Pastures New

by Parker Foye

  “You do. Matilda showed me it,” Archie said. His lips were stained purple from the wine. James wanted to bite them. “That’s why I wanted to show you this. My great-uncle was there too, see—” He pointed again at the photo, and James glanced unseeing before setting the frame down along with his wine. There were more important matters at hand.

  He reached for Archie’s glass. “Let me take that.”

  “What are you—oh.” Archie grinned as James plucked his glass and set it carefully aside, twisting to straddle Archie. “I see what you’re doing. I approve.”

  “I’m so glad you approve,” James said, settling his weight.

  Archie reached up to run his fingers through James’s hair, tugging slightly. James’s eyes went heavy-lidded at the sensation, and he rested his hands on Archie’s shoulders to steady himself, while Archie’s other hand held on to his hip.

  “I’ve been thinking about you like this since our roll in the hay,” Archie said, tugging on James’s hair again while his other hand began working under James’s shirt. “I’m a little cross we did this in the wrong order. I had a plan. Wine has got in the way of the plan.”

  James grinned lazily, rocking down onto Archie’s hips. His zipper was starting to press against his dick. “We could call this a preview, how about that?”

  Archie’s answering smirk tasted dark and plum, with the faintest suggestion of vanilla, just like the label said it would.

  BREAKFAST WAS tea and toast, both left to go cold when James entered the kitchen and looped his arms around Archie’s slim waist. He tried to pull him away from the counter and back to bed, but Archie protested.

  “Wait, I was trying to do a thing,” Archie said, hands resting on James’s.

  James nosed under his hair. “Come on, now we’re sober I was thinking you could see the rest of the show.”

  Archie twisted around in James’s arms and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. He grinned.

  “Race you back to bed.”

  “What do I w— Hey! Cheater!”

  AFTER HIS—most agreeable—loss, James had lain in Archie’s bed for longer than he should have, enjoying the shared warmth and slight ache of muscles caused by their increasingly competitive sex. He hadn’t thought people could bend that way, and had never been more pleased to be proven wrong. Though his body might never recover.

  From that thought, James’s mind followed the well-trodden path back to Ruckus. This thing with Archie was incredibly new, sure, but if it went like James hoped, he didn’t want to keep secrets from Archie forever. James was pretty sure he couldn’t keep secrets from Archie forever, if his babbling performances thus far were any indication.

  Also, the thing with Simon.

  In the end he made excuses about chores on the farm and extricated himself from Archie’s embrace. The sight of Archie sprawled on messy sheets almost made James turn back, but no. He had to focus. He had to be a responsible adult.

  He had to go and freak out at his sister.

  After paying the eye-watering overnight parking fee, James drove to the farm and cursed out every driver who dared use his bit of road. The lassitude from the morning dissipated quickly, and by the time he reached the farm, James needed a hug or vodka. Preferably both.

  He let himself into the farmhouse without knocking. This was an emergency.

  “Tils, I need to talk to you. This is DEFCON level stuff, Matilda Kumar!” he shouted, clomping through the house. Tilly’s car was in the drive, though Sanjit’s was gone, but if she were around, then using his sister’s Sunday name should work like a summoning. “Matilda?”

  There was a half-full cup of warm tea on the kitchen counter, which meant Tilly was lurking somewhere. James checked the cupboards but found only biscuits, and he crunched on one while checking the rest of the house. Empty. Shit. It was much less fun to be dramatic without an audience. He grabbed another biscuit and went around the back of the house.

  He found Tilly kneeling in the dirt, her hair scraped back and gardening tools scattered about. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her garden before.

  “Tils?”

  “Fudging hell, Jamie!” She clutched at her chest. “You little shit, how long have you been standing there? You creeper.”

  James grinned. “I’ve been learning tricks from Sanjit.”

  “Is that right?” Tilly snorted and pushed to her feet, dusting off her knees. “But you didn’t come over just to make me piss myself, I’m sure. Come on, let’s stick the kettle on.” She pulled off her gloves and dropped them, gesturing for James to follow her back into the house.

  “Everything all right?” she asked, filling the kettle and flicking it on.

  “Everything’s fine,” James said, sliding into a seat at the kitchen table. He considered his hands. “Actually, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Are you pregnant?”

  James rolled his eyes. Older sisters were the worst. “No. Simon got in touch, right? Like I said. And—”

  “That no good weasel of a man, what did—”

  “And he said, or implied I guess, that he knows about the whole—” James gestured to himself. “—me and Ruckus… thing. He’s been sending messages with bouquets, before he rang me, I mean, and I saw him yesterday. He’s backed off for now, I’m just—I’m not sure what to do. It’s not like he would be lying.”

  Tilly had been pouring boiling water into the teapot, and at that she shook the kettle. “How dare he?”

  James flinched back. “Boiling water, Matilda!”

  She rolled her eyes but put the kettle down. “I knew I hated those fucking flowers. And to think I was going to take up gardening.” She busied herself with the teapot.

  James wanted to respond with something light, a spark of their usual banter, but speaking aloud about the situation with Simon made a knot tighten in his stomach. He couldn’t read Tilly’s reaction, aside from anger. What if she said they had to pay Simon off; wasn’t that what people usually did? James had never been pre-blackmailed before.

  It seemed a long time until Tilly moved to pour two cups of tea. She pushed one over to James and took the seat next to him at the table. James held the cup between his hands, letting it warm him.

  “Jamie,” Tilly said, serious. “If that stupid bastard thinks he’s got anything on us, which he doesn’t, let him try to sell it. Who do you think will believe shapeshifters exist?”

  “But what if—”

  “And even if someone knows the truth, who would risk being the one to say first? They’d look mental.”

  And that was the other string tying the knot in James’s stomach; if he did tell Archie about shifting, it wasn’t as if Archie would believe him. Who would? He’d dismiss James as a basket case. Sanjit had needed proof before he accepted the truth, but he’d been with Tilly for years by then; James wasn’t ready to expose himself to Archie like that.

  He didn’t know how to explain to Tilly, who had Sanjit and Jessica and the farm, that for a moment James had wanted Simon to prove the truth so James wouldn’t have to keep lying about who he was. James didn’t have the courage to take the risk for himself.

  He drank his tea and found a smile. “Thanks. You’re right, I know you’re right. I was just shook up.”

  “You can always come to me with this stuff. I’m in your corner, kiddo,” Tilly said, slinging her arm around his shoulder and hugging him briefly. She got to her feet clapped her hands as if to dispel the feelings-talk, a sharp grin on her face. “Right, so what are we doing with these flowers?”

  The answer: floral combat.

  Time passed in a flurry of decimated floral arrangements until Tilly paused midthrow when a key clicked in the back door lock, which opened into the kitchen. “Shit, they’re back. Look normal.”

  James widened his eyes and gestured at the kitchen, which looked like Interflora had thrown up in it.

  “‘Look normal’? What does that even mean?” he asked, tossing his rose behind the toaster. />
  Before Tilly was able to reply—though her glare was eloquent enough—Sanjit entered the kitchen, Jessica close behind. They were carrying boxes from the bakery Sanjit favored, Jessica holding hers with great care. Sanjit snorted at the mess, and Jessica’s eyes went wide.

  “Mummy, did you have a temper?”

  Tilly flushed crimson. James etched the glorious moment in his memory and didn’t even protest when Tilly immediately passed the buck and shook her head.

  “Your uncle James is very naughty, sweetheart. He’s going to tidy while we go into the front room, and you can tell me about your swimming practice.”

  Taking the box from Jessica and placing it on the table, Tilly heaved her daughter up and carried her out of the kitchen, head held high. James couldn’t even resent her, she had so much panache.

  Sanjit took a seat, setting his own box down. He smelled faintly of chlorine. “She dropped you in it, hey?”

  James shrugged. “I know, but I’m plotting revenge.”

  “Revenge? What revenge?”

  James grinned. “If I told you, it would spoil the surprise. Don’t think you’re off the hook either, Kumar.”

  After the fallout—or lack thereof—with Simon, James’s confidence was starting to return. His first step would be to wind Tilly up somehow, because that’s what younger brothers were made to do. He had no idea what form his revenge might take, but by the dubious look on Sanjit’s face, the suggestion of the threat was doing its work. James waggled his eyebrows in as menacing a fashion as he could muster and wondered if Archie might have some good ideas.

  That was a talk for another day. Getting to his feet, James shuffled the flowers toward the corner of the kitchen, using his feet as a makeshift broom. Maybe they could have a bonfire. That would be cathartic.

  Sanjit’s attention was heavy while James tidied, but there was nothing to be gained by pressing him. Sanjit would speak when he was ready.

  Sure enough, when James was washing their mugs, there was a scrape as Sanjit pushed up from his chair. He took a spot next to James and started to dry the dishes.

  “So what did you come over here for anyway? Not just this mess.”

  James shrugged, passing across a mug. He didn’t want to talk about Simon. “Crisis of horse-related conscience. I think I want to tell Archie about the shape-shifting thing.” He played with the soap bubbles in the washing bowl so he didn’t have to look at Sanjit. “Is it stupid to tell him? You were okay with it, right? And Jessica is.”

  “Jessica is four, James,” Sanjit said. “She was disappointed you’re not a unicorn.”

  That had been a surreal conversation, and James intended to use it to embarrass the hell out of Jessica when she was older. There had been tears.

  Future torment aside, Sanjit’s response hadn’t helped. James took his time washing the last mug, thinking aloud. “I know, I know. And Archie’s a journalist. His job is literally telling people stuff. It would be stupid. I’ve only known him five fucking minutes. Five fudging minutes, sorry.”

  Taking the extremely clean mug from James’s hands, Sanjit dried it in thoughtful motions. That mug could pass the pickiest of food hygiene standards.

  “To be honest, it sounds like you’ve already made a decision.”

  “But it’s a stupid decision.”

  Sanjit shrugged. He put the mug away and clapped James on the back. James winced. Sanjit had to stop doing that; James was delicate.

  “The luxury to make stupid decisions is part of being an adult. Welcome to the club, Jamie,” he said, like some kind of sage, before fucking off to the living room in a waft of chlorine and smugness.

  In revenge, James made himself a bowl of Sanjit’s favorite cereal, piling it in until the box was empty.

  “UNCLE JAMES, come play knights!”

  James was a sucker. With a heavy stomach thanks to the stolen cereal, he stretched out into extra legs as demanded, carrying Jessica through the trails to hunt dragons until she tugged at his mane and declared it naptime in the kingdom.

  They trotted back to the yard, Jessica singing something cute about mermaids, and— And Archie was in the yard. Archie was in the yard with Tilly, and James was a horse, and this was his fucking nightmare come to life. Act natural, James. Act equine.

  In stilted motions, abruptly unsure how many legs he had and what order they were supposed to be in, James bowed at Jessica’s enthusiastic order for dismount. Tilly reached to help her, taking the opportunity to hiss at James to be nice.

  Be nice? He was a fucking horse.

  James was a horse, and Jessica was telling Archie about her adventures on the trails with her uncle, and for the first time, James wished Jessica wasn’t confident and outgoing. A shy niece would be perfect. Why didn’t he have a shy niece? He blamed the parents.

  Through his panic, James caught Archie saying his name. Names. His ears flicked.

  “That’s right, Illustrious Ruckus and your uncle James do have the same color hair. I noticed the first time I saw him. The same brown eyes too, don’t you think?” Archie asked Jessica, like it was totally normal to compare a human to a horse.

  Jessica nodded, the little traitor. James couldn’t wait to retell the unicorn story at her wedding. He’d bribe Sanjit to let him make a speech if he had to.

  “Ruckus, of course, is the clever one of the two,” Tilly said, grinning. She took Jessica’s hand. “Come on, sweetheart. I heard it was naptime in the kingdom.”

  James watched Tilly and Jessica go into the house, where Sanjit was waiting in the open doorway. He waved at James and closed the door behind the three of them. They were all such terrible people. James was glad he’d moved out.

  James-as-Ruckus and Archie were alone in the yard.

  What the fuck was the social etiquette for this situation? James didn’t know. He kicked at the earth and swished his tail, trying to remember the years of observation his mother had tasked him with for precisely this situation. He felt bad about all the times he’d blown off observing in favor of flirting with grooms and stablehands.

  Shit, and Archie was still talking, what the hell was he—

  “So your sister said your clothes were in the barn. That reminds me of this hilarious story my great-uncle once told me about him and your grandmother getting stuck after a derby day. They had to borrow these tiny jockey shoes, and both limped for a week. You remember me showing you the photo of my uncle, right, James? He was the blood bay next to your grandmother.”

  Oh.

  James stumbled into his human shape almost before he thought about it, like being overtaken by a sneeze.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve known this whole time? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  Archie raised his eyebrows. “I told you I couldn’t date anyone I was writing about. I showed you the photo of my great-uncle. I wasn’t subtle, James.”

  “But—”

  “It’s not like there’s an easy way of saying ‘I know you’re a shapeshifter’—oh, wait. Turns out there is. There you go. Apologies.”

  James waved his hands in the air, not sure what feeling he was trying to express but wanting to be clear he felt it very strongly indeed. So strongly, in fact, that it took registering Archie’s distracted gaze—flickering from James’s face, down his body, back to his face—to remember he was naked when he shifted back to human. James’s hands dropped to his sides, his face hot.

  “Shit,” he said eloquently.

  Archie smirked, giving James a deliberate once-over that made every part of his body tingle. “What do you know? Turns out that blush does go all the way down. I’d wondered.”

  James tackled Archie to the ground and kissed him once, like a promise. “Archie Ievins, you should take me home. I want to be exceedingly unsubtle with you.”

  Archie grinned. “You know what, James Kirby? I think that can be arranged.”

  PARKER FOYE writes speculative-flavored romance under the QUILTBAG umbrella and believes in happily ever
after, although sometimes their characters make achieving this difficult.

  An education in Classics has nurtured a love of literature, swords, monsters, and beautiful people doing stupid things while wearing only scraps of leather. Classics also made Parker good with dead languages but terrible with geography and politics after 300CE. (Parker is rubbish at pub quizzes.)

  Parker is usually plotting either a story or a new experience, and has most recently tackled the ukulele, sword-fighting, and husky mushing; Parker hopes to eventually figure out how to combine the three—and add kissing bits—without anyone getting injured in the process.

  Currently based in north-east UK, Parker travels on a regular basis via planes, trains, and an ever-growing library. Parker is much shorter and less British in person.

  Twitter: @parkerfoye

  Website: parkerfoye.com

  By Parker Foye

  Pastures New

  Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS

  www.dreamspinnerpress.com

  Published by

  DREAMSPINNER PRESS

  5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA

  www.dreamspinnerpress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Pastures New

  © 2016 Parker Foye.

  Cover Art

  © 2016 Catt Ford.

  Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dreamspinnerpress.com.