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Chapter Nine
Four weeks sped by.
I shouldn’t have been that surprised about the speeding up of time. Being caught up in the manic, lusty bands of a hurricane named “New Romance” tended to make a day seem like a moment. June had arrived with a bloom of wildflowers and the heady rush of an eager, dominant lover in my bed every morning. We’d given up the pretext of pretending to be just friends after the first week that we’d become lovers. Everyone on the ranch knew we were dating thanks to Perry, who still tiptoed around me after I’d chewed him out for spreading gossip about the ranch foreman.
It was a unique experience, odd and yet delightful, to wake up and find Bishop sprawled out beside me, and Bane usually curled up by our heads. Most days we would cuddle. Some mornings we’d fuck or suck each other off. I’d discovered that Bishop loved waking up to find his dick in my mouth. We’d enjoy each other’s bodies then shower together, touching and whispering soft secretive things. I’d cook breakfast. Bishop would read something scientific, his sexy glasses resting on his nose. I’d learned more about paleontology than I’d ever wanted to but hearing him ramble on about a new discovery of a Diplodocus or rant over some new controversial paper in one of his fossilist journals was making up for decades of loneliness. I was enthralled with my young lover yet terrified of what would become of us once winter set in. They couldn’t dig once snow started to fly, and he was expected to be back on campus by the middle of August anyway to start teaching. He was crazy excited about his Therapod Dinosaurs and the Evolution of Birds class. He’d already begun working on the class syllabus. We had two months of coming awake wound around each other and then…
Well, then we didn’t know. The college was only a few hours away, but we’d not delved into the subject. It rankled me not to know, that wasn’t how I ran my life. I was a planner. Bishop was more of a “let’s see where the next wave takes us” sort of man. So while it bothered me, I didn’t push for fear of shoving him out of my life. It had been years since I’d experienced this kind of tender intimacy, and it was too divine to ruin with insecurity.
“…is why I tend not to rush into making a definite call about the sex of a find.” He took a swig of coffee as I tended to the mushroom and cheese omelet I was preparing. “Sure, you can look at the upper hind limb bones and make an educated guess, but there are other factors that can negate using bone length and weight as a conclusive means of sexing a dinosaur. While sexual dimorphism is prevalent in the animal kingdom, I agree with the scientists who are now saying that using something like gharials to determine sex is just too difficult to determine sex from the skeletal remains alone. Unless you find an incredibly well preserved specimen with eggs still in the oviduct, I’d stop rushing to conclusions.”
“But you called your trike Millicent,” I pointed out as I slid the fluffy omelet onto a platter then carried it to the island.
“True,” he said as he looked up from his phone, his blue eyes glittering with the joy of dino talk as he peeked over his glasses at me. “But that was based on my intuitive self and feeling a feminine vibe from the animal. Also, since I was called out by my students, I will now choose only non-binary names and let the science speak for itself.”
“Do you want me to run you out to the dig site before I head to the airport to pick up Landon?” I hoisted myself up into a stool, his knee and mine touching.
“Nope, I’m going to ride that pinto horse Perry is so keen on.” I shot him a look of utter disbelief. He peeked at me then sniggered. “What?”
“Ride the mare who just foaled four weeks ago? As if Perry would allow that to happen. He’s spent the last month in the stables with her and her colt in case they need him for anything.”
He pulled off his glasses, stuffed them into the front pocket of his board shorts, and leveled a serious look at me.
“How long do you have to wait to ride a new mommy horse?” He cut the omelet on the platter in half then lifted his half to his plate.
“Okay just stop. You know the proper terms.”
“I do, but seeing you bristle up is so damn cute.”
“Hmm. Cute. Yes, that’s me. Generally, it’s advised not to ride a mare for six to eight weeks after she foals. If the birth was difficult it could be longer.”
“Can I ride the foal? She seems nice enough and not looking to rip off a man’s fingers.”
“Give it a few years and maybe. For now if you want to ride I’ll gladly saddle up Jezzy. Landon’s a new rider, and he’s very comfortable on her.” The Palomino mare was the perfect horse for a person who was nervous around equines.
“I’m not quite there yet. Maybe before we pull up stakes and take our last shipment of fossils to the lab I’ll work up the courage to get on a horse. I did pet that bison that you rode yesterday.”
“He’s not that big,” I replied automatically although it was a lie. He was a big gelding, standing nearly eighteen hands, which was on the tall side for a quarter horse.
“He’s massive. And surly just like his owner.” I smiled a bit and got a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll take the four-wheeler that Kyle’s brother fixed up for me.”
Will, yes. He’d arrived recently and so far, he had been stirring the pot whenever he could. Perry had gotten him settled in the bunkhouse with the rest of the hands much to Will’s chagrin. Perhaps he thought he’d be bunking with Kyle in a single cabin much like mine. Kyle was my number one as it were and had earned a small home of his own. But Kyle had directed his hellion of a younger brother to the bunkhouse as was fitting a hand. His first night there’d been a minor disturbance between the rowdy nineteen-year-old newcomer and one of the other older hands. Guess Will had to learn his lessons the hard way. Being told not to touch the other hands’ stuff hadn’t been quite enough warning. So when he’d been caught with Martin Bird Tail’s book, a small skirmish broke out. While Martin was only a few years older, he was much bigger. Perry broke up the fight before it got too gnarly, and Will Abbott walked away with a bloody nose and new respect for the Shoshone-Arapahoe men he was bunking with.
Life was full of them kind of bloodied nose life lessons.
* * *
I metmy employer and his husband a little after ten in the morning at Jackson Hole Airport. I was running a little late as I’d spent an hour searching for various socket sets to continue fixing my mangled four-wheeler. I’d padded around the equipment barn, cussing and calling myself a forgetful old man as I searched high and low. There was not a socket to be found. I’d just used them a few days ago to remove the crumpled front grill. Perhaps one of the men had taken them somewhere to work on something. So when I’d left the ranch I’d already been fit to be tied and running late.
When Landon and Montrell arrived in the terminal both of them were glowing and relaxed. They’d taken an extra two weeks to go to Sweden so Landon could play in a charity hockey game with a bunch of other retired players. A few names I knew but many not. Hockey wasn’t my chosen sport, that would be football.
As soon as we pulled away from the airport the boss dove right into shop talk.
“Okay, so I want to know exactly what’s happening at the ranch and don’t sugarcoat it,” Landon said leaning up as far as he could with the seatbelt across his chest. His long legs were jammed under the dash and Montrell was squished between us looking quite uncomfortable.
I tipped my hat back a bit as we waited to exit the airport parking lot. Montrell began humming along to “Alberta Bound” playing on the stereo while Landon waited for a reply.
“I haven’t sugarcoated anything. We had some trouble with poachers once, nothing since. The sheriff’s office has come up with nothing solid and will probably close the case soon.”
