AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Huh. I didn’t know that about him. Guess there was a lot I didn’t know about Shep. The biggest being that he was gay, tasted like tomato soup, and I was still hungry.
“Wow. What do you take pictures of?” I asked, then scolded myself for sounding like an oaf. “Never mind. I’m sure you take pictures of animals and famous places.”
“Sometimes, but mostly landscapes and slices of life imagery. That was my plan after graduating. I was going to come home, get my trust fund, which I’d been told I would inherit when I was twenty-five, tell my brothers that I was gay and going to live with Lionel in Africa.” He snorted derisively. “Lionel was going to work for the national parks over there and I was going to take pictures for National Geographic.”
“Sounds nice. I’ve never been to Africa. Always wanted to go see elephants and cheetahs in their natural habitats.”
A soft smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “It’s a magical land. You should go sometime.”
“So what happened? I have to guess that you never told them about Lionel and Africa since they just beat you into pudding when they found out you were gay.” I sipped my coffee. Damn but that man knew how to brew.
“Well, after I graduated, I came home. Lionel flew to Kenya to set up things for us. Clay informed me that I’d inherit when I was thirty as my father had added a proviso into the trust fund that stated if I didn’t act as if I were responsible enough, whoever was handling the money could defer the payout until I was thirty. The bastards,” he growled, his top lip rolling. “Clayton thought going to Africa was a waste, kind of like an art degree, and told me that if I stayed here and worked the ranch like I was supposed to that when I was thirty, he’d consider giving me my inheritance.”
“And so you stayed.”
“And so I stayed.” His sigh was hearty. It was a heartbroken sound if ever I heard one. “What choice did I have? I had no cash and no way of earning any. So I stayed. Lionel, National Geographic, and my dreams of being my own man were gone.”
“I’m sure you could have raised enough cash to fly one way to Africa.”
“And live on what?” He looked up from the memories in his mug. “No, I was too much of a spoiled brat to even consider leaving home without a few million in the bank.” I whistled at the sum. “Oh yeah, it’s a nice trust if I can ever get my hands on it. Also, I’m a weak little fag. No, really. I was too scared to stand up to Clay and Morgan, too yellow to tell them my truth, and so I let it all slip away and slithered right back into the role that I’d played for years before I left for college. Then Morgan borrowed my laptop last week without asking.”
“Ah hell. Let me guess. He found some gay porn?”
“Worse. He dug into my files and found some intimate pictures of Lionel and me.”
“Oh fuck.”
“Yeah, exactly. Morgan went to Clay, and they cornered me in the kitchen.” He rolled his lips over his teeth then inhaled sharply through his nose. “You know the rest.”
Christ. The poor guy. I didn’t know what to say or do. I wanted to pull him onto my lap and hold him. Which freaked me out and yet felt oddly like what I should actually do. I didn’t though. I’d already kissed him without consent. Instead, I reached over the table to tap the back of his hand with a finger. He startled a little, then laughed in that embarrassed way people do when they’re caught daydreaming. By the hollow look he was wearing, it was probably reliving a nightmare as opposed to fanciful woolgathering.
“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want.” I said it with conviction even though I didn’t own the cabin or the land or a pot to piss in if I were being honest. No one got rich as an irrigator on a ranch.
“Thanks. I want to help do the feedings, though.” I shook my head and watched his bearded jaw set. His facial hair was a little scruffy, but it gave him a rough, uncultured look instead of that perfectly groomed hair he usually had. I liked his golden hair being rumpled and that beard being a tad unkempt. “I can help…I insist.”
“Your ribs…”
“Are going to hurt no matter what. I insist that I help. I know what I’m doing.”
“But if you go to work who’ll make my supper, sugar plum?”
“I really hate you.”
This time the words didn’t have quite as much venom as they previously had. Which was good because I was hating him less and less with every day that passed. Another point we’d deal with later.
