Chapter 12: The Buckle Room
960 Words
Chapter 12: The Buckle Room
Cord’s Kitchen
Arched Q Ranch
8:42 A.M.
“I’m Francisco Maza,” a man behind me said, startling me.
I was looking for something to eat, since my stomach was grumbling. Of course it wasn’t my kitchen, but I felt Cord wouldn’t mind my hunting around for some food. I’d just peeled a banana from the basket of fruit on the quartz countertop. I’d just bitten into it when Francisco introduced himself, making me jump and turn around. He was nearly six feet tall with olive skin, a coal-black goatee, and moss-green eyes. He was definitely attractive, looking a little like Ryan Gosling.
“You must be Mr. Hull from the Gulf.”
“That be me,” I said, around my mouthful of banana. I stuck out my hand and we shook.
“Mr. Darringer has told me all about you.”
“I hope everything he said was good.”
“Of course it was, Mr. Hull. My boss adores you, and he’ll be thrilled to know you’re here, even if it’s unexpected.” He came over and grabbed a coffee mug from the cabinet just behind me. He filled it from an urn on the counter and took a sip, and then said, “May I be frank, sir?”
“Of course, Mr. Maza. I’m always up for honesty. What reasonable man isn’t?” In truth, I had no idea what he was about to say. Perhaps he felt negative about my unannounced travels to the Arched Q Ranch. Did he want me to go back to Florida without seeing Cord for some reason? Was he about to share a red flag regarding Cord’s affection for me, saving me from an embarrassing moment when the businessman finally arrived and told me I was crazy for coming all the way out here to see him?
Francisco looked me in the eye, smiled, and said, “I believe that Mr. Darringer is in more than in like with you, sir.”
I was completely caught off guard. I asked, “What exactly are you saying, Mr. Maza?”
“Francisco,” he corrected me. “Please call me Francisco.”
“Yes, of course. I’m Bradley,” I replied, eager to hear his answer.
“Mr. Darringer…his heart belongs to you. I don’t think there’s any other man he’d want to be with.”
“I believe you’re mistaken, Francisco. We’re just friends.”
“We’ll see,” he said, taking another sip of his coffee.
* * * *
The Buckle Room
8:45 A.M.
Then he said, “Have you seen the Buckle Room yet?”
“The what?” I asked, and took another bite of the banana.
“It’s a room Cord’s set up to display his work.”
I quickly finished the banana and said, “I think I’d like to see it.”
Francisco smiled and said, “Follow me.” I followed him out of the kitchen, back through the sunlit foyer, and across into the living room, looking really homey with its leather furniture. Then he led me into a smaller room covered in wall-to-wall buckles. Three skylights let in the sunshine, making the buckles shine. Each buckle was displayed with care. I looked around, surprised at the variety: NASCAR cars; bear, deer, horses, coyotes, bulls, and cougars; state shapes; battleships, military branches, and rifles; a variety of professional sports teams. There were enameled buckles obviously designed for women: flowers, sleepy stars and moons, rainbows, lips, butterflies, cartoon characters, smiling ladybugs, and cats. Some buckles were under glass while others were displayed on felt trays, out where you could touch them. I assumed those under glass were the oldest and most loved.
Francisco sipped at his coffee as he watched me look around the room. He finally said, “This is Mr. Darringer’s work throughout the years.”
“It’s quite the collection,” I confessed, admiring his craft.
“This room is his life. This is how he became a millionaire.”
I turned to him and asked, “How long have you worked for Cord?”
He thought about it for a second or two, rubbed his chin, and said, “Almost five years.”
“You were young when he hired you, weren’t you?”
“My father worked for him. Pedro Maza. He died two years ago. Brain cancer.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied. “My condolences.”
“Pedro is in a better place. Watching him die was a horrible thing. Now he is with the angels and my mother, Janice.”
I was sure it had been difficult to lose both his parents so early. But I was also sure that he was very well taken care of, both monetarily and emotionally, because he worked for Cord. I really hadn’t known him all that long, but I just knew that Cord Darringer was a thoughtful and caring man who could be trusted to have his ranch hands’ well-being uppermost in his mind.
As if reading my mind, Francisco said, “Mr. Darringer is a tender man. He has a lot of heart.”
“Indeed he does,” I agreed, smiling at Francisco. I suddenly knew Francisco was in awe of Cord Darringer, and had no s****l interest in him whatsoever.
* * * *
Joel came in just then. He excused himself for interrupting and went up to Francisco, whispered something to him. They excused themselves and went into the living room.
I could hear them still whispering, though I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I decided to interest myself in the display wall closest to them, and eavesdropped:
Francisco said, “A week or two at most. Nothing longer.”
Joel replied, “I’m sure he has responsibilities in Florida.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it.”
“Mr. Darringer’s going to be thrilled. You should tidy up his room. Put some fresh sheets on his bed.”
Francisco agreed. “I’ll make a grand dinner.”
I heard them kiss, heard their lips meet and one of them released a sound of sudden joy. Their kiss only lasted a few seconds, then I heard them walking away. I chuckled to myself, still admiring Cord’s buckles. I wasn’t at all surprised that they were lovers, possibly soul mates. Not once did I judge them for their discreet affinity for each other’s skin. On the contrary, I rather enjoyed knowing that they had a lively attraction for each other and joined their flesh, enjoying a masculine bond. Besides, how could I possibly begin to judge them when we were the same: Men who liked being sexually engaged with cowboys?
Eventually Francisco came back to the Buckle Room, apologized for leaving me, and asked, “Would you like to see some of the ranch, Mr. Hull?”
“I would,” I replied, and he led me out.
- Writer
