Chapter 4: Don't Be Afraid of Me
917 Words
Chapter 4: Don't Be Afraid of Me
Day in and day out we had our little talks, which were really lessons to help him recall something in his past. And every time we talked about his life before his accident with Hercules, I made him enter comments about it in his BlackBerry. He wrote: no siblings; a friend to the millionaire belt-buckle maker, Cord Darringer; favorite color is green; allergic to chocolate; like to take walks at twilight; enjoy barbecued vegetables; read the Bible almost daily; used to smoke Marlboros; likes football; enjoys an occasional shot of Jack; wear Redhead Frisco cowboy boots everywhere; never sleep in; love John Wayne movies; am savvy with computers; enjoy riding Palominos; don’t eat a lick of junk food; read before going to sleep every night…
“You know me like you know yourself,” he admitted, walking with me along the western property line toward evening, next to Blaze Ashdale’s land. Blaze was an environmentalist and country-boy writer for American Cowboy and other magazines.
“An on-site employee can learn a lot in four years. Don’t kid yourself.”
“I don’t think anyone knows me as well,” he said, and I felt he meant it.
“Blake knows you in and out. He’s been with you quite a long time.”
He chuckled and said, “There are some days I think he suffers from amnesia. The man’s getting old, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still love him like a father. Blake’s part of our family here. He’s one of the team. We wouldn’t be able to function without him.”
“Your respect for the man is rock solid, isn’t it?”
“He’s an experienced man with a lot of history. I could never disrespect him.”
I pulled fresh air into my lungs, exhaled, decided we were getting off the subject of his memory loss, and asked, “Do you remember Hercules kicking you in your head?”
“Not a sliver.”
“That was a rough day for all of us,” I said, turning my attention to the bright blue September day and the soothing breeze. The sky looked enchanting, like we were walking through a fairy tale. The sun was a blistery red-orange ball among faint clouds. The grassland we walked side-by-side through was knee-high with a variety of tall grasses, some skunkbush, moonseed vine, and soapweed.
“I can’t recall it in the slightest.”
“None of it?” I asked, feeling a little hopeless.
He shook his head and kept walking. He pulled off his tight, white T-shirt that clung to his sculpted chest so he could enjoy the light breeze against his flesh. “Tell me something, Cal.”
The guy remembered my name, which was progress. “Anything,” I replied—but not really meaning everything.
“Did I always go bare-chested around the ranch before my accident in the barn?”
I gave a short laugh and confessed, “You didn’t.” Discreetly I looked away from his chiseled and rugged core in fear of sporting lumber in my jeans. How embarrassing that would be, since I was secretly in love with the damaged cowboy.
“I can’t bear to have anything on my chest,” he admitted. “It’s a really odd feeling.”
“I’m not surprised, if you want to know the truth. Hercules really kicked you hard. You’re lucky to be alive, Pax. All the doctors said so. You’re a little different now, but I still like you just the way you are.”
What happened next caught me completely off guard. He snagged my left hand in his right, stopped walking, and faced me in the field. No one could see us—we were far away from the main house and the other buildings. In truth, we pretty much had Pax’s entire ranch and the hot sun to ourselves. Now, taking in my almost-black eyes, his eyes consuming my goatee and tiny ears, he admitted, “I think we should talk about you, Cal. We’re always talking about me.”
“What do you want to talk about?” I asked, swallowed in a dry throat, nervous as hell to have his large hand over my own as he gave my hand a squeeze.
“Who you really are,” he said, his soft eyes half-concealed under the brim of his vintage tan Stetson.
“What about me, Pax?”
“Your queerness, and why you’re afraid to admit that you like me as more than just a friend and boss.”
I stood dumbfounded, suddenly feeling like I was burning up inside. Sweat sprang out in my armpits and between my legs. Even my stomach was perspiring under my furred abs.
“No more lies, Cal Hoke. No more secrets. Spill your identity to me, here and now.”
My voice wavered in the breeze as I said, “I can do a lot for you, Pax, but I can’t do that.”
The cowboy grinned from ear to ear, smirking. He moved my palm up to his hairy chest and brushed it over his left pec and swollen n****e. He asked, “How does that make you feel, guy? Tell me the truth.”
I-I-I—felt as if heaven had opened above us and consumed me. I felt as if I were going to lose my balance and fall to the earth in the knee-high grass. I felt—windblown and consumed with desire as he moved my hand over his furry pec and its erect n****e. I felt perplexed, bemused, and hard, ready to spurt a few drops of pre-ooze into the white boxer-briefs that fit so snugly against my man-package.
“You like it, don’t you? In fact, you like everything about me. Admit it.”
I admitted nothing. I was an employee, unable to gratify him with the truth. My sexuality wasn’t his concern, and it wasn’t necessary to expose my secret. If Pax Raulton wanted to learn the truth about my liking and exceptional longing for his skin, he had to work harder. I wasn’t easy, and planned never to be, honestly.
To answer him, I simply shook my head, pulled my hand away from his hairy blond chest, and stepped back. I cleared my throat, focused on his fall-into eyes and said, “We should get back to the barn. I’m sure the horses need my attention.”
- Writer
