Aftermath

Aftermath by CB Potts Torquere Press www.torquerepress.com Copyright ©2007 by CB Potts First published in www.torquer...

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Aftermath by CB Potts

Torquere Press www.torquerepress.com

Copyright ©2007 by CB Potts First published in www.torquerepress.com, 2007 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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Part One "So, how bad is it?" Doc Jacobs looked up at me and shook his head. "Well, Micky, there's bad. Then there's real bad. Then there's what's happened to this asshole." Trey groaned, trying to push himself up onto one elbow. "Don't listen to him, Mick. I'm fine." Doc put one hand on Trey's shoulder and gently pushed him flat on his back. "He's not fine. He's all kinds of busted up. More than likely we've got internal damage. Broke for sure? Couple five ribs, arm, collarbone, right leg. I'm thinking his pelvis might be cracked, too, but we won't know that for sure 'til I see the X-rays." "Christ." I whistled through my teeth. "He's out." Trey closed his eyes. "He's really out." "He should have been out before now," Doc snapped. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say at least two of these ribs were broken before he ever got in the chute." **** Tears ran down Brenda's face, creating a shiny spring creek spilling toward her chin. "He won't even talk to me, Micky. I'm his woman and he told me to get the hell out." She lowered her voice as a nurse wheeled an elderly woman past us in the hall. "What am I supposed to do?" "Go on home. I'll bring him round." 3


"Thank you," she whispered, getting up on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. "He always listens to you." Not always, I thought, stepping into the darkened hospital room. Trey was hooked up to three different monitors, each one chirping to its own rhythm. "You awake?" "Nope." His speech was slurred, not helped at all by the tubes in his nose. "I'm fuckin' sleeping." "That must be why you kicked Brenda out." "Don't wanna talk to Bren right now." Trey turned his head toward the wall. "Don't wanna talk to you." "Since when do I give a rat's ass what you want?" I sank into Brenda's chair and took Trey's hand. It was cold—not the cold you get from working in a chilly stockyard, not the cold from wrapping your rope too tight round your palm so you can cling, petrified, to two tons of pissed off hamburger—but scary cold, close to slipping away cold. "You're stuck with me." I sat there a long time, not talking at all. Trey wasn't saying much either, but he had a death grip on my hand, squeezing with all his might. He clung to me, even as he surrendered to the pain medicine and slowly lost consciousness. I didn't want to rouse him none, so I stayed there, my hand in his, until dawn. **** Bull riding is not for everybody. It takes a certain type of man to see an angry bull huffing in his corral, pacing his rage from one corner to the next, dinner plate-sized hooves 4


stirring up mini tornadoes of shitty dust, and say, "I believe I'm gonna ride that bad boy." Some are fools, others touched a bit by God. Still more are adrenaline junkies, addicted to the sheer rush that only comes from riding death. And others are in it for the money. Trey been crying for hours by the time I got there. He had nurses, doctors, an entire hospital staff to care for him—but chores are chores, and the stock's got to be fed. I'd spun out by Trey's place, made sure things were in order there, and was back at his side before breakfast, but I was still too late. "Trey?" No answer, only the quiet cascade of tears spilling over his cheeks. Eyes normally bright blue were more vivid than I'd ever seen them, shining like pure melted sky. The thick wad of bandages wrapped round his torso rose and fell with each sob, every deep breath punctuated with a gasp of pain. "Do you need more medicine? I'll get the nurse." There was no answer, so I started for the door. I hadn't gotten far when he choked out, "No, no more med'cine." "Well, what then? You gotta talk to me." Our eyes met, locked. "Bullshit time is over." "You got no idea." Trey turned away. "I know you were riding all busted up like six kinds of idiot." I glared at the back of his head. "Look at me! You could have gotten your fool self killed if them ribs snapped off the wrong way." He turned toward me, despair etched in the gaunt hollows of his cheeks. "Might have been better off if I did." "What the hell are you talking about?" 5


"They're gonna take everything, Micky. The ranch, the truck, all the stock—it's all gone." I thought then that the pain medication had him, playing tricks with his mind. That happens to some folks sometimes. "No, it's not! I was over there this morning. Brenda's got everything under control. Even that big fat roan mare of yours." "Not for long." He shook his head. "It's the bank. Iffn' this season don't pan out for me, I'm done for." "Shit." There was nothing on God's green Earth that Trey loved as much as he loved that ranch. And his season was most definitely over. "Does Brenda know?" "Course not." "How bad is it?" "Two and a half." "Fuck." A quarter million dollars. "Your season had to do more than pan out, didn't it?" A sudden fire blazed in Trey's eyes. He surged upright, managing to lift his torso half an inch from the bed. "It was gonna! You know that! I was having my best season ever!" I couldn't help but smile. That was the Trey I knew. Still, there wasn't long to enjoy it. His fit set the monitors squawking like crazy, beeping and flashing fit to beat the band. A heavy-set nurse shouldered me out of the way to check Trey's vitals. "Mr. Westron, you've got to settle down. You can't be getting yourself all worked up." She shot me a look. "Whatever's got you all riled up, I'm sure your buddy here can go take care of." 6


"That's right, Trey," I agreed, as another nurse pushed me out of the room. "I've got it covered." **** Big words are one thing; big piles of cash are another. Where the hell was I going to come up with a quarter million dollars? I sat on my front porch for hours, trying to figure out what to do. Life as a cattleman hadn't exactly made me rich. Most of my assets were quite literally on the hoof, and wouldn't pay out until the fall drive. Unless, of course, I was willing to take a terrible loss on them. Mid-season auctions wouldn't bring a fraction of what my steers would be worth with three months' grazing on them. But if I didn't sell, Trey would lose his ranch. The sun sank low on the horizon while I pondered the idea. Blue skies grayed, and then flared an angry purple as a late summer storm rolled across the horizon. I watched the lightning dance between the bulging black thunderheads, sparking and crackling as it dipped down to touch the earth. And then I had a terrible, terrible idea.

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Part Two "Look at that," Trey said, gesturing with one arm at the TV. "You're famous." My image was plastered on the screen, next to the anchorwoman and in front of the scorched wreckage wildfires had made of my home. "Not exactly the way I wanted to get my fifteen minutes." Ice cubes tumbled out of the pitcher as I poured Trey a glass of water. "Drink that." He took a long gulp, and then looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "How many head did you lose?" "'Bout half." Three hundred and fifty steers burned to death that night, unable to outrun the fast moving flames. "I moved the rest up to your back forty for the meantime. Hope that's all right." "Long as it's mine, it's yours. You know that." Trey smiled briefly, the joy fading half a second longer. "Can't promise how long that will be, though." "About that..." "What?" "I got this insurance money. It'll just about tide things over until you're back on your feet." "I'm not gonna do that. You need that money." "Not your decision, really." The sun was bright in my eyes, cutting through the venetian blinds, forcing me to squint. "I don't want you to..." My fingers laced through his. "Since when do I give a shit about what you want, cowboy?" 8


**** "I don't know what you said to him, but whatever it was, thank you!" Brenda damn near launched herself into my arms, pulled me close, and planted a big, sloppy wet kiss on my lips. "He's finally starting to put some effort into getting better." "I'm glad, Bren. I'm real glad." **** Physical therapy isn't for everyone. It takes a certain kind of man to eye a bunch of mats, poles, rods, and therapists, and say, "I believe I'm gonna walk again." Some are fools, others touched a bit by God. Still more are adrenaline junkies, addicted to the sheer rush that only comes from conquering the limits set by their body. And others are in it for the money. "I'm gonna beat this, Micky." Trey was drenched in sweat, completely exhausted after a long morning of raising and lowering his left leg. "I'm gonna get back on my feet and then I'm gonna pay you back." "Don't worry about paying me back." I wiped the salty droplets from his forehead. "I'm not in this for the cash." He caught my hand in his. "I know that, Micky." Blue eyes darted toward the door before locking with mine. "I know you're there for me." "Always." "But I'm still paying you back." Steely determination settled in his jaw. "Don't you be doubting that." 9


That was a good day. Not all the days were good. Pain slowed Trey's progress, despite his determination to work through it. And just like a wounded animal, Trey could be a mean son of a bitch when he was hurting. Brenda took the brunt of it at first, until his tongue cut so deep that she started staying away. I couldn't do that. I just couldn't stay away. Not from him. "What the hell are you doing here?" he growled. The therapist had given up on him for the day, telling Trey that he'd return only when the cowboy was willing to work. He'd cursed at the nurses, upset the candy striper, and damn near coldcocked Doc Jacobs. "I don't want to see nobody." "Yeah, I'd heard that." He hadn't touched his dinner. I grabbed an apple from the tray. "Mind if I eat this?" "Do what you want. Way I figure, you own my ass anyways." "How's that?" "I wouldn't have nothing if it weren't for you." "And you're mad at me for that." "I don't like to be beholden." "You're not beholden." "Right. Quarter million dollars, you've got my ass." I started to laugh. Couldn't help it. "You're one pretty expensive piece of tail, my friend. You better be amazing in bed." "You'll have to tell me after." Trey's lips pressed together in a thin line. "Now, get the fuck out." "Trey, I didn't mean...." "OUT!" 10


**** Back behind the main waterhole, the ground was still charred and smoking. Ginger didn't want to go that way, but a not so gentle nudge with the spurs persuaded her that she'd better mind me. We picked our way up past the black remains of my favorite cottonwood tree. The county had been out earlier that morning, along with the insurance adjuster. "Hate to say you're lucky, but you are in a way," he'd said, one eye on the heaping pile of carcasses. "Lightning fire up near Galveston took out over 2,000 head same night as your trouble." "Jesus." "Yup, it'll take them years to rebuild." "Me, too, I reckon. At least two." "Long time playing catch-up." He'd kicked at the smoldering ground. "I'm terrible sorry to see this happen to you." Now I rode through the wreckage. Ashy clouds billowed up around Ginger's hooves, coating my legs in a gritty coat of guilt. Have you ever smelled responsibility? It hangs in your nose like charred sirloin steak.

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Part Three "Is his highness receiving guests today?" The nurse rolled her eyes. "Can't say as how anyone would want to see that sorry son of a pup, but you're welcome to try." "Boy, you've won yourself all kinds of friends around here, Trey." "Hmmph." His eyes were riveted on the television. I glanced up, surprised to see a chamois-colored bull flinging cowboys across the ring. "They're showing that Bodacious show again?" "Yeah." "He was one mean son of a bitch." "I wish to God I'd had a chance to go at him." He laid there, casts covering damn near half his body. Tubes ran in and out of his arms. Monitors tracked every heartbeat, every breath, every last aspect of his body. And that dang fool was itching to ride. "That would have been a sight to see." I dared a chuckle. "You might be the only bastard on earth mean enough to tangle with him and win." Trey blushed. "Yeah, 'bout that." "Yeah?" "I'm sorry, y'know?" "I know." **** 12


The nurses may have been happy to send Trey home, but I'm not so sure Brenda was happy to see him arrive. "I thought he'd be happy to get home," she said. "But it seems like everything's just making him angrier and angrier." "He's frustrated," I said. "He wants to be able to get up and do things, and he can't." "Well, for the love of God. He's broken bones before, and he's been fine." "Not like this." "I guess not." She sighed. "I just wish there was some way to cheer him up." "I'll see what I can do," I replied. "Look at you. You've lost everything, and you're worried about Trey." Brenda shook her head. "You're a freakin' saint." "No, I'm not," I told her. "I'm just afraid to lose the little bit I've got left." "Greetings, Saint Micky," Trey mocked, as soon as I stepped through the door. He must've heard Brenda's comment. "Patron saint of busted up cowhands." "I wish I was a saint. Then I could do miracles." "You got a particular miracle in mind?" Trey spread his arms wide. "World peace? A cure for cancer? Darrell Waltrip winning the Nextel cup?" "I'd settle for making you smile." "Micky, what do I got to smile about?" Trey slumped in his chair. "My season's over, my best friend's ranch burned to the ground, and I'm a quarter million dollars in debt." He shot an angry look at the door. "I can't ride, I can't do chores; I can't do a goddamn thing. And that one there keeps talking about 13


getting a job, helping things out. It's not bad enough that I'm no kind of man right now, she's got to remind me that I can't provide." "Nobody said you're not a man." I ran my eyes boldly over his body, glad that the thick wrappings were finally gone from his ribs, replaced by a narrow webbing of bandages. "You're most definitely a man." "A useless man. A man nobody wants." "That is so not true and you know it." "Oh, yeah?" Trey's eyes locked with mine, and one hand dropped to his crotch. "Prove it." Maybe he was joking. Maybe it was all a bluff. Maybe he'd forgotten Brenda was half a hundred yards away in the kitchen—or maybe he was counting on that fact. I don't know. And at that moment, I didn't care. I sank to my knees in front of his chair and batted his hand away. The zipper parted easily at my touch, and it didn't take but half a tug to pull his briefs out of the way. Trey was already half hard, the pink length of his prick rousing itself at my touch. Sparse blond curls framed the base of his shaft, twisting upward toward the flared mushroom cap head. My hands aren't the softest in the world. They're pretty chapped from years of chores. Hauling hay bales and tending cattle ain't hardly the best thing you can do for your skin. But Trey didn't seem to mind, gasping aloud as my hand closed on his prick. Awkwardly, he tried thrusting his hips up against me, in an effort to force more contact. 14


"Keep your ass still!" I hissed at him. "D'you want to hurt yourself more?" He didn't reply, but relaxed back into his chair. I shouldered his left leg over, giving me easier access while avoiding his shattered right thigh. By now he was almost completely hard. His prick jumped at the first touch of my tongue, a tentative sweeping stroke over the velvety surface of his cockhead. "Oh, Mick," Trey breathed, somewhere far above me. Encouraged, I traced the edge of his flared cockhead, seeking out the sensitive spots. One thick, veiny ridge ran down the left side of his prick, and I followed that down to where it met his balls. Soft, downy fuzz covered his sac. It tickled my nose while I kissed around the base, brushed against my cheek as I slurped my way back up. Trey was breathing hard, his eyes closed. His right hand was clenched into a fist, the combative pose contrasting badly with the heavy cast, while the left curled round the armrest. "Hang on, cowboy," I murmured. "'Cause here we go." His prick fit perfectly into my mouth, sliding neatly into my throat as I slid down his length. Even now, a week away from the ranch, there was a faint taste of leather and work beyond the antiseptic hospital smell. My lips were tight on him, determined to squeeze every bit of sensation out of this moment. "Garrh..." Trey managed, wrapping his good arm around to rest his hand in my hair. His long fingers snaked into my hair, 15


twining tight. This was a man who made his living holding on—he wasn't about to lose me now. I let him drive, responding to the gentle pressure pushing my nose toward his stomach. Silky smooth on top, his prick was a network of ropy veins below, knotted up with days of tension and frustration. I flattened my tongue against them, smoothing my way from one bumpy point to the next. His balls were bumping against my chin. I slid my palm under his sac, letting my fingertips graze against the sensitive stretch just behind. "Jesus, Micky!" Trey hissed. "I'm a gonna come if you do that." That's the idea, I thought, and turned on the suction. Twisting my head slightly, I slid up his length, only to swallow him again half a moment later. Faster and faster, with my fingers rubbing and teasing against him, until his whole body tensed. "Oh, God," he half-moaned, half-cried. A flood of spunk filled my mouth, hot and bitter and salty-sweet all at once. "You all right in there, babe?" Brenda called. I heard her boots thudding against the hall floorboards, and pulled my head away, swallowing quickly. "Yeah," Trey called out. He hurriedly tucked himself back in his underpants, and was struggling to zip back up with only one hand. "Damn fool here just whacked my funny bone by accident, that's all." Brenda opened the door, her eyes full of concern. If she noticed that Trey's button was undone and his belt buckle 16


was open, she didn't say anything. "Are you sure you're okay? It's almost time for one of your pain pills anyway..." "Actually, I think I'm going to try to hold on a little longer," Trey said. Brenda's eyes widened slightly. "What with Micky gabbing away at me, here, I don't have time to think about being hurt." He grinned devilishly. "As long as he can refrain from whacking my arm, that is." "I'll try," I said. "Sometimes these things just happen." "It might be worth it," Brenda said, "just to see him smile once in a while." "That's true, you know," I said, after she'd left. "You are smiling." "Course I'm smiling." Trey shook his head. "Who wouldn't be smiling after that?" "Well, I didn't know..." "Well, neither did I, really. But I'd guessed. And then you had your fire and all..." I looked at Trey. Was he asking what I thought he was asking? I hadn't thought to tell him. There was enough on his plate as it was, and he didn't need that burden. But if he wanted to know, I had to tell him. Especially now. If that's what he was asking. I swallowed hard and looked over to see him. This wasn't going to be the easiest thing I'd ever up and said, but I couldn't look Trey in the eye and lie to him, either. But Trey wasn't looking at me. His gaze was firmly fixed on the window, bright eyes squinted against the light. 17


"Y'know," he said, still not looking at me. "When I get better, and it's time for you to rebuild, maybe it should be a little closer to our place. I'd like that." I took his hand, our calloused palms warm against each other. "I'd like that, too, Trey. I'd like it a lot."

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Part Four "I'm not sure this is what people would call a good idea," I said, helping Trey up onto his horse. That fat little mare of his had more attitude than sense, and I gave her the eye. If she picked today of all days to act up, I'd knock her clean into next week. "You're not healed up yet." "I'm not gonna be healed up," Trey replied, "for weeks and weeks yet." That was technically true. The heavier casts were off, but he still resembled a half-dressed Egyptian mummy, wrapped round every which way with bandages. "And I'm gonna go plumb crazy if I don't get out of the house." "You mean Brenda's gonna kill you." He smiled. "And I can't exactly out run her, right this minute." I sighed and swung up onto Ginger. "You do realize I've got a perfectly good pickup truck." "Yep." He nodded, adjusting his hat so the sun wouldn't slant directly into his eyes. "I've got me one of them, too." A cluck of the tongue, and his mare stepped out. "Let's get going." **** Normally, it's a twenty-minute ride out to the front end of Trey's back forty. Moving slow, the way we were, it took us the better part of an hour to make the trip. 19


Trey was sweating buckets by the time we got there. The back of his shirt was soaked clean through, clinging to his back like a second skin. "You all right, buddy?" "Yep." He'd got this way of talking now, where he didn't move his teeth none. I'd noticed he only used it when the pain was pretty damn bad. "I'm fine." "You don't look fine." "I missed the bit where you got the doctoring license." He glared at me. "You'll have to remind me." "Trey..." We were headed for a big old dust-up, the kind of argument sure to take the stuffing out of both of us before I up and won it. But then things had to go and get interesting. I don't blame the mare. Most horses would have danced around a little bit when Mama Coyote came charging out of the sage brush, hell-bent for leather. And knowing her skittish nature, I'm not surprised she bolted. It did kind of startle me when she cleared Trey's gate—fat as she is, you wouldn't think she had it in her. I wasn't surprised to see Trey still on her back, hauling hard on those reins and cussing up one side and down the other. It just seemed natural that he'd be there—after all, if some mighty determined bulls couldn't put him down, there's no way a saddle mare should be able to do it. The fact that he was pretty well busted up from boots to hat had sort of slipped my mind. I reckon it slipped Trey's mind, too, as he wrestled the skittish horse back under control. They'd gone a good 20


distance before he got her head turned. She slowed down somewhat, finally getting them feet of hers under control. "God damn, Trey," I called over the gate. "You were supposed to be taking it easy." He looked up at me and smiled. "I was, wasn't I?" Then those pretty blue eyes rolled up in his skull. He wavered in place for a moment and then fell off. Hard. **** "I can't believe you!" Brenda was fit to be tied. I don't think the nurses at the medical center blamed her much, although you could tell they wished she'd quiet down. "You were just about better, and you had to up and go this." "Babe..." Trey began. "Don't you 'Babe' me!" She had both hands balled into fists, and for half a second I was worried she was going to coldcock Trey. She must have thought about it, too, and realized it wasn't the best idea she'd ever had, because that's when she turned on me. "And you! You of all people should have known better than to let him get on a horse." "Brenda, when have I ever let or not let Trey do anything?" We were nose to nose, her angry eyes burning right into my own. That was a killing look on that little girl's face, but I can't say that I blame her much. On some level, she was right. If she needed to pound on me some to prove it, well, I was there. "He's his own man, he's gonna do what he's gonna do." 21


We were frozen then, caught up in our pain and hurt and injured frustration. No telling what was going to happen, but I'll tell you this: I was six kinds of glad when the doctor walked in. "Trey may be his own man," the surgeon said. "But if he keeps this up, he's going to be his own man in a wheelchair." "Who the hell are you?" Trey growled, responding well, as ever, to authority. "I want Doc Jacobs." "Doctor Jacobs called me in," the surgeon continued, holding out his hand. "I'm Dr. Seamus Stone, and I might be the only man in these parts who can save you now."

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Part Five After the dinner carts go round the hospital, things quiet down considerable. Room lights are switched off, one after the other, until all you've got is the blue-gray glow of a dozen television sets and the quiet rustle of night watch nurses going about their business. Brenda had left hours ago, sent away with her mother and a stiff shot of sedative. It was just me and Trey, sitting in the dark, airless confines of his room. I thought he was sleeping, but still I sat there, watching the green display of the monitor keep track of his vital signs. Might have helped some if I knew what I was looking at, but I didn't. Still, there was comfort to be had, I reckoned, in the fact that everything seemed stable and consistent. Numbers didn't fluctuate much, and that green line kept spiking upwards in the same places as it crawled across the narrow screen. It was almost soothing, almost enough to lull me off to sleep despite the fact that I was sprawled in the hardest plastic chair to be found outside of a bus depot. Then Trey spoke up, his words small in the darkness. "Mick." "Yeah, Trey?" "I need you to promise me something." "What's that?"

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I could hear him swallowing, hear the fear being pushed down into his stomach. "If this surgery thing don't work out right, you've got to promise me." "Promise you what?" "I need you to make sure I don't come out of this place like that." He shook his head, forcing it deeper into the pillow. "In a chair forever, two legs that don't work." His voice dropped further, but I could still hear it. "Crippled." "Don't be stupid." The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. "That's not gonna happen. You've got a good doctor." "He's a prick." "That may be," I agreed. His bedside manner was not one of Seamus Stone's strong points. "But if Doc Jacob sent him, that means he's the best." "You got to promise me." His voice broke, then, in the darkness, and I was grateful I couldn't see him. Trey wouldn't want me to see the tears. "If I got to end it, you'll help me." "Trey..." "Just bring me the gun. I'll do the rest." "You do that, you best leave one bullet in that gun." It was my turn to tear up, then. "For me." A long pause then, when our silence was all there was, wrapped round us like a blanket. I was staring at the window, willing a view to appear in the narrow slats between the venetian blinds, when Trey finally spoke. "Fucking A, Micky." "I know." His hand was dry in mine, the grip firm. "I know." 24


**** Every decent hospital's got a long waiting room, where healthy folk can walk the floor while they wait for them that ain't feeling so good to come out of surgery. This hospital was no different, but that room was right filled up with Brenda, who only stopped crying long enough to glare at me like I was the devil's own son. I had to get out of there, away from those accusatory eyes. Guilt's bad enough, and I was carrying a double load, what with letting Trey go out for the ride in the first place ... and being in love with her man. Cowboy boots don't sit right on carpet, anyway. I left the waiting area behind and took to pacing the long tiled expanse of the hallway. Two hundred and fourteen steps one way, two hundred and fourteen back. Two hundred and fourteen opportunities to make me a little old deal with the man upstairs. "God, you let Trey come out of this all right, and I'll own up to what I did." I can't imagine that God was too pleased with the untimely death of all them cattle, although the rational part of me kept insisting that they were going to wind up cooked one way or the other. "I'll do the time. I'll pay back the money." "I'll even walk away from Trey, if that's what you want me to do. If I got to give him up for him to be okay, God, that's what I'll do." "Son, the Lord don't work that way." 25


I whirled around—it was step number one hundred seventy four—to find myself eye to eye with a preacher man. "You can't cut a deal with the Lord, son, as much as you might want to." Deep brown eyes were kind, but firm. "He don't negotiate." "I appreciate that." I shook my head. "But I really don't know what else to do." "None of us do." He shook his head. "If we knew what we were doing, don't you think we'd be a damn sight better at doing it?" I laughed, more bitterly than I'd intended. "You'd think." "Turn it over to the man upstairs." The preacher man was on his way somewhere else, that was clear enough, but he wasn't about to leave until he'd had his say. "Ain't nothing we can do, cowboy." He frowned. "You can't get sick enough to make your boy better. You can't feel enough pain to take his away. You understand what I'm saying?" I didn't, then. But Mama didn't raise me in no barn. "Yes, sir, and thank you." "I'll pray for you, son." He tipped his head, and half raised his fingers. "You and yours." **** That little meeting calmed me down somewhat. Helped me get my boots back under me, and put some steel into my spine. I walked back into the waiting room, sat down opposite Brenda. "No word yet?" 26


She shook her head. "Nope." Brenda looked up, her eyes watery. "Micky, I don't know if I can do this." "We've got to do what we've got to do, Bren." Half of me thought about taking her hand. The other half decided against it. "Me, you. Trey." She snorted. "Trey's the one who does what he has to," Brenda said. The words had a real bitter edge to them. "Rest of us just deal with the consequences." "That's not fair, and you know it." "Lots of things ain't fair." That angry fire was still burning in her eyes, even though she'd banked it low. She jerked her head toward the operating room door. "Ain't fair what happened to Trey. Ain't fair that I signed on with a man and wound up with a cripple. Ain't fair that your best friend was born a man and not a woman. Or vice versa." I looked up something sharp then. "What? You think I'm blind?" "I think you're going where you ain't got no need to go." "Really?" I looked at her then, as steady as I could. The bile was clawing its way up and out of my stomach, scratching acid trails along my throat. I could feel all the muscles in my back locking up, stiff with the lying. "Really." "Mick Smithson?" It was a nurse, wrapped round in pea green scrubs. "Yeah?" "You need to come on in here. Trey's asking for you." 27


Brenda stood up then, angrily jerking her purse up from the floor. She glared at me and walked herself right the hell out of the hospital. Out of the hospital and out of Trey's life, although I didn't find that out 'til later.

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Part Six Trey was flat on his back in the middle of the bed, looking smaller than I'd ever seen him. Tubes were running every which way, tracing over him like insane macramé. His eyes were closed, and that chest of his was rising and falling real, real slow. "Trey?" I looked at the nurse, who nodded. I sat down next to the bed, and took his hand. "I'm here, buddy." "I'm gonna need you," he drawled, words still thick with anesthesia, "to go get me that gun." "We should have removed that sense of melodrama when we took out the bone fragments." That was Doctor Stone, his arms crossed in front of his narrow chest. "I didn't spend the morning patching you up just to have you do yourself in, cowboy." "Might as well have." I looked up at the doctor. "What's he talking about?" I glanced down toward his legs. They looked fine to me, but I'm not a doctor. "Trey's strong. I expect him to make a recovery—in time." Doctor Stone's face was set. "That's more than most people who undergo this type of injury can expect." "A recovery?" I shook my head. "Not a full recovery?" "He'll walk." The doctor looked hard at me. "You've got to understand what that means. How lucky Trey is." "But?"

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"But no more bull riding." The doctor shook his head. "One miracle per customer. This happens again, there's no fixing it. He's got to stay out of the ring." "Like I said," Trey slurred. "Go get me that gun." **** I followed the doctor out into the hallway. "Did you have to tell him then?" Every inch of me wanted to slam that pompous prick up into the wall, make him see reason. "It couldn't wait?" The doctor turned around and looked at me. He'd aged five years in five steps, somehow. "Normally, I would have. Normally, I wouldn't have said anything." He shook his head. "But there isn't anything normal about that man of yours." His eyes drifted over to the waiting room where Brenda had been earlier. "The way he cried out for you—when he's got a pretty little girl waiting on him? Sad." **** Walking through the recovery room was like strolling through the florist's shop. There were bouquets everywhere, balloons bobbling overhead with cheery get well messages. And then you reached Trey's bed. The nurses had tried to do right by him, with the curtains pulled back so he could see the traffic going by. His cowboy hat was just off to one side, sitting proud on the nightstand table. "Hey." There was no answer. 30


"Chores are done." Brenda had up and took all of her things and one of the pickups, but I didn't reckon this was the time to mention that. Still no answer. I sat down so he couldn't help but see me. "And no, before you ask, I didn't bring the gun." He turned his head away. "Trey, you're gonna walk out of this hospital. On your own two feet." "Big deal." "That is a big deal. It's more than most people do. You heard the doc." "I am not," Trey replied, each word measured, "most people." "Which means what?" I stood up, my boots thudding heavily on the tile floor as I stalked round the other side of the bed. "That since you can't ride bulls no more, life's not worth living? You're gonna up and give up just like that?" His eyes were bright as bright could be, even though he was too damn stubborn to let the tears fall. "Sounds about right." "You're not the first one to ever get hurt this bad." "And what did the rest of 'em do?" If Trey was up and moving, he'd be pacing the floor now, jabbing the air with an angry fist. "Charlie drank hisself to death, you know that. And Ray Daniels died within the year." "Ray Daniels died in a plane crash." I leaned forward and dropped my voice so the whole damn ward didn't hear what I 31


had to say. "And Charlie was a drunk a long time before he ever got hurt and you know that, too." "Maybe I do know that." Trey shrugged and turned his head away again. "But I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do without the rodeo." Another long trek around the bed. If he hadn't of been hurting, I would have jumped on him, made him look at me. "Who said anything about giving up the rodeo?" "You heard what the doc said..." "That doctor ain't no cowboy."

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Part Seven "Look at him!" Trey laughed as the little calf staggered to his feet. "Not even five minutes old and he's already got attitude." "He gets that from his mother," I replied. I had my favorite cows among the breeding herd we were building, but Bossie, the one who'd just given birth, was not one of them. "She's a pain in the ass." "Still," Trey replied, "I hope he takes after his Daddy." "Let's hope so." The calf's daddy, Blue Boy Brigade, had been our first bull to hit the big time, consistently turning in ninety-plus point rounds and making superstars out of some of Trey's best buds from his days on the circuit. "We could use a couple more like that." The calf, having gained his feet and suffered long enough under his mother's raspy tongue, pranced around to her udder and butted a demanding head in there. "Drink up, little buddy." Trey grinned at the cow like he was the proud father. "You did good, Mama, real good." "Hey," I said, "Save some of that affection for me. She just had to get knocked up. I had to do all the work!" Artificial insemination, in case any of you all were wondering, is nowhere near as fun as it might sound. It'd taken me the better part of an afternoon to get Bossie in a family way—an afternoon that had seen me knocked flat on my ass more often than not.

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"And I do appreciate it, partner." Trey let the last word drawl out until it was an endearment. "More than you can imagine." "Oh, I don't know, cowboy." I let my eyes slide sideways until they caught the edge of his grin. "I can imagine quite a bit." **** What had I imagined, all those days before? Before Trey's accident? When I'd never touched Trey? When just the thought of putting my hands on him was enough to get me through too many lonely nights? Whatever it was, it fell short by comparison with the real thing. The taste of Trey's mouth was a revelation, a marvel of heat and want, strength running side by side with need. I'd never even contemplated what it would feel like to feel five o'clock shadow, the burnished spray of fine wire, under my lips, nor what the corded muscles of his neck would feel like against my tongue. The taut expanse of his chest I had imagined, but without knowing how sensitive Trey was. How could I imagine the shudder the merest brush of my fingertips across his nipples would cause, the way he shook like a fly-stung horse when my tongue traced a passageway between pectoral muscles? Who knew that the skin on his abdomen would feel like silk? Soft yet resilient, pliable under my fingers, every inch a new discovery? 34


I'd failed to conceive of the little hollow formed between hipbone and thigh, almost too small to notice but oh-soresponsive to a probing tongue. And I have to admit, to my eternal shame, that I'd never thought on what Trey would sound like. Nowhere in my most inspired imaginings would you find the symphony of sighs, groans, and moans that Trey was capable of, much less the elaborate strings of profanity he'd wheel out when everything was perfect. "Jesus Christ on a cracker, Micky," he'd groan, angling his hips upward to push deeper into my mouth. "That's the most motherfucking amazing thing I've ever felt!" His hands, long used to clinging to a narrow, braided rope for survival, tended to substitute the back of my neck for that purpose. His fingers would close round me like a steel vise, locked on for the duration, bruising his way through bliss. "Don't let go," he'd pant, repeating himself as he moved closer to the edge. "Don't let go of me..." As if I had any intention. Now that I had him, I wasn't ever letting go. **** Rodeo people are good people. Sure, there may have been a few raised eyebrows when Trey came back without Brenda and with me, but seeing as we weren't talking about it, they didn't either. Most commentary centered on the fact that Trey'd flipped—gone from riding the bulls to breeding them. It's not as uncommon as you might think, but it ain't the most regular thing in the world either. Bull breeding's a closed world, one 35


where families control the most potent bloodlines going, sometimes for generations. You know how much that matters when you've got one good bull? Not a bit. Rodeo may be a lot of things, but when you get to the end of the day, the proof is in the pudding. A cowboy's got it, or he don't. A bull can whip round right pretty and plant a cowboy in the dirt, or he can't. Once we hit with Blue Boy Brigade, we were set. We'd proven that we could run with the big boys, supplying the rodeo with the biggest, baddest bulls anybody'd ever seen. It should have been enough. It was enough. Until some goddamn fool had to open his mouth.

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Part Eight It started out simple enough. Stock auction. We'd gone down to look over a couple of heifers rumored to have some of Blueberry Wine's vintage running through their veins when we saw him. He was Tucker—ugly ass little bull, with a face that looked like it'd been batted in by a shovel. Broad flat nose, beady little eyes, polled horns. He was shit brown, not pretty enough to draw the camera nor win the cowgirl's hearts. Didn't matter. He had something better than looks. He was the Mount Everest of bulls—completely unridable. No cowboy had stayed on his back for more than a handful of seconds, and when they came off, they came off hard. Tucker'd be there waiting for them, hooves churning up the dirt and killing on his mind. Rodeo clowns from here to Calgary were already saying his name with that little tinge of awe in their voice. T'wasn't often that the devil came with four hooves, after all. He was dangerous, no doubt about it. That's why he was up for sale: breeder's wife came too close to losing her baby boy to Tucker's hooves one careless afternoon, and that was all she wrote. Bull went up on the block or Mama was gonna take care of business herself. The tale was already legendary: after all, how often do million-dollar bulls go on sale? None of that should have mattered, save for a mess of fool cowboys. We weren't there to buy bulls, and Tucker was going to be well beyond what we could afford anyway. But them bastards couldn't leave well enough alone. 37


**** "Just because no one's done it yet doesn't mean no one can." Easy words to say when you're twenty and haven't broken anything more impressive than an arm. Trey nodded. "True enough," he said with a smile. "But I don't think you're the one to change that." "And why's that?" Trey responded by reeling off the long list of bulls that had put the young man down. "And none of them are half the animal Tucker is." "Like you could do any better." "I have done better." "Big words." The young one walked away, laughing with his friends. "From an old man." It was the laughter that did it. Derision has this way of sliding into place, just along side the base of your spine and crowding its foul self upwards until it chases out all of the good sense. "You know, Micky, I've been feeling pretty good." We'd bought one of the two heifers, and had just finished pushing her into the trailer. A long ride home lay ahead of us. "Probably as healed up as I'm ever gonna be." "Yeah." I looked at him sideways, watched him walk the narrow aisle to climb the stockyard gate. "That's good." Trey was watching Tucker. "I miss it, Micky." "I know." That damn bull's hooves were as big around as dinner plates, churning up the dirt with every step. "But the doctor said..." 38


"I don't give a good goddamn what the doctor said." His eyes were bright on mine. "That doctor's not a cowboy." That was easily the longest ride home we'd ever taken, what with me choking on my words and Trey not saying nothing. We'd made it a little more than halfway when I broke. "What are you thinking, Trey?" I looked at him, drinking in his dark profile, searching for clues that would let me know what he was thinking. "Are you really going to start riding again?" "Thinking about it." His mouth was tight. "But I don't know." "What's to know? You do it 'til you hit one bad bump." I was looking away now, watching the horizon unfold. "Then you don't do nothing, no more." "How is that different from how it was before?" Trey shrugged. "All it took was one bad bump then, and I was done for. All it'll take is one bad bump now." "That's not true!" I exploded. Good thing they make steering wheels out of metal, else I would have snapped ours off at that point. "And you know it. Before, you could walk away from a bad bump. Now you know you won't be." "I don't know that." Trey wasn't looking at me either. "That's just what the doctor said." "And why would he lie?" Trey shrugged. "He don't like bull riders. He don't like gays." His gaze slid over to mine. "You told me that yourself." "You can't possibly tell me that you're thinking on riding again based on the fact that maybe the doctor spun you a line 39


of shit because he didn't like us being together." I was so angry that spit was flying from my mouth, splattering all over the inside of the windshield. "That's stupid! Doctors don't act like that." "Some do." Apparently, Trey had become an expert on physician behavior when I wasn't looking. "Anyway, I didn't say I was gonna do it. I just said I was thinking about it."

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Part Nine "I cannot believe you!" Absence hadn't made my heart much fonder, nor had it done much for Brenda's voice. Still shrill, still grating, still demanding. "You were damn lucky last time, Trey!" No response, merely the clicking of protective gear buckles sliding into place. "This time you might not make it. This time, you're gonna come off of that bull dead. Or worse." "Hi, Brenda." Trey smiled. "Nice of you to stop by." His eyes narrowed. "Now why don't you fuck off?" He waved his arm toward the gangway. "You peeled out of my life fast enough when I needed you. You ain't got no call coming back now when I don't." "You've never needed me," she shot back. "You've got Micky. But if he ain't man enough to stand up to you and tell you not to do this, then I'm gonna. What about your mama, Trey? Does she know you're riding again?" "I reckon she knows," Trey said, "Or that you'll be telling her soon enough." Trey shook his head. "But she's not going to stop me, and neither are you." Brenda tried tears. "I do care about you, you know. I just don't want you to get hurt." It didn't work. Trey simply turned his attention elsewhere, blocking her out. Brenda recognized it—she'd lived with him long enough, after all, to realize when the doors were closing—and turned her attention to me. 41


"Micky! You've got to stop him." She leaned forward, dropping her voice. "If you love him as much as I think you do, then you know he can't be doing this." "Brenda," I said, my tone as normal as could be and flat as I could make it. "I do love him. Probably even more than you think I do." I looked her right in the eyes. "And you know what? It doesn't matter. He's gonna do what he's gonna do." I noticed Trey looking over at us then, out of the corner of his eye. "The only difference is that when it goes bad, Brenda, I'm gonna still be here. I aim to help him pick up the pieces." **** The first round had been brutal. Twice as many cowboys had gone down as had stayed on, into dirt that was more than halfway gone into mud. Two of our own bulls had turned in decent performances, including one little roan butterball that had earned his thousand-dollar bonus. But I couldn't enjoy our triumph. Not yet, not when I knew what was coming. Trey had turned in a decent first round performance, pulling down 91 points and a standing ovation from a knowledgeable crowd that remembered him from back in the day. The rodeo clowns had made a big point of embracing him in the middle of the ring, welcoming him back to the game. That's when I knew I'd lost him, lost him to the adrenaline and the camaraderie, lost him to that crazed band of brothers that likes to dance with death under the bright spotlights. 42


Then the draws went up. I looked at the board and swallowed. Trey was gonna be thrilled. The man I loved more than life itself, the light of my life and the reason I burned my own ranch down, was going up first. And he'd be riding Tucker. **** You never see this part on TV—not on OLN, not on the Rodeo Network. There are some things even the cameras respect. "You know he drops low first and goes left," one cowboy said. He was older than dirt and spent every waking moment now glued to a monitor, scrutinizing the bulls. "Last two times, he looked to stumble, but then recovered at the last minute. I think he's faking." "He rolls his ass end, too, up and left." "Watch for the spin." "When you come off, go right. He always turns left first, and if you're there, he'll get you." They surrounded Trey, quiet and respectful. Something sacred happens just outside the ring, before each and every ride. You might have to be a cowboy to see it, but it's there. Men who are competitors—who would happily give up their kidneys if it would buy them some points in the standings— come together in a brotherhood. All divisions disappear before this, the more primal conflict: when man faces bull, it becomes something larger: all men, all bulls.

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Trey listened. He let the attendants check his vest, hand over the helmet that he wore now, only now, because I'd begged him to. He climbed up in the chute and looked down at Tucker's broad back. There, bundled up in the coarsest of leathers, was a ton of death, just waiting for him. He smiled, and settled in. Tucker's a dancer—he flung around a bit, trying to pin Trey's legs up against the chute. But my lover was wise to this oldest of tricks, pulling his boots up at just the right moment. "You've got to let them beat themselves up," he'd told me. "Gets them worked up. You get a better ride that way." From the looks of it, he was in for a doozy. The little shit brown bull had himself whipped into a frenzy, plunging up and down inside the chute. Tucker was barely kept in line by shouting cowboys and well-placed boots to the head. The rope—his only connection with Tucker—was twisted tight, wrapped snugly over and around and through his grip. Then it was time. Anticipation can only hold so long. In what will always be the longest moments of my life, in the split second before the gate swung open, Trey looked over at me, eyes shining bright. And I, God help me, gave him the nod. Then I closed my eyes.

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Part Ten That's when things got a little screwy. A lot of things should have happened at that point. There should have been a loud buzzer and the scream of the crowd. Instead, there was silence—a long, weighty, puzzled silence. I opened my eyes, just in time to hear the first scattered bursts of applause, from here and there around the ring. And to see Trey climbing up and out of the chute. **** "What happened?" I rushed over to him, elbowing the camera crew out of the way. "Are you okay?" "Never been better, actually." Trey smiled at the cameras and gave them a little wave. "Let's go somewhere private and discuss it." **** The official story is that just as Trey sat down, he had a back spasm. The pain was enough to pull him off of the bull, and he took it as a sign to hang up his spurs forever. The truth is somewhat different—and I've got to admit I like it better. **** "So I was sitting there," Trey said, pushing his hair back from his face with one swoop of his hand. "And thinking what the hell am I doing? What am I trying to prove?" 45


"I thought I'd asked you that." Trey laughed, and took a quick kiss. "You did. A couple of times." His arms slid around me, hands possessively cupping my ass. "If I recall correctly." "So what changed your mind?" I could feel him hardening against me. "Not that I'm complaining, you understand." "You want the good answer or the true answer?" "Both, eventually." I looked him right in the eye, and couldn't help but laugh. He looked just like a little kid with his hand in the cookie jar. "Seeing as it's the good answer I'll have to pass around." It was my turn to claim a kiss now, and maybe grind against him, just a bit. "But tell me the true answer first." "It kind of hit me sitting there that if I went down wrong, I'd more than lose my legs." Trey grinned at me. "I'd lose sensation. I wouldn't be able to feel..." His words drifted off only to be replaced with a furious blush. "Nothing important." I let my hand drop and cupped that nothing important in my palm. "You mean this? You wouldn't be able to feel this?" The gentle squeeze I used to emphasize my words wasn't strictly necessary, probably, but I did it just the same. Trey groaned. "That's not all. I wouldn't be able to feel when you do that thing you do." "Which thing is that?" He melted against me, lips hot against my ear. "With your mouth, Micky. The thing you do with your mouth. To me." "Let me get this straight." I pulled my head back. "Are you trying to say that you're giving up bull riding for blow jobs?" 46


"Not just any blow jobs." Trey looked affronted. "I've had blow jobs before, you know. But yours are special." "They are?" He blushed again. "Well, because it's you and all..." "Hmm." I kissed him. "You are such a romantic." "I've got my moments," he grinned. "Because of you." "What can I say? I'm inspirational and all that." I quipped, tightening my grip just a bit. "But if we can stop gabbing for a minute, I could maybe do that thing I do," I said, sliding to my knees. That was the nice thing about this particular arena—they had a surplus of meeting rooms with locking doors. A man could make his point without any worry about being interrupted. "Wouldn't want you changing your mind and all." "No danger of that," Trey said a few minutes later, sliding his fingers through my hair. He gasped, letting his grip tighten and pulling my hair a full half inch longer. "No danger of that at all." **** "I don't know what you said to him," Brenda said, cornering me outside of the concession stand, "But I'm glad you did." "It wasn't anything, Bren. Really." I looked at my boots and swallowed. There comes a time when a cowboy might have to own up to words he'd rather not have said. "Listen, about what I said earlier..." "Don't worry about it." She shrugged. "What's done is done and we can't undo it." She nodded up toward the stands 47


where her new beau waited his turn to dance with death. "I've moved on." "I'm glad." She reached out and patted my hand. "Me, too, Micky. Me, too." One turn, and she was gone into the crowd, just in time for Trey to join me. "What was that all about?" "She wanted to know how I talked you out of riding." "What'd you tell her?" "That no one can talk you out of anything." Trey nodded, satisfied. "That's true enough." "But that a good blow job goes a long way toward changing a cowboy's mind." Trey blushed scarlet, looking around desperately to see who'd overheard. He didn't seem much relieved to realize that there weren't many people close by, none of whom were paying any mind to us. "You did not say that!" I laughed. "Okay, maybe I didn't." I nodded up toward the stands. "Want to go up and grab a seat, watch the rest of the short round?" "Nah." Trey shook his head. "Let's go down to the yard, see what's for sale. Maybe we could find something interesting to bring home. Then the trip won't be a total loss." "It wasn't that anyway," I replied, following him down to the holding pens. "Not at all." "So you won't mind coming home with a heifer instead of a belt buckle?"

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I took a chance and laced my fingers through his. "Long as I come home with a cowboy, this cowboy," I said, squeezing his hand, "I don't give a shit about anything else." "Me, too, babe." Those eyes of his are something, even now. They say more with a twinkle, more with a gleam, than the most eloquent cowboy poetry going. "Me, too."

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