Chase the Storm (4 page)

Not ina friendly, casualway, but inanintimate, lovingway. The man next to himwas even taller than Chase and solidly built in a form-fitting Tshirt. His head was turned away from the photographer, who had captured him mid laugh. His eyes were on Chase, and they held a spark I’d never seeninanother man’s eyes before, but hoped to one day.

“Owen,”a deep voice grufflysaid withreverence behind me. “My… partner.”

 

I could tell by the tone of his voice he wasn’t referring to a business partner.

 

Chase was
gay
.

I was like him. Not that I’d never met another gay man, but he was the first one I’d spoken more than a few words to. My breath rushed from me, and I swallowed around the lump that had suddenly formed in mythroat.

Without turningaround, I whispered, “You’re gay.”
It wasn’t a question, more ofa statement, a realizationoftruth. “You have a problem with that?” he asked curtly but with a hint of amusement. When I didn’t reply right away, he continued. “I think you know where the door is. I’ll have Mike pick you up at the end of the driveway. Better get walking.”

“No!”

I spun around to face him. I couldn’t leave. I had just gotten there, I was just starting this new life, and I didn’t want to go back. And for once, eventhoughhe was a bastard and didn’t seemto want me there, I felt like it was where I was supposed to be.

“I don’t have a problemwithit. It’s not that at all.”I faltered. “Thenwhat is it?”he asked, growingmore annoyed.
“I was just surprised.”
“And whyis that? Farmers can’t be gay?”he teased.

It wasn’t playful. It was more like a cat toying with its prey, batting it around untilit finally gave up. Since I had left the kitchen, he’d washed up and put on a plaid shirt that was unbuttoned about halfway. Snared by the depths of his eyes, I gawked at him, my mouth moving to speak several times before I finally said the words that had been caged inside me since the dayI’d realized it.

“I’mgaytoo.”
A light flared inhis eyes, and theywidened slightly. “Is that so?” Unable to speak now that I’d revealed mytrue self, I nodded.

“Is that why you’re out here? To, how do they say it, find yourself?” I shrugged and he shook his head. “You won’t find yourself out here, kid. There’s just a bunch of wheat and horseshit, and neither of those hold the secrets to the universe. Trust me.”

“I’mona road trip,”I finallyanswered.
“Where from?”
“Boston,”I said, tellinghimthe same lie as I had told Mike.

“You’re accent doesn’t sound like Boston.” Before I could deny or explain, he spoke again. “Dinner is probablydone.”

 

He turned, expecting me to follow, and after a long look at his ass, I did just that.

We sat at the island and ate the barbeque chickenand potatoes he’d prepared. It was messy, and I stole glances when he licked his fingers or ran his tongue over his lips to lap up the leftover sauce, my cock twitching each time he did it. I kept waiting for Owen to come home, walk into the kitchen and greet his lover, but we finished dinner uninterrupted and with no signs ofanother man. Perhaps he was out oftown.

“Where are the rest of the animals?” I blurted, trying to make conversation. His brows met inconfusion. “Like cows and pigs.”
“This isn’t a nursery rhyme farm, and I’m not old McDonald.” He chuckled.
“I mean, I expected a farmto have other animals and… stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“Yeah, like a silo or bigtruck things,”I said, shrugging.
“I don’t have a silo. No need for it. As for the animals, we had some cattle and chickens, but I sold the cattle offlast year. Theywere too much work, not enoughprofit.”
“And the chickens?”
Attempting to keep the corner of his lips from turning up, he motioned to the dinner onmyplate.
“Oh.”
“Anythingelse?”
“Youneed a dog,”I said, takinga sip ofmilk.
“A dog?”
“Yeah, everyfarmneeds a dog,”I reasoned.
“I’mnot ‘everyfarm’,”he retorted witha raised brow.
“What kind offarmis this, then?”
“I buy horses, train them, and sellthem. I also grow and sellhay and wheat. It’s enough to keep food on the table and pay the bills. Nothing fancylike what you’re probablyused to, though.”
“I don’t like fancy.” I scowled at the insinuation. He nodded like he didn’t believe me and continued eating.
I offered to help with the dishes, but he ignored me, so I waited until he was finished and drying his hands on the towel. When he spun around and saw me still there, he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. It wasn’t a nervous habit like it was for some. It seemed more of something he did whenhe was resigned to a situation.
“I need to show youto your room, huh?”
He left before I answered. Picking up my bag, I hurriedly followed himout of the kitchen to the set of stairs we’d passed when we came in. There were more pictures on the wall, some of him and Owen, others of people I assumed were family or friends. When my eyes left the pictures and landed on Chase’s ass only a few feet from me, I stumbled on the step, catchingmyselfwiththe railing.
He never evennoticed.
At the top of the stairs, he turned right, and I scrambled to catch up with him. Arriving at the landing, I turned in time to see himenter a room onthe right. Relieved the game was over, I followed himin. It was sparse, withonlya bed, nightstand witha lamp, and a dresser. Like the rest ofthe house, the floor was hardwood and the walls were an off-white color. There were two windows, both framed with airy curtains. The bed was neatlymade withtwo plainpillows and a maroonblanket.
“If you need another blanket let me know. The days are hot, but the nights cool right down, city boy.” He went to the door, but paused. Not lookingback, he said, “Daystarts at four thirty.”
And with that he was gone. Looking around the room, I sighed and placed my bag on the bed. I pulled out
The Catcher and the Rye
and placed it on the bedside table. Then I shed my clothes, leaving them on the floor, and climbed into the large, empty bed. After switching off the lamp, I lay on my back, staring up at the textured ceiling and wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into. I fell asleep hoping Owen was more personable thanhis lover.

Chapter 2

 

“N
OT
like that,”Chase growled, “like this.”

He snatched the pitchfork from my hand, and, pushing me aside, proceeded to show me the correct way to shovel horseshit. Yawning, I watched him, nodding when he asked if I understood. It was five in the morning; I didn’t understand muchat that hour.

It had been just after four thirty when I had stumbled into the barn. The horses were munching in their stalls as I walked down the aisle trying to find Chase.

“Heads!” he called fromthe loft, and a bale of hay dropped in front ofme, missingme byinches and sendingup plumes ofbarleyand alfalfa.

I was suddenly thankful I’d worn an old T-shirt and one of the few pairs of jeans I had. If the previous day had been any indication, they would bothbe permanentlystained bysunset.

“Divide it up, a flake each.”

I stepped forward to look up and ask himwhat the hell a flake was, but he was gone. Bending over, I wrestled the twine from the bale and watched it fall apart. With an exasperated sigh, he walked up and bent over, pickingup a separated square ofhay.

“A flake,” he said, holding it out to me. “When you’re done with that, start mucking the stalls. Wheelbarrow, shovel, and pitchforks are at the end.”

Thenhe was gone again.

Still unsure of what I was doing, I walked to the closest stall and tossed the flake over the door onto the floor. I worked my way down the aisle, and by the time I was at the end, Chase was at the other end. I heard a clucking sound and saw him leading the first horse that had been given hay fromits stall. He returned a minute later to get the next, leading each horse outside, timing it perfectly so when he got to the last one, the hay was gone. I busied myself getting the stuff to muck the stalls but my eyes kept traveling from my task to Chase. He was dressed in a loose, plaid shirt tucked into a freshpair ofLevi’s, held up bya dark leather belt. I couldn’t help but notice the jeans fit him as well as the day before. His cowboy boots stirred up dust as he walked purposely from one stall to the next. The morning erection I’d woken up with, and never taken care of, began to return, and it took several deep breaths before I was able to concentrate onthe dirtystallinfront ofme.

“Is that how they muck stalls in Boston?” he asked from the doorway. I glanced up to find himleaningagainst the door, his hands inhis front pockets, his head cocked to the side.

I had no clue how they shoveled horseshit in Boston, or anywhere else for that matter. I looked at the mostly empty stall and almost full wheelbarrow. I didn’t see the problem. That was what led to me watching himas he scooped the sawdust onto the pitchfork and then shook it back and forth.

“Sawdust isn’t cheap, so you need to conserve the clean part. Shift out the shit and toss it inthe wheelbarrow. Whenit’s full, there’s a manure pile around the corner out back. If they need more sawdust, there’s some inthe emptystallat the end.”

Once again, he was gone before I could ask himanythingelse.

I continued down the row of stalls, ignoring my rumbling stomach when breakfast time arrived and went. Chase moved about, occasionally walking through the barn, I thought for no other reason than to check up on me. While he never spoke, I did hear himhumin tune with the country music waftingthroughthe barn.

After I dumped the last load in the manure pile, I pushed the wheelbarrow back to the barn and added sawdust to the stalls that looked like theyneeded it. Not sure what to do next, I headed for the end ofthe barnto find Chase whenhe appeared around the corner.

He wasn’t alone.

Towering next to Chase was Admiral, standing perfectly calm and still with a saddle on his back and bridle on his head. The leather reins were in Chase’s gloved hands. Covering his jeans were rust-colored chaps and onhis head was a tancowboyhat.

“I need to check a fence on the south side. You fix Tantor’s stall door; it’s sticking. Oh, and the saddles in the tack room need cleaning. The supplies are on a shelf. Then make sure everyone is watered and grained for tonight. The amounts are written on a board above the grain bins. I’llbe back bylunch,”he announced smoothly.

Speechless, I watched as he effortlessly swung himself up into the saddle and balanced his weight.

 

“Too bad you don’t ride, city boy,” he snickered as he drew up the reins and tipped his hat to me.

Following Chase’s cluck and a tug on the reins, Admiral turned toward the big field and then broke into a gallop. Chase’s free arm fell easily by his side, his ass glued to the saddle as he sat tall and moved his hips to matchthe stride ofthe horse.

The hard-on I’d gotten rid of earlier returned, and I seriously debated running into the house’s bathroomand jerking off to the image of him sitting astride the horse, but decided against it. I still had no idea where Owenwas and didn’t want to get caught and have to explainwhyI was wanking to thoughts of his boyfriend. Hissing at the ache when I moved, I decided to figure out how to fixa stickingstalldoor.

I’
D LEFT
my watch in my room for safekeeping, but I glanced up at the

clock in the tack room and saw it was almost noon. After oiling the rails on Tantor’s stalldoor with some WD-40 I’d found, I was able to get it to open and close freely. Then, following the chart hanging on the wall, I measured out the grain, although it took me twenty minutes to figure out the difference between oats and sweet feed. Once the grain was in each horse’s stall, I dragged the hose down the aisle and filled all the water buckets. Finally, I climbed the stairs at the end of the aisle for the first time.

It was hotter than hell up there. The loft ran almost the entire length and width of the barn. At one end was a large window while the other ended just short of the barn doors where Chase had thrown down the hay. It was piled up to the ceiling on both sides, but there was an open spot in the middle where a few bales sat. Walking over to them, I stacked them up neatly with the others and then found a broom and swept the loose hayinto a corner.

Shakingthe hayout ofmyhair and offmysoaked shirt, I entered the tack room. Larger than I expected, it was full of saddles and bridles and large wooden trunks. The saddles sat on bars protruding from the wall, and the bridles hung on hooks next to them. There was a shelf with trophies on it, and when I looked closely, I saw they were for rodeos. Trunks, similar to the one in the aisle below, lined one wall, and blankets lay on each one. Roaming around, half looking for the stuff I needed to clean the saddles and half curious, I ran my hands over the leather bridles and a pair ofsuede chaps. I trembled remembering how Chase’s legs had looked inhis chaps.

Sighing, I moved on, afraid that thinking about Chase would only lead to another hard-on. On a shelf near the one window in the room, I found saddle soap and a cloth. I picked up one of the saddles, crinkling my nose at the strong scent of horse, and placed it on a rack standing in the middle of the room. After reading the directions on the saddle soap, I began applying it to the saddle, vigorously rubbing the dirty leather. Sweat dripped from my face and onto the saddle, but I didn’t bother to wipe it off because it would only return a minute later. When the first saddle was polished to a shine, I replaced it with another, but before I began, I pulled my T-shirt off and cast it aside. The open window allowed the warm breeze to come inand washover myexposed skin, coolingme slightly.