Fine as Frog Hair

by Sean Michael

  There was a tap at the back door and the vet was there, cheeks sunburned, a set of twins—boy and a girl as red-headed as their mom—standing at her side. “Russ. Hey. Here are the truck keys. Tell Trey we appreciate him letting us borrow the boat.”

  The little girl nodded. “We caught eight whole fishes.”

  He grinned. “Eight? Wow, that's a whole lot of fishes. Sure thing, Doc.”

  “How's the colt doing? Trey says y'all have just taken right to each other.”

  He blushed, but grinned and nodded. “She's real sweet.”

  “Excellent. I'll be by on Friday to give her a look-see. Y'all have a good evening, and thanks again. Will, Lacey, y'all tell the nice man thank you.”

  Two little voices chirped up. “Thank you for the boat ride!”

  He chuckled. “I'll be sure to pass that on to Trey.”

  He got a nod and then hung the keys on the keyboard by the door. Trey was dead to the world, sleeping hard. Russ figured this was the first day in three months where Trey could just rest and trust someone would help out. He set the table for two, double checked the meat and headed for the sitting room. Cartoons were just as good without the sound, so he switched to the cartoon network, turned the sound right off and lay on the floor with a pillow under his head so he wouldn't be disturbing Trey.

  It took another hour before Trey started waking up. Exactly fifteen minutes before evening feedings and dinner and stuff. Trey's animals had the man well-trained. “Hey sleeping beauty. Have a good nap?”

  “Mmm ... yeah. Christ, I was tired, slept like a rock. How's your lover doing?” Trey turned over, blinking slow, voice rough.

  “My lover?” He blushed as he stumbled over the word.

  “Mm-hmm. Your little dark-eyed lady you got eating out of your hand?”

  “Oh! Chocolate!” His color stayed high as he admitted to himself that when Trey had said lover, he'd put the man himself in that role. “She's really good. I think she likes me.”

  “I don't doubt it at all. You've got a good hand with her.” Trey sat up and stretched, legs stretching.

  He admired the long, lanky form. His cock perked up a little and he adjusted himself surreptitiously. “I don't know what to do next though.”

  “Next? Oh, you'll put a lead on her, let her learn to follow you, to sleep in the stable. Once that's settled, we'll introduce her to the other horses.”

  “Do you think ... well I don't know how to ride, so maybe it's a moot point anyway, but do you think she'd ever let me ride her?”

  “Well, it'll be while before she can be broke—maybe next spring, but hell, yes, I do.” Trey gave him a grin. “And you got some one right here who'd be happy to teach you to ride, you know? Good skill for a cowboy in training.”

  “Is that what I am? A cowboy in training?”

  Next spring. Wow. Was he even going to still be here in next spring? The thought of leaving that sweet filly though, that almost broke his heart. He pushed the thoughts away. He was willing to stay on awhile anyway. That was the idea—learn places from the bottom up instead of flying through them on a week's holiday.

  “For right now? Sure you are. Rip's a good ‘un to learn on and the horses know you. You'll do just fine.” Trey stood up, scratching his head. “Brisket smells good. Let me grab a shower and I'll heat up the rolls and beans.”

  “All right. Hope you don't mind I went ahead and made something sweet for after.” He tilted his head watching Trey move. “You think you're going to have time to teach me to ride? I don't want to give you extra work.”

  “Shit. Riding's not work. Riding's like ... playing and laughing altogether. It'll be fun.” Trey was funny—broad shoulders tapering down to a tiny butt, Russ bet the man's shirts were four sizes bigger than his pants. “What's for dessert?”

  “Cherry cheesecake.” That tiny butt was damned cute. And there was his prick again, saying hello.

  “Oh, wow. Really? I'll be your slave for life.” Trey was grinning wide. “Or at least I'll let you sleep in next weekend.”

  He chuckled. “Now I'm going to feel like I cheated you if you don't know that the cheesecake is no-cook, really easy to make.”

  “A-ha! You were trying to buy me with fake cheesecake!” Trey's eyes rolled as he laughed and straightened the quilt. “Still, sounds yummy. Let me get wet and unsticky and I'll be out and we can eat.”

  “It's not really fake, I mean it's cake and it's cheese, but purists have poo-pooed it. Frankly I like it better than real cheesecake, but I just didn't...” he swallowed his tongue and rolled his eyes at himself. Come on, Russ, let the man get his shower. “I'll meet you in the kitchen.”

  “Cool.” Trey was chuckling, starting to whistle, shirt coming off right before the bathroom door shut.

  Oh. Nice muscles and smooth, tanned skin. He bit his lip and considered going to his bedroom and maybe taking care of what had come up before dinner. He was pretty sure he had enough time—it wasn't like a little one-handed fun took all that long, especially when one had a muscled back and sweet butt to think of.

  He was whistling himself as he made his way to his room.

  Chapter 3

  Trey led Pud and Kip into their stalls, settling them in before letting Russ try to con the little filly in. Assuming Russ could walk straight. They'd been working long days, replacing fence and figuring on how to make the hay last. Then they had their evening riding lessons.

  The first couple had been tough, but Rip was patient as all get out and Russ stopped looking panicked after the second day. Of course, today was day five and they'd ridden the fence line. Together. Five hours on horseback was hell on the thighs.

  Just then Russ came limping in backward, sweet feed bucket in one hand, pieces of apple in the other as he tempted Chocolate in. He hid his grin and just opened the stall door. Poor baby.

  Despite his obvious pain, Russ lingered for a moment or two with Chocolate, cooing and singing to her, rubbing her nose and telling her what a pretty lady she was. When he came out of the stall though, Russ groaned. “If you've got anything more you need me to do you'd better get me to do it now, I don't think I'm getting up again once I'm down.”

  “You hurting? I got some salve, if you want.” He gave the kid a sympathetic smile. “I can finish up here, if you need it.”

  “No, I'll do my share. And yeah, anything you've got would be great—I can't believe sitting all day could leave me feeling like this.”

  “It's less sitting and more keeping your balance.” He handed Russ the feed bucket. “You've got to use muscles to keep upright and steady.”

  Russ nodded. “You get used to it, right?”

  “Hell, yeah.” He fed Ellen and settled Miss Kitty's hay. “She doing okay?”

  “Yeah, she's a good girl.” Russ managed to pet Chocolate a few more times and then he helped finish up the chores like a trooper, not complaining, but Trey could tell he was in a bad way.

  He waited until they got into the house to look at Russ. “Tell you what, go get a shower and put on some shorts. I'll fix something easy for supper and then give you the salve, ‘kay?”

  “That sounds good.” Russ headed down the hall, wincing a little.

  He started some bacon cooking for B.L.T.s and went to dig the mason jar of salve out of his bedside table. He was just finishing up the sandwiches when Russ came down the hall, bow-legged as hell. Russ hadn't bothered with a shirt, was wearing just some jeans cut-offs, making it easy to see the new muscles beginning to show. Looked good, too. Strong and healthy, male and ... Whoa, cowboy. Chill out. “How about we eat on the sofa, that way you can sit and stay still?”

  “Oh, that sounds about right.” Russ led the way, sitting with a groan. “Oh shit, I don't think I'm getting up ever again.”

  Trey nodded, sympathetic. “It gets easier, trust me.” He handed over a plate and a soda, sitting the salve on the coffee table. “That stuff is stinky and greasy and works miracles. I swear by it.”

  “If it makes
this hurt go away I don't care if it smells like the manure pile.” Russ gave him a wry smile.

  “It will, word of honor.” He popped the top on his soda and started eating, mulling something over. “You gonna take offence if I offer to rub it in? I can't figure how you'll do it on your own.”

  He got a grin and a wink. “As long as you don't take offence if there's no reaction but groans of pain. I don't think I'm ever getting it up again.”

  Trey laughed, long and loud. Oh, he did like that sense of humor, the easy way they were managing together. “That's a fair trade, I reckon.”

  Russ chuckled a little. “I do like the way you talk. ‘Fixin to’ and ‘reckon’ and ‘y'all'. Classic.”

  “Oh, you just wait, Yankee.” He finished his sandwich up and tugged off his boots. “One day you'll be fixin’ to right alongside me, looking all the world like you were born to it.”

  “You think?” Russ groaned as he shifted a little. “Tell you what—if this pain goes away, I'll take it under advisement.”

  “Let me see if I can help that. On your belly, Yankee.” He opened the jar and scooped some salve out, nose wrinkling at the menthol. Russ groaned and complained as he turned himself onto his belly. Trey just chuckled, nudging the TV remote over where Russ could reach it. “Check the weather for tomorrow, yeah?”

  Then he settled at the end of the sofa, hands working the cream into tense, abused thighs, fingers working hard. Russ gave a little whimper and flipped channels until the weather channel came on. He forced himself to watch the plastic lady yammering on and on about highs and lows and pressure systems as his fingers pushed and stroked, working out the knots and aches.

  Russ’ grunts and whimpers slowly turned into moans and groans. “Fuck that feels better already.”

  “See? I told you. This stuff is fucking magic.” He kept rubbing, refusing to pay attention to how good Russ’ skin felt, how that ass looked with his hands right there.

  “Your hands aren't half bad either,” muttered Russ.

  Trey stopped, hands stuttering, then the touches started again. “I reckon anybody's hands on those sore muscles would feel pretty damned good.”

  Russ just grunted, hissing as he hit what was obviously a sore spot. He focused on the spot, rubbing until the pain gave itself over to numb ease. “Better?”

  “Oh yeah. Yeah, I'm starting to believe I might actually live.”

  “Living is good. You'd stink pretty damned bad after a few days in this heat, otherwise.” He gently pinched Russ’ thigh.

  Russ yelped and reached back to swat at him. “Goof.”

  He grinned and patted Russ’ thigh as he got up. “You want another soda? There's a marathon of one of them cartoons you like on tonight. Thought we'd just watch and rest.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  “Cool.” Trey headed for the kitchen, and if he stood in front of the fridge to cool his prick down? Well, no one was the wiser.

  “You fall in?” Russ called out.

  “Yep. Got sucked into the whirlwind that is our icebox.” He rolled his eyes and grabbed a couple of sodas.

  Russ was chuckling, smiling over at him as he came back in. The kid looked tired but happy, at home. He handed over one of the cokes and settled in the easy chair, feeling settled and right, deep in his bones.

  They hadn't been watching long at all when Russ’ snores started, just loud enough to be noticed over the sound of the television. After a bit, Trey grabbed a quilt and tossed it over the kid before grabbing the remote and turning it to Forensic Files and watching ‘til bedtime, just sort of breathing along with Russ’ snores.

  * * * *

  Russ found his riding legs soon enough. He'd still get sore if he was in the saddle too long, but on the whole, he was feeling pretty good. Settling in nicely into the routine of the ranch.

  Maybe that's why the party seemed so odd—he'd gotten used to the quiet, to him and Trey being the only ones there with the odd visit from the Gonzaleses or Doc Martin and her kids. Suddenly there was noise and lights and laughter and it was fun. But it was also ... well, strange.

  Which was why after about four hours of laughing and dancing and talking, he was taking a breather, heading toward Chocolate's stall. Mr. Gonzales was in the barn, short and dark, leaning against Chocolate's stall and talking to an older couple, all dressed to the teeth.

  He stopped, blinking. He hadn't expected to find anyone in the barn, especially not near Chocolate's stall. She was still easy enough to spook and with all the noise from the party ... He bit his lip, trying to decide whether to just wait or go.

  Then he saw Trey walk up, looking good in his white button down and suede vest. “Marty said you wanted to see me, sir?”

  “Yeah. Trey. Mr. and Mrs. Frame here want to buy this little filly. She's got some fire and they're interested in trying that new horse whispering thing out on her.”

  Russ could hear Chocolate, snorting and stomping, rattling about in her stall. Buy? What did he mean they wanted to buy Chocolate? And what the hell was horse whispering. He stayed where he was, heart in his throat. They couldn't sell Chocolate.

  They couldn't.

  Trey opened Chocolate's stall and moved to settle her. “I'm sorry, y'all. She's a rescue and not for sale.”

  “Not for sale?” Mr. Gonzales chuckled. “This isn't a zoo, son.”

  Trey tipped his hat back. “No, sir. But my contract allows me two mounts of my own. Pud's number one and this little girl belongs to Russell, so she's number two.”

  That drawled voice was sure, definite, brooking no argument. Oh. Oh, Trey couldn't really mean it, not really, really that Chocolate was his, but he sure appreciated the sentiment and the fact that Trey wasn't going to let them sell the horse. He sagged against the barn wall with relief.

  “Who is Russell?” The lady, a short little thing with diamonds dripping off her, asked. “Maybe he'd be interested in selling for the right price. She's a lovely beast.”

  “She is, thank you. I'd be more than happy to give Russ your number and let y'all talk at him, but honestly, ma'am? Russ is attached to this filly and I'm thinking he won't sell. If you'd like, I'd be happy to do some research for you, find you a yearling...”

  Figuring Trey had it well in hand, he melted away. Or tried to. Instead he managed to trip over a shovel and landed on his backside with a clang and a clatter.

  Four sets of eyes fastened on him—three surprised and one amused as hell. “See? He's attached enough that he'd leave a party to look in on her. Mr. and Mrs. Frame, this here's Russ Johnson. Russ, Mr. and Mrs. Frame. They were admiring Chocolate, here.”

  He hauled himself up, thankful he'd given the barn an extra special clean this afternoon on account of the party so he was only brushing off dust as he got up and went over to them.

  “I didn't mean to interrupt.” He held out his hand. “Mr. and Mrs. Frame, nice to meet you.”

  Everyone shook hands and Chocolate pushed right up to the stall door, nickering for him.

  He grinned, turning his attention to the horse. “Hey girl,” he said softly, searching his pockets with one hand as the other reached up to stroke her nose. He'd slipped a couple of slices of carrots off the buffet table into his pocket before coming to the barn. Finding them, he fed them to her one at a time, chuckling as those so soft lips slid over his palm.

  Trey grinned as Mrs. Frame sighed. “Oh, I've seen the look of a boy in love a few times. There's no way we're getting that filly.”

  He felt his cheeks redden. “She's a special horse all right.”

  Mr. Frame handed Trey a business card. “You think you can find us another? I'd appreciate it. Rumor is you've got an eye for livestock.”

  Trey took it and nodded. “I will. I'll give you a holler the middle of next week, tell you what I've found.”

  He gave them a smile and kept on petting Chocolate. He had no idea what the etiquette here was, he was just grateful Trey hadn't allowed Chocolate to get sold. There was a bit of small
talk, then Mr. Gonzales and the Frames wandered off, leaving them alone in the stable.

  “Thanks, Trey,” he said softly, giving his friend a warm smile. “You aren't going to get into trouble are you? For saying she's mine?”

  “Huh? She is yours, Russ. All I did was guarantee her a stall and feed.” Trey looked confused, but grinned. “She's been yours from the get-go.”

  “Mine? But ... horses are expensive, aren't they? I mean ... I can give you most of my pay, but is that going to be enough?” There was no way Chocolate was his, it couldn't be.

  “Russ.” Trey waited until he met those dark eyes. “Chocolate is yours. Now. Yesterday. Tomorrow. Yours.”

  “Yeah? Really? Like even if I left mine?” His heart was thumping. He hadn't realized until tonight just how much he wanted her to be his.

  “Yeah. Really. Like even if you left.” Trey nodded, patting Chocolate's neck, then headed for the stall door. “You coming back to the party?”

  He nodded and cleared his throat. “In a minute.”

  “Okay. See you around.” He got one of those warm smiles and a tip of that hat and then Trey was gone, whistling. He watched until that cowboy butt was gone and then he turned back to Chocolate, leaning his forehead against her long nose. “You hear that girl? You're mine.”

  She whinnied at him and started looking for more treats. He went and got a bucket, giving her some sweet feed. “I'll bring some apples tomorrow. Okay, girl?”

  He watched her for a moment longer. His horse. Pretty damn cool. He slid his hand along her nose one last time and then headed back to the party, doing a little whistling of his own.

  The party was definitely still in full swing when he got back to it. The main house was lit up like Christmas, a deejay playing one country song after another for the mass of couples two-stepping around the make-shift dance floor. The long buffet tables were starting to look like someday this crowd might actually make a dent in it. Mrs. Gonzales was dancing with Marty, Mr. Gonzales was drinking a beer and watching, looking like the king of the hill. He couldn't see Trey in the crowd, but the girls he'd been talking to earlier waved him over and he smiled and slowly made his way there. It seemed his magic with the ladies hadn't faded any; it really was too bad he wasn't bi instead of gay.