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"Asshole. " Thomas shoved at his chest and Marcus laughed, let himself be pushed away. He lay on his back quietly then, watching Thomas draw his jeans back on, zip them up. His farm boy negligently left the top button open as something in the sketch pads caught his attention. He hopped one-legged toward them, putting on his shoe, grabbing up his pencil. Marcus swiftly moved to retrieve his wineglass from the sure punt it would have experienced, since Thomas paid no attention to what was between him and his goal.
"Use me for sex and then you're done with me. " He murmured it, though, not wanting to distract Thomas' concentration. He dressed, found Thomas' shirt, folded it and added it to the pack of their belongings.
When he turned to survey the scenery of the lower level of the field they were in, he found himself eye to eye with another occupant of the same meadow.
"Thomas. "
Thomas glanced back, half irritably, and then did a double take. "Where did they come from?"
"I haven't the faintest idea. I think we were a bit distracted when they arrived. " The large black and gray male goat, complete with curved horns and a shaggy long coat, considered Marcus with an interested eye, or rather his books. He began to nibble at the edge of one.
"Hey, quit that. " When Marcus raised a hand to shove him away, Thomas made a quick warning noise.
"Not a good idea to push around a male goat. Just take it away, don't push at his face. He'll take that as an invitation to butt heads with you. " Marcus heard the laughter in his lover's voice. "And as hard as your head is, I still suspect you'll lose. "
"Oh, geez. What is that stench?"
"Him. Male goats piss on their own faces to make themselves more attractive to females. "
"You made that up. "
"Did not. " Thomas came to his side and gazed down the slope past their tree where the rest of the herd, about twenty-five females and a few kids, late summer arrivals, were alternately grazing or studying the two men. Marcus was easing away from the male goat, giving him a baleful look as the goat continued to root at him. His lips captured a piece of shirt and Marcus pulled back.
"This shirt costs way more than they get for goat meat, you pushy bastard," he pointed out. The goat stepped forward, making a guttural noise followed by a snort.
"Thomas - "
"Is that panic I hear in the great Marcus Stanton's voice?" Thomas touched his back and burst out laughing when Marcus jumped as if jolted by electricity. "You didn't seem at all intimidated by Kate. "
"She was a cow. I know cows. Pigs. Chickens. Goats are. . . not supposed to be this bloody big. His fricking head reaches my chest. "
"It's all right. I'll protect you. " With a droll look, Thomas dipped his hand and squeezed his buttock.
"I am so going to kick your ass in about ten seconds. "
"If the goat doesn't scare you into scampering back to the car. "
"What the hell are you doing in this field?"
When they both turned, Marcus noted that Thomas automatically took a step in front of him. Though to Marcus' way of thinking the goat posed more of a threat than the man, it still gave him an odd feeling to see Thomas do it so instinctively. Enough that he quelled the urge to shoulder him aside for the same reason.
They were quite obviously facing the farmer and caretaker of the goats, for a group of the herd began to move up the hill at the sound of his voice, their steps quickening as if expecting he would be bringing them something interesting to eat. The male goat pushed past Marcus as if he weren't there, making him jump again and leaving a malodorous wake that had his eyes watering.
The man was heavy set, in his fifties, wearing jeans stained with straw and dirt.
There was a once white undershirt under his open unbuttoned shirt. His eyes were suspicious.
"We're sorry, sir. " Thomas turned and scooped up his sketch pads, drawing them under his arm and extending a hand. "I'm Thomas Wilder, and this is Marcus Stanton.
I'm an artist. We're visiting the area and I'd picked this spot out for sketch work because of the view. It's beautiful land. "
The man studied the extended hand, didn't take it. "Well, you're trespassing. Get off my land the way you came. If I come back here in ten minutes and find you, I'll call the police. " His gaze moved deliberately to the mussed blanket, the picnic basket.
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"What you do in Boston or whatever big city you came from is your business, but I don't want it happening on my property. "
"Well, you didn't have a rest area available for us to molest teenage boys," Marcus said, his jaw tightening.
