His eyes grew dewy as he told the story of sweet Marcus. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m sure he was a fabulous horse. Do you think you will get any more horses?”
He shook his head. “No, not unless it’s a last resort. Horses are linked too closely to Cassie.” He walked across the pen without another word said to me. Obviously, that conversation had ended abruptly. I made a mental note to not discuss horses or his sister again unless he broached the subject. The pain he was in was palpable. I worked for an hour with only Bitsy and the other does to talk to. Acosta fell into his stoic, silent farmer persona, only coming to speak with me at lunchtime.
“I’m going to go plow out and check on the hives. I never got to it yesterday as the chores took so long to complete.” He gave me a pointed look which I let fly past.
“I’d love to see the bees as long as it’s from a distance.”
“Are you allergic?”
“No, but I dislike being stung. I get all puffy and it hurts. I sat on a wasp once when I was swimming in our pool. The nasty bastard was sitting on the slide just waiting for some dumb kid with trunks to plunk his backside down on him. I nearly killed myself going down the slide with that wasp attacking my rear end. Frank Jr. thought it was hilarious. My parents were having cocktails in the shade and asked me to please quiet down.” I kind of ground to a halt with my story. Acosta was looking at me with that pitiful look of his.
“Your family sucks,” he softly said, and I merely bobbed my head in reply. Yeah, they really did. “You’ll have to ride on the tractor. It’s open and cold. Maybe you should just stay here and get the goat pens cleaned.”
“Oh, well, sure, I can do that. Whatever you think is best. You’re the boss, after all. I’m just the farm hand.” I put lots of happy in my words, but deep down I was bummed because I’d wanted to ride out in the cold with Acosta and see what one did with bees in the winter. Heck, I just wanted to talk to him more. He was a complex sort with some deeply hidden things tucked away under a gruff layer of dislike. Or he just genuinely disliked me. Option two was probably the most likely one.
His jaw worked for a long moment. “Why would you want to go?”
“To see how this farm works. The more I know about it and the animals that call it home the more I can understand your point of view.” That one made him think. Thank you, Professor McBride, for passing along all those tricks and tips in that Negotiation and Leveraging Social Psychology class. “If I do lose, then I’ll have a working knowledge of all that you do here when I present my case to the board back at Fitzgerald & Sons Well Services. But, of course, doing the pen cleaning is also important.”
“What exactly did you study in college?”
Oh, he was an astute one, my sexy Mr. Melios was. “Business.”
“Hmm.” He mulled things over for a moment and then caved. “Fine, you can ride along, but you’ll need layers. And some boots that weren’t made for jumping over puddles in the city.”
I almost leaped in joy, but I contained myself. “Of course. Let me get this pen done while you go get the tractor ready for our excursion!” I began forking and tossing dirty bedding like a man possessed. I felt his gaze on me for several long moments before he ambled off to the front of the tractor to pull the manure spreader outside. Cold air blew, snow rushing in to coat the walkways. I rushed around to close the doors, leaving them cracked just an inch or so to let the damp air out and a tidbit of fresh air in.
A half-hour later, I was bundled up in clothes that were nothing at all like I would usually wear. An old brown bib overalls with a quilted red interior over a T-shirt with the rescue logo on the front. Over that, Acosta had given me a sweater that looked to be hand-knitted with overly long sleeves that I had to roll up. On my feet were boots that were too big but laced so tightly around my ankles they didn’t stand a chance of falling off. And atop my head, a hat that went with the dull brown sweater. Mittens and a scarf, also mud brown, as well as a chore coat that had no elbows with a zipper pull that had been replaced with a loop of orange bailer twine. Yep. Call me Jim Dandy. I felt like a fool, but as we slowly made our way out of the barnyard, I was glad for the extra clothing. Only my nose was cold. The beauty of winter on the mountains did not escape me. Now that the storm had passed the hills were a study of whites, greens, blues, and grays. The sun was bright in the sky, already approaching its zenith. We’d just seen the winter equinox come and go, but the days didn’t seem much longer even with the two or so minutes we’d gained.
Standing alongside Acosta as I held onto the fender over one of the huge tractor tires bound in chains for dear life while my other hand was grasping the roll-over bar hadn’t worked for more than a few dozen yards. I’d lost my grip and nearly went ass over biscuits off the side. After he’d calmed down from laughing, I was plunked down in between his legs, my butt resting on a mere inch or two of the tractor’s seat. It was more than a little romantic with his body pressed so close to mine. Pity we were wearing so many layers. Still, being able to sit this close to him, even if talking was hard over the incredibly loud tractor, was pleasant. The scenery was stunning. Pines coated with fresh snow, the sky so blue it was almost painful, red songbirds flitting from the split-rail fences to snowy boughs, and several whitetail deer nibbling on some slim white birth trees. The deer ran off, their ivory tails high, their breath bursts of steam as they leapt into the dense woodlands that surrounded the rescue.
I glanced back over my shoulder to see Acosta smiling. It was a serene sort of smile, not for me, I was sure, but for the wildlife that coexisted with him here. Seeing him smile warmed me better than his old sweater or the thick woolen socks he’d insisted I wear. He so rarely smiled. It looked incredible on him as did the pink in his cheeks. He really was an attractive man. Perhaps not in the classic Hollywood way but in a work-hewn life has been hard but somehow this lean man has weathered his storms way. I found him and his aura incredibly appealing.
Which was surprising, for he was not my usual type. I tended to go for the urban men who knew who Hugo Boss was and worshipped him as I did. The kind of men who did late dinners and early cocktails. The kind of men who did recreational drugs, voted blue, and would never bunk down with a goat. As we bounced along, the cold bracingly fresh, I came to realize that before I came out here, I was that kind of man. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that now. Oh, the voting blue thing for sure I was proud of. I mean, I was a gay man. Any gay man who voted against his own best interests was a dimwit if you asked me. I was proud of my work ethic and my education. But now I was looking at the earth and the animals who shared it with us slightly differently. Guess that was what happened when you shared your toast and jam with a goat or fed your jammy crust to two big-eyed bovines. I suspected I’d be doing some real soul searching thanks to this trip.
“Coming up to the hives on the right,” Acosta shouted, startling me out of my deep thoughts. I sat up a little straighter, and lo and behold to the left, with the sun shining down on a lovely spot by a frozen pond, were several beehives. The tractor slowed, and we made the turn, the small plow on the front shunting the snow off to the side. We made a circle around the hives before parking. The engine went silent. I took just a moment to enjoy the stillness. Acosta sat behind me, silent and unmoving, one gloved hand resting on the steering wheel and the other on his thigh. His breaths were warm on the side of my neck and cheek. No one said anything for a while and then he shifted, sadly breaking the moment.
“Are the bees awake?” I asked, forcing myself to stand and climb down to the snowy ground.
“They are, but they’re lethargic. They fly out to poop then hurry back inside the hive to rotate around, keeping the queen warm and eating their honey. Would you like to listen to them?”
“Yes, please.” We made our way to the platform, taking care to unhook the electric fence, which I knew was to keep the bears from the hives. “Why do you keep the fencing on during the winter unless what you told me about hibernating bruins was a lie? Was it?” I fixed him with an exaggerated face full of suspicion. Again, I got that snorty/cough almost a laugh sound. His mouth did curl into a sort-of smile. I considered that a big win.
“The bears are all asleep, rest assured. And the fencing isn’t on. The snow would short it out. I’m merely unhooking the gate so that you don’t get tangled in the fencing and fall into the hives,” he replied with what could have been humor in his voice.
“That’s so sweet of you,” I gushed, feeling all soft and fluffernuttery inside.
“If you fall into the hives, you’ll knock them over and expose the bees to the frigid temperatures.” He gave me a fast look, gray eyes impish.
Oh. Oh my, would you look at that?! Oh dear. Nowthatis a good look for the man.
The little devil. He did have a sense of humor, after all. I snickered softly and stepped over the top strand of wire that he’d lowered for me.
“Thank you, good prince,” I commented as I placed a hand on his shoulder to ensure I got both feet over the fencing. His eyebrows crinkled. That made me laugh lightly, which made the tangled eyebrows on his furrowed brow smooth.
“You’re not at all like most of the representatives that your company sent out,” he stated factually, his expression showing how perplexed he truly was.
“They saved the best for last,” I tossed out, stepping toward the dark green hive closest to me.
