Chapter 3: Boyfriends and Memory
1021 Words
Chapter 3: Boyfriends and Memory
One of the strangest things that transpired during Pax’s slow healing time was that he couldn’t remember my name.
“Cal Hoke,” I shared with him almost every day. “I’ve worked for you for the last four years. I’m your on-site vet and take care of your sixteen horses.”
Pax was lying on his bed, showered and dressed, but he wasn’t wearing a shirt. His hairy blond chest was exposed for my approval, and I ogled his firm n*****s and pumped pecs, always craving his skin. “Where do you live?”
I stood at the foot of his bed, checking in on him after a long day with the Palominos and the two ranch hands. “I live in the little cabin, a few hundred yards from this house.”
“Where are you parents?”
“Passed on. Like yours. Your mom and dad passed away in a plane accident in 1997. You were pretty young. You lived with your Uncle Grant. Do you remember him?”
“Who?” he asked, befuddled by my question, as usual.
“You bought this place from him when you turned twenty-two. He made you sign a promissory note. You lived up to your end of the bargain. Your Uncle Grant died six months later and willed the place to you.”
“How many acres again?”
I told him, and the size always surprised him. “Do you remember how many horses you have in the barn?”
“Of course not.”
“You have sixteen Palomino horses and two ranch hands. You remember any of this?”
Overcome by frustration, he shook his handsome head and confessed, “You’re a stranger to me. I don’t know you.”
“Not to worry, Pax. Your memory will be flooding back before you know it. I’m a pretty good guy, and I’m here to help you—as well as the horses,” I joked.
He eyed me up and down, scanning me studiously: five-eleven frame, 180 pounds, coal-black hair, a matching goatee, tiny ears, flawless complexion, well-built chest under my red-and-black flannel, snug Wranglers, and a protruding man-package between my thighs that could offer a guy like Pax a pretty good time, but only if he wanted it. He was quiet, maybe trying to recall some blurred memory. What was he thinking exactly?
“How are you feeling right now?” I asked. It was something I asked on a regular basis, just to check in. Sometimes he felt weak or had a headache. Other times he felt ready to run a marathon.
He ignored my question. Instead, he asked, “How old are you again?”
“Twenty-nine.” He asked the same questions every day, rebuilding his life. I had to be patient and understanding. Somewhere inside that new stranger was my lost best friend, and boss, a certain cowboy I wanted to discover again. I was quite sure he wanted the same thing.
“And where are you originally from?”
“Dallas. I have a brother there. He’s a politician and doesn’t talk to me. One of those hardcore Republicans that I really don’t get along with.”
Then he asked, “And we’re boyfriends, right?”
“Boyfriends?” I echoed, feeling unsure about what he’d meant. Perhaps I’d heard him wrong.
“Yes, boyfriends,” he said, his face serious, no prejudice in his tone, nothing comical.
I shook my head and looked around the room: navy-blue curtains, queen-size sleigh bed and a matching five-drawer dresser, a shelf full of John Sandford’s Prey hardcovers, oak floorboards, one well-organized closet. Then I looked at my boss lying on his bed and said, “We’re not boyfriends, Pax. What made you think that?”
“You’re gay, right? Don’t you like guys?”
Should I tell him the truth? Hadn’t I lived behind my lie for a good reason, keeping my real nature hidden? If told the man that I was queer, would he remember it tomorrow or the next day and ask me to leave Riding Ranch? How dangerous was telling him, and did I want it to stay a secret from him, with his memory problem? Feeling unsure, I looked down at my boots and said, “We should talk about your headaches. Dr. Hoss thinks those could be an issue.”
Pax rubbed the side of his nose with a long finger and said, “You can’t tell me you’re not gay, Cal Hoke. You stare at me like I’m your boyfriend or something. That’s why I asked.”
“And how do I do that?” I asked, fully interested in learning how the man perceived me. As more than just an on-site vet, I imagined. And maybe even more than a close friend, although we’d never gotten sloppy drunk and slept together, or even hugged in a close embrace.
He shrugged and replied, “I don’t know. It’s sort of a fond look, like you care about me a lot, like you’re hungry for me. You give me that look just about every time you see me.”
I’d gotten caught red-handed and hadn’t even realized it. Pax had noticed and remembered, even with his amnesia. I stood frozen at the foot of the bed, numb and perplexed. Obviously I had a difficult time hiding my emotions for the cowboy. Who could, though, in my position? Liking, kindness, tenderness, and lust were sometimes hard to keep under lock and key, right?
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were in love with me.”
“Love?” I whispered, with wide eyes and racing heart.
“Yeah, love. Everything about you, Cal, speaks of it.”
I felt as if a Colt .45 had fired right into my chest. I lost oxygen for a few seconds and I felt dizzy. It was maybe the same feeling Pax had had when Hercules had kicked him in the head in the barn back in July.
He gawked at me from his reclined position and nodded his handsome head.
I felt like pudding melting on the floorboards.
“You’re pale, guy. You okay?”
“I’m not in love with you,” I lied confidently, holding my ground, not yet capable of sharing the truth with him. “You’re a touch delusional, Pax. Maybe you should get some rest.”
“My mind feels pretty solid today.”
I shook my head and summoned my persistence. “Not if you think I’m head over cowboy boots for you, man,” I said, deciding my visit had come to an end. I quickly headed for the door, fearing that he’d get the two ranch hands, Paul and Jet, to escort me off his land, forbidding queers on Riding Ranch.
But Pax called my name just as I was passing through the bedroom door. When I turned around, I couldn’t help eyeing the sexy blond hair on his muscular cowboy chest, and his popping n*****s and pecs.
Pax said confidently, “I kind of like the idea of being your boyfriend, Cal. Who doesn’t want to be cared for by a nice guy like you?”
- Writer
