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 plan
