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I remember the first day I saw Porter standing near one of the paddocks, his eyes alight with wonder at the horses, and as I approached, his expression changed to a scowl. As if he remembered he was supposed to be mad at the Sullivans. By the time we’d turned eighteen, I had grown fond of that scowl and all his other moods.
No one on the ranch knew we’d had a thing, though I suspected Wade might’ve, going by the looks he’d give us when we sped away to our special place near the stream and then again upon our return. But he never said a word. My parents still don’t know I’m bisexual, and definitely no one else on the ranch either. I go into town to get my needs met from men or women, and if we’re together as a group, I only flirt with women.
I don’t know why I’m still in the closet, honestly. Maybe it’s because I carried a torch for Porter for years, probably still do, and figured I’d never feel that way about another man again.
Or woman, for that matter. Aimee and I were good friends and compatible in the ways that counted, so we tried to make it work—maybe she did more than me. It wasn’t that I didn’t love her. I just didn’t love her enough.
After Faith died, it was just me, and my parents continued to instill a good work ethic and business sense since I’ll be inheriting this ranch. They missed her so much, so I worked hard to toe the line and earn their respect and that of the men in my charge. And that’s important when we’re at the mercy of Mother Nature on this land.
Marrying Aimee was also my parents’ dream, so we’d have the stability of two ranches behind us, as well as, eventually, little ones—our own heirs. But it didn’t work out, and I feel guilty about that. Haven’t had it in me to seriously date again or bring anyone else around, so my parents didn’t get their hopes up.
I shut down those painful thoughts to focus on my horse, the cattle, and the rocky terrain.
By nightfall, everyone is exhausted. We set up camp in the valley and get the animals watered and settled near the brook. We fill up our canteens with fresh water and purifying tablets, while Jeb, one of our ranch hands, starts a fire so we can heat up the food we’d brought.
We tell stories as we eat, then pass around Mom’s cookies. At least the ones left after our earlier break on the other side of the foothills.
One of my favorite things on the planet is being out here and sleeping under the stars. That’s when I miss him most. Not that Porter and I ever got the opportunity to spend a night alone under the night sky, but I’d dreamed about it. Unfortunately, we were always in the company of my dad and the cattle hands, though enjoying those times nonetheless.
I get situated in my sleeping bag and lie back to get some shut-eye. But it won’t come. Instead, I look up at the stars and imagine telling him about the new constellations I’ve read about in one of the dozens of facts-laden books Porter would tease me about. I wonder where in the world Porter is and if he ever thinks of me too…though I doubt it. Why else would he refuse to see me after his momma died? He was as resistant as I was persistent, one time even waiting all night outside his door with the casserole and sympathy card Mom sent with me.
And then a few days later he’d vanished on the wind. Oh, I’ve heard rumors over the years of a hotheaded cattle hand who travels from one ranch to another, working the land in between drinking and fistfights with whoever dares question him. I keep imagining all that anger is directed at the world because he feels he doesn’t have anyone left anymore. And fuck, that kills me most of all. Why didn’t he come to me? I would’ve welcomed him with open arms. My parents too.
Maybe he feels he has something to prove to the world. He’s become damned good at breaking horses. An expert, I hear. Apparently, when the Bureau of Land Management does a wild horse round-up in the indigenous homelands, Porter is one of the men called to help.
He’s better at it than I’ve ever been, and that means he’s been able to keep working. Maybe that’s why so many ranches put up with his attitude. He’s always had this quiet way with horses. Like silent communication that soothed them and made them docile when he was around.
One by one, I hear the soft snores of our staff, but my eyes stay open, looking at the stars. They’re more brilliant out here than in the city limits. Likely because of the light pollution. The air is purer out here too, crisper in the winter months. And I enjoy it all, no matter the season.
Wherever you are, Porter, I say to the breeze, I hope you find what you’re looking for.
Chapter 2
Porter
I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing back in Laurel Springs. I swore to myself I would never see this town again. I thought I meant it, but I’ve also always been itchy. Like my skin feels too tight if I stay in one place too long, and there are only so many ranches to choose from, so I figure I’ll let my wandering soul take a journey back to where I came from.
It doesn’t help that I got fired from the last place after I got caught fucking the ranch owner’s son, Travis. He wasn’t out, and his daddy didn’t take too kindly to having a queer son. Travis is older than me, thirty-two, but he still lets his dad run his life. He laid all the blame on me, as if he wasn’t the one who’d approached me in a bar bathroom one night, as if he hadn’t been the one to ask to get on his knees for me. So I was kicked out, and Travis is gonna go on pretending, something I swore I would never do.
I don’t hide my sexuality for anyone—haven’t since I left Laurel Springs. I’m as gay as they come, and if someone don’t like it, well, they can kiss my ass.
But I also can’t pretend I’m not a little impulsive…the thing with Travis is all too familiar, only with him, it really wasn’t more than just sex.
I pull my old Ford up in front of the only hotel in Laurel Springs, where I go inside and get a room for the night. It smells like pinecones, likely from the bowl of them on the table. The hotel is aged, just like everything else in Laurel Springs. It needed an update when I lived here eleven years ago—and that flowery wallpaper that doesn’t match on one wall is still here.
I collapse onto the bed, which is firm, just how I like it. I’ve spent too many nights sleeping in the dirt to like any kind of soft mattress.
A heaviness had settled in my gut the second I pulled back into Laurel Springs, a tingle in my feet that wants me to head back to my truck and drive the fuck outta here. I’ve lost everything that ever mattered to me in this place—my momma, my dad, and a family legacy. And here I am, planning on going to the same exact ranch and asking about a job.
What am I gonna find when I get there? I heard that Bishop married Aimee not long after I left. They probably got a couple of kids running around now, the next generation to manage the ranch.
Anger burns through my chest at the thought, setting everything in its path on fire.
I don’t care about him. I don’t. I’ve got something to prove to him, though. Too bad I don’t know what it is. That I’m one of the best at breaking horses in the whole damn country? That I don’t give a shit about him or what his family took from mine? Only one of those things is true, but I sure plan to make Sully think both of them are—Bishop, I try to remind myself. Sully is the man I used to laugh with and taste the sweat off his skin. I need to remind myself there’s a difference.
Sully, I cared about. Bishop, I want to prove something to. The ranch has been struggling to keep good people, that much is obvious. This ain’t the first time I’ve seen them looking for hands. I’ll head to the ranch, show them what I can do, then be on my way again. I don’t belong in one place too long. That just ain’t me.
I open my case, pull out my guitar, and start to play. Other than ranching, it’s the only thing that brings me any peace.
