That like a state fair?” He waited for Brandon to start before digging in himself. Not that that was easy, he'd been kind of down to his last couple of hundred and was just having one meal a day until he found work.

  “Sort of. It's a big festival in San Antonio—lasts more than a week. Very cool. There'll be a big assed party here for it, too. They do it up good.” Brandon ate one fajita after another, all drenched liberally with salsa.

  He dug in happily himself, eating until his stomach started to hurt. The meat was more spicy than he was used to, but good, and he was a little more cautious with the salsa.

  Brandon sighed, leaning back. “Well, that didn't suck. What sorta stuff do you like doing? In the evenings, I mean?”

  “Well it's kind of depended where I was staying. If I was in a rooming house there'd be people to talk to, card games, stuff like that. If I was in a cheap hotel, I'd go out though. I like watching cartoons. You know, all the old Road Runner-Bugs Bunny shit? Cracks me up.”

  “Yeah? We got one of them all day cartoon channels. It's got that anime stuff at night. Pretty cool. Big house has a pool table in the rec room. If the folks are gone? We can go play.” Brandon grinned. “Town's got a decent pool hall, too, coupla good video games.”

  “I'm not so good at pool, but I'm usually willing to let someone beat the hell out of me every so often. Got a Gameboy in my pack. Mostly play it waiting in the bus station.” He returned Brandon's grin, it sounded like they'd get along pretty well, which was a good thing as they seemed to be the only two there. “Are there no other hands at all?” he asked.

  “Nope. We hire day labor every now and again for help mending fences and stuff. See, I've been here ... four years damned near ... and I'm building up the stock. When I started, there were twelve head of cattle—scrawny, ugly things and now we're running beef masters. Strong, sure critters that are going good.” Wow. As he talked about the ranch, Brandon's eyes lit up, dark and deep, hands moving, whole body into it.

  “So you've basically built the stock up yourself? That's pretty impressive. I mean you don't seem that much older than me and yet you run this place and seem really solid, settled.” Geesh, way to go Russ, first you scope him out and then you call him old.

  “I'm twenty-four, or fixing to be in July. I just know my cattle. That's what my daddy does, out west of here.” Brandon didn't look upset. In fact, the man looked pleased.

  “So how come you're working here for someone else?”

  “Money. I want my own place, my own cattle.” Brandon shrugged. “I've got four brothers, all working that land. All older. I want something of my own.”

  “Good for you.” He envied that, the surety of knowing what you wanted to do for the rest of your life. He was still wandering, still searching.

  “Well, maybe. I've got another five years of saving, maybe six, then we'll see.”

  “That's a long time to put in on ‘we'll see'.”

  Brandon grinned. “That's ranching. Lots of waiting, then hoping, then waiting again.”

  “With plenty of hard work in between, I'm guessing.” He got up and started clearing the table. “You made supper, so I'll do the dishes.”

  “Oh, cool.” Brandon stood and reached for his hat. “I'm going to go look in on Pud and feed the dogs. If you want a tour, come on out. If you want some time to rest, I'll be in in an hour or so.”

  “I'll come out for the tour—where do I find you?” He wondered what a Pud was but figured he'd find out soon enough. He kind of liked the cowboy hat. Made Brandon look even sexier.

  “I'll be in the little barn nearest the house. Don't worry if the pups bark. They don't bite.”

  “That's one of those initiate the new guy things where you make him worry he's going to get an arm ripped off, right?”

  “Yup. That and the man-eating snipes.” He got another of those brilliant smiles, then a nice glimpse of that ass as Brandon left.

  What the fuck was a snipe? He was grinning though, sporting the beginnings of a hard on. He figured there was nothing like dishes to deflated a man so he attacked them with gusto.

  Chapter 2

  So far? The kid was doing okay. The dogs liked him, he followed directions okay, Trey reckoned he was a little scared of the nanny goats, but no one was perfect. He'd worked Russ all morning, then after lunch he'd set the kid to doing figures for the hay based on last year's output and then into the big house to deliver all the paperwork for Mr. G.

  Worked out, ‘cause he'd spent the afternoon in the pasture with the vet, making sure that new momma calved okay. He lucked out too—sweet thing had twins and seemed to be putting them both to teat just fine.

  He rinsed his hands off at the hose before popping his head in the house to see if Russ wanted to help feed horses. “Russ, you in here?”

  “Yeah, in the kitchen.”

  He wandered in, grinning ear to ear. “You want to come feed the horses? We got two new babies! A little heifer and a bull. You get your shit settled at the big house?”

  Oh, yeah. He was in a fine mood.

  Russ was throwing together some salad, looking freshly showered in clean jeans and a white t-shirt. “Yeah, met the big boss. And sure, I can come feed the horses.”

  Oh, looking nice. He grinned, took a step back. “You're all clean. I'm ... not. How long ‘til there's food?”

  “I was going to put the burgers on hold until after the horses, but if we're not doing the horses now—about fifteen minutes.”

  “Burgers ... Oh, yum.” He grinned. Man, this day was getting better and better. “Tell you what, come and fill the water trough and I'll do the messy part, save your shirt.”

  “Sure thing.” Russ washed his hands and wiped them off on his jeans, coming to join him. “And tomorrow night I'll know what needs to be done before I take my shower. You just weren't around though.”

  “Yeah, I'm sorry.” He grinned over. “I wasn't expecting twins. Twins!” Trey laughed and clapped his hands together. “We have two more mommas looking to pop, too. You'll have to come out to the pasture with me tomorrow.”

  Russ grinned. “You should see your face—it's like you've got a thousand watt bulb in your head or something.”

  He blushed, but his grin didn't fade. “Sorry, it's just that she's a new momma and she did so good, she keeps it up and she'll give us good calves.”

  “I still think it's really great that you know what you want to do with your life and you're so buzzed about doing it.” Russ fell into step with him.

  “You don't? I mean, you don't know where you're heading?” He gave the pups a scritch and whistled up the horses, watching Ellen amble while the other two came running.

  Russ shook his head. “That's kind of what this is all about, you know? Seeing America, looking for my place in it...”

  “Cool.” It was—sort of wild and intellectual and neat—like the poets he learned about in school. Not him, but cool.

  Russ chuckled. “I don't know—I kind of think knowing what you wan
t? That's pretty damn cool.”

  He grinned and opened the stable door, patting Miss Kitty's rump as she walked by. “We'll need to get you up and riding ere long, Mr. Traveler.”

  Russ grinned, watching the horses. “That'll be fun. They're good horses, right?”

  “Miss Kitty's got some spirit in her, but Ellen's easy as pie and Rip's just a big baby doll, aren't you, Ripster?” He heard Russ laugh as Rip came and rested that big brown head on his chest, looking for love and sugar. Russ came up next to him, raising a hesitant hand. He took Russ’ hand and eased it around where Rip could see. “Talk to them, Russ. They'll spook if they don't see you. Isn't that right?”

  “Um ... hi there, Rip. I'm Russ.”

  He took Russ’ hand in his own, stroking Rip's cheek slow and easy, crooning to Rip.

  “Wow, soft.” Russ was pressed up against him, breath soft.

  “Yeah, he's a good boy.” Oh. Oh, God. That was making him every damned thing but soft—Russ clean and warm and close and...

  Oh. Oh, God.

  Russ laughed as Rip nibbled at his fingers.

  He dug in his pocket for a bit of carrot, handing it over, trying like hell not to notice as he rubbed against Russ. “Put it on your palm and he'll snatch it right off.”

  Russ grinned at him and put the carrot in his hand, holding it out to the horse, laughing again as Rip did indeed snap it right up. “How great is that?”

  Rip seemed to think it was damned great, nuzzling and nibbling for more until Trey gave him a push. “Get on in there, Greedy, and you can eat.”

  “Oh wow, I'm starting to see the appeal of this ranch thing.” Russ was all smiles, blue eyes shining.

  Oh, God. That was too pretty for words. Down, boy. No ogling the hands. Christ.

  “Just wait ‘til one of them steps on you.” He winked and grinned back. “Actually, they're a good set.”

  “There's that scaring the new guy thing again, right?”

  “Maybe a little.” He pointed to the hose. “Just fill the water trough and I'll get them fed and then I'll have to check on Pud.”

  Poor baby, she was damned grumpy, all caught up in the barn.

  “Pud?” Russ asked as he started to fill the trough.

  “She's my baby. When I rode the barrel racing circuit, she won me everything I made. She's pulled a tendon and is resting, but she's beautiful. An Arabian.” He poured out feed for everyone, pulling Ellen's old feed out and making a note to have to vet out if she didn't perk up.

  “Cool. The horses ... well when you talk about them, they kind of sound like family.” Russ was done with the water, t-shirt sticking to skin in wet patches. “The hose got the best of me,” Russ said with a wry grin at his look.

  “Man, you gotta watch that hose, it's got a will of its own.” He winked and kept not looking.

  “You said it! All that warning about horses stepping on my toes and snipes and you didn't say a word about the killer hose.” Russ was laughing, smiling.

  Trey chuckled and tossed a bucket over grinning wide. “Fill that up for me and I'll introduce you to my lady love.”

  “I thought you didn't like the ladies?” Russ teased. Kid ducked his head though, a bit of color coming up on his cheeks.

  “Watch it, kiddo, or you'll be wearing that bucket of water and we'll have a wet t-shirt contest.” He gave the kid a wink and a smile, shaking his head.

  Russ smiled back at him. “So did you name Pud? Because I have to tell you—for a lady love she's got one heck of a strange name.”

  “Pudding's Left Foot is her full name, so I call her Pud.” He led Russ over to the barn, walking between the masses of dogs. “She's a sweetheart, but she's hurting and grouchy from being locked up so long. I'm going to bring her out here to this yard, let her walk a little while I clean the barn up.”

  “Where do you want me? I could clean while you spend some time with her...”

  “Oh, you can help with the food and watering part while she walks...” He opened the barn, pushing Russ back as Pud muscled out, snorting and shaking her head. “...off some steam.”

  Once he had Pud walking around the yard, he turned to see Russ well on the other side of the fence.

  “She's not mean, kid. I swear...” His words trailed off as Pud pushed him with her nose. Hard. “She's just an evil old bitch.” He dug out a carrot, feeding it to her.

  Russ chuckled. “I don't know, I think I'll stay on this side of the fence, just the same.”

  He rolled his eyes. “She's a possessive old nag.” Slowly he got her settled, fed, the hay turned in the stable, chattering idly with both Russ and Pud the whole time. The kid asked a lot of questions, proving Russ had been watching, paying attention during the day. It was nice—talking, listening, being with somebody. He could get used to it.

  Damned easy. It just got nicer, too—having someone else cook dinner, someone to play cards with, laugh at a show with. Russ had a great laugh, lit up the kid's whole face and made those blue eyes sparkle. Oh, he was going to fucking kill Marty. Right after he locked himself in the bathroom and had a nice little moment of fantasy.

  It was barely after nine when Russ yawned, face surprised. “Oh man, I'm sorry—I'm just wiped.”

  “Amazing what good hard work will do for a man.” Trey grinned over, pulling the cards together. “I'll see you in the morning. Breakfast is at 7:30.”

  Russ nodded and grinned back at him. “Thanks again, Brandon. I appreciate you taking me on without any experience.”

  “You're welcome. I think we're getting on like a house afire.” He stood, going to lock the front door. “Oh, by-the-way, call me Trey? I'm a Brandon Latrie III and my kin and friends call me Trey. Brandon's my grandpa's name.”

  He got another one of those bright smiles. “All right, Trey. G'night.”

  “Night.” He watched that pretty butt sidle down the hall, then turned the lights off. He and his left hand had that appointment with a fantasy.

  * * * *

  Russ was shaving. He didn't need to do the job more than once every few days—the blessings of being a fair-haired man. Of course, the curse was that he couldn't grow a beard to save his life. He checked himself out in the bathroom mirror. Only three days on the ranch and already he could see muscles trying to form under his skin and he had the beginnings of a farmers tan.

  He was going to look like he belonged here in short order. Which was just fine with him, he was enjoying the work and the company. He finished up his shaving and slipped on a t-shirt, heading out to the kitchen for breakfast. That was another thing. Between the fresh air and the hard work, he was eating like a horse, hoovering in anything put in front of him like he hadn't eaten in days. He'd never slept so good either, going out hard as soon as his head hit the pillow. It felt good. Healthy.

  “Oh something smells good.” He made his way to the cabinets to get the plates, going for a peek at what Trey had frying up.

  “Chorizo and egg. Grab the salsa and the cheese outta the icebox?” Trey was looking tired, bleary, just barely awake. “Mornin'.”

  “Morning. What's chorizo and are you okay?” he asked, putting the plates on the table and going for the salsa and cheese—was there *anything* Trey didn't put salsa and cheese on?

  “Chorizo's Mexican sausage and I'm cool. Heard one of the cows bawling at around three and got up to check. She'd calved when I got there. Sweet little thing.” Trey looked over and grinned. “By then I was awake and did some messing around, visited Pud.”

  “Oh cool.” He set the rest of the table. “Any biscuits?” he asked casually.

  “Nope. Mrs. Pecina came by the kitchen early with fresh tortillas. I bought us three dozen.” Trey pointed to the foil-wrapped bundle on the counter. “Breakfast tacos.”

  He chuckled. “Is there anything you won't put in a tortilla?”

  Trey tilted his head, thinking quite seriously. “Peanut butter and jelly. That's just wrong.”

  That made him laugh and he nearly spilled coffee
all over himself as he poured it out. Trey put the skillet of eggs and crumbled sausage on the table, along with the tortillas. “And catfish. Catfish needs hushpuppies.”

  “Is that why there's so many dogs? So you can roast ‘em up with the fish?” he teased.

  He got a wide-eyed blink from almost-black eyes. “Now, look here, I might buy you don't know chorizo or carne guisada, but hushpuppies? Come on...”

  He tried not to laugh, but he just couldn't help himself.

  Trey snorted, rolled his eyes. “Tease. Come on and eat.” He got a wink. “You'll need it today. I'm taking the afternoon off and you'll get to do the evening feed alone.”

  “Oh yeah? Got plans?” He didn't know why that thought should deflate him, but it did.

  Trey shook his head. “Gonna sleep from lunch to dinner. Then thought maybe I'd make a grocery run tonight. Maybe shoot some pool. There's a sweet little pool hall ‘tween here and town.”

  “Yeah? You need help with the groceries?” He hoped he wasn't getting too pushy—Trey probably wanted some time away from him.

  “Sure.” Trey nodded, not even a touch of hesitation. “It's payday, too. So you'll have some spending money. Hell, we can grab a burger at the Dairy Dart for supper. Thursdays are dollar burger night.”

  “It's a date.” He fought the blush that came to his face at his words. “I mean ... sure—sounds like fun.”

  Trey pinked, but just spooned up some egg mixture and folded it into a tortilla. “Yeah. It's a good way to spend the evening. Lew and Timmy and Jack oughta be at the pool hall. They don't serve beer, so you'll be able to get in. $5 an hour for the tables. Good music.”

  “Great.” He ducked his head and cautiously made his own breakfast taco, murmuring happily at the taste. Even if he did leave off the salsa—it just seemed wrong for breakfast.

  They ate quietly, Trey just finishing up a buttered tortilla when someone rapped on the backdoor. It was a middle-aged lady with long, braided, bright-red hair and huge glasses. “Trey? You still in?”

  Trey nodded, heading to open the door. “Hey Doc. What's up? Russ, this is Dr. Martin. Doc, Russ. He's our new hand.”