Brian arrives in Kentucky and feels like an alien from outer space.
Next Day – Mid-Morning; On the Way to Lexington, KY
Brian sighed heavily as he looked out the window of the Greyhound bus. It was bad enough that the fucking metal monstrosity smelled like shit inside – he had decided it was kind of a dirty diaper/sweaty kind of smell. The only way he could stand it was to keep his hand up to his nose to hide the nauseous stink that permeated the interior of the bus. He had been on the damn thing off and on now for eight fucking hours, long enough to last through two stopovers in a couple of hickville towns along the way and endure the 'pleasure' of three different bus passengers sitting beside him; none of them had been worthy of a second look, let alone a quick fuck.
On both occasions when the bus had stopped for a short layover to pick up or drop off other passengers his first instinct had been to bolt right off the bus and escape – anywhere but the virtual prison he found himself in at the moment. But he also knew he had only $20.00 in his pocket at the moment; an intentional maneuver by his shitfaced father who knew without any money he would be hard pressed to get too far on his own. And besides, despite all his outward swagger when he was around others, deep down a part of him was actually afraid of being alone in a part of the country he knew nothing about; to him, once they had left the state of Pennsylvania and headed through Ohio on the way to Kentucky it was like entering another planet. Fields and fields of nothing but grass on both sides of the interstate, with only an occasional cornfield or soybean field to break up the monotony, seemed to be the norm. After the standard fast-food joints, hotels and gas stations along major intersections, the most exciting site on the way into Kentucky was a large flea market located near Cincinnati.
He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, trying hard to twist his torso to unkink the stiff knots that had settled there a few hours ago; his long legs were cramped in the small space and every bone in his body ached. To top it off, he desperately needed to take a piss, but there was no way in hell he was going to use what the driver had the gall to call a lavatory located at the back of the bus; he could only imagine what sort of yokels had been using it lately. Glancing down at his watch, he noticed with part relief/part anxiety that they were due to arrive in Lexington soon; for now, then, he would elect to remain in his seat, as close to the window as possible to avoid the pudgy, middle-aged bear of a man currently sitting next to him who been giving him what seemed to be more than a cursory glance since embarking on the bus at the last stop. He purposely avoided looking the man's way, hating the fact that the damn bus didn't have any middle armrests; he had the distinct feeling that Bubba was intentionally trying to squeeze every last pore out of his body as he pressed into his personal space and took up more than his share of the seat.
He noticed the sun beginning its slow, mid-afternoon descent toward the horizon, signaling there was perhaps only a few more hours of daylight left before dusk settled in for good. As they neared the exit for Lexington, the same lush, green fields remained but they were now sprinkled with barns of various shapes, sizes, and colors. And the fences! Rows and rows, miles and miles of wooden picket fences, some white, some black that seemed to literally go on forever surrounding the gently rolling hills. Horses of all hues – mainly black, brown, and white – grazed peacefully amongst them, an occasional, lone shade tree providing some much-welcome respite from the surprising warmth of the late spring day.
As Brian gazed in amazement at the bucolic, pastoral scene, he had to admit – it was calming and peaceful in an odd sort of way. But it didn't squelch his dismay over his fate; this would without a doubt be the most boring summer of his life. He could see nothing at all to do here and felt decidedly like a fish out of water. What the hell do people even do out here? He idly wondered. He had been told by his parents that his aunt and uncle didn't actually live in Lexington – they resided in a small town a few miles away. If there was so little to do around the 'big city,' he could only imagine what it would be like where they lived.
He let out one additional weary sigh as the bus slowly veered off the interstate and turned right toward the bus terminal; at least in this part of town there were a few signs of habitation – a shopping mall, fast food restaurants, a large big-box hardware store. He looked longingly at an X-rated video store as they passed by before the bus finally slowed down a few minutes later at the familiar Greyhound bus terminal sign and pulled into the station. After what seemed like an interminable wait to disembark, he was finally able to stand up in the cramped space, grateful at least to be out of his seat as he followed the overweight man slowly waddling down the aisle in front of him. He rolled his eyes in disgust as the man finally managed to maneuver between the rows of seats and slowly descend the metal steps down onto the pavement.
Stepping onto the curb and retrieving a large, black, army-size duffel bag from the open luggage hold nearby, he glanced around uncomfortably, not having any idea what his aunt and uncle looked like. The only thing he knew for sure was that his father had told him they would be picking him up and he had better be "damn well" waiting for them by the drop-off and pick-up point when they got there. He had never met Willard and Sarah Walker before (just the names alone made him cringe), but he figured with Sarah Walker being his mother's sibling that perhaps there might be some family resemblance at least. Poor woman, he thought with a smirk.
As he looked around to catch his bearings, his eyes caught on the sight of a slightly shorter man approximately the same age as himself, leaning on one of the metal pillars nearby; he appeared to be a little more muscular than he was with curly, black hair and a slightly stubbled, angular jaw. The black leather jacket and jeans fit his lean body snugly, displaying what appeared to be a fairly attractive package tucked inside. His bright green eyes peered at him intently for a few seconds before he ever so slightly crooked his head toward the inside of the bus terminal.
Brian smirked; well, his parents did tell him to remain at the pick-up site; this definitely looked like a pick-up to HIM. Adjusting his duffel bag over his left shoulder, he slowly shuffled over to the other man's side and silently followed him through the sliding, double glass doors as the stranger led him over to the men's restrooms located at the right of the terminal.
A few minutes later, he zipped up his pants in the narrow, scuffed metal stall and waited for the other man to exit the bathroom before he, too, followed him back out into the main lobby of the station. The man he had just fucked had already been swallowed up into the ever-increasing crowd as he headed back toward the exit doors, hoping his ride hadn't deserted him. Part of him actually wished that they had; he was definitely not looking forward to his confinement. But it beat going to jail for a decade, and he figured this older couple would be very easy to deceive. He smiled; perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all…
Exiting once more through the double doors, he glanced left and then right before his gaze settled on an older couple standing near a sage-green and black pickup truck that must have been a hundred years old and his heart sank in instant awareness; he knew. He just knew. This had to be them.
The slender-built man of average height leaning against the driver's side door was wearing a pair of worn, bib overalls over a blue-and-gray plaid flannel shirt; he had a white baseball cap on his head that had an image of a large brown horse etched on it. A few tufts of gray hair, which seemed out of place on a man who appeared to be in his early 50's was peeking out from under the hat; a pair of worn, brown boots were partially covered by the cuffs of his jeans.
The woman standing next to him had to be his aunt; as he suspected, the poor thing was the spitting image of his dear mother, Queen Joan, except she was a few years younger. Same narrow face, same piercing, steel-gray eyes, same thin, wrinkled lips. Same straight, salt-and-pepper gray hair, same rounded nose. Yep, no doubt, he thought with disdain.
His biggest sense of dismay, however, was reserved for his apparent transportation. The truck had to be from the 40's; it looked like something straight out of the Waltons; curved hood, narrow taillights, white-wall tires, with a wooden rail running across the sides of the truck bed. Despite the ancient appearance of the vehicle, however, he had to grudgingly admit that it looked amazingly devoid of any rust or dings. Probably only drove it to the supermarket and to church, he couldn't help thinking. There didn't seem to be anything else to do around this 'burg, so it would make sense.
As he reluctantly shuffled over to the couple who were eyeing him curiously, he watched in surprise as the woman locked gazes on him and actually smiled; it was so unexpected to him, since his mother rarely smiled at anything. Her normal reaction was a decided scowl instead – that is, when she wasn't plastered over a bottle of wine. He noticed the dramatic difference in facial expressions, however, between the man and the woman; while the woman actually seemed happy to see him, the man's expression remained tightlipped and stone-faced as Brian approached them.
As soon as he was within a few feet, the woman spoke. "Hello, Brian," the woman greeted him softly with a decided southern twang. "I can see a lot of your mother in you," she told him. She held out her hands in a silent invitation for a few seconds until Brian finally walked over and stepped into her embrace, even though the action made him feel decidedly odd. She hugged him for a few moments, Brian's hands hanging limp by his sides until she let him go to step back a few feet from him to get a better look.
A single eyebrow rose above Brian's left eye at the woman's statement; he wasn't sure if he should take that as a compliment or an insult, although he assumed this woman had meant it as a kind remark. "Well, I can't see it," he found himself saying. "I don't think I look like her at all." At least he hoped so, anyway. He stared at her curiously. "How did you know who I was, anyhow?"
"Your mother mailed me a photo," she told him, frowning slightly at his somewhat caustic tone of voice.
Brian huffed softly at the mention of 'snail mail;' that was so…provincial. "Mailed?"
His uncle finally spoke up as he gruffly explained, "We don't live near any high-falutin' areas, boy, we live out in the country where there's still fresh air," he told him. "We don't have those awful cell phone towers like everyone else does. Regular mail suits us just fine." He stared intently over at his taller nephew, noticing the rigid, stiff stance as he informed him curtly, "We agreed to take you in, Brian; but that doesn't mean you'll be living at some fancy hotel while you're here. We live a simple life out here; you'd best be gettin' used to that fact right now."
"Willard, I declare!" his aunt scolded him. "The boy barely just got here; give him some breathin' room." She smiled at him apologetically. "Don't pay him a lot of mind, Brian," she told him gently. "You'll find that his bark is a lot worse than his bite."
"That's enough, Sarah!" Willard told her abruptly as he cut her off; he didn't particularly care for her description of him. He scrutinized Brian's appearance, noting the fancy-looking, black leather jacket he was wearing before he told him, "We'd best be getting home; you can stow your bag in the back of the truck and hop in. It's about a thirty-minute drive and the traffic's going to be awful this time of day. Let's get going," he urged him impatiently.
Brian's mouth hung open. "You want me to ride in that?" he asked with disdain, nodding toward the truck bed.
Willard eyed him unflinchingly. "Well, unless you want to be a hood ornament, Boy, that's exactly what I expect," he told him. "I'm not letting Sarah ride back there, and there's only room for two up front. Now get in."
Brian let out an insulted breath. "The name's Brian, not boy," he told him as he bristled at his patronizing tone. He peered over the top of the truck gate, thinking he could see the distinct signs of hay in the back of the truck; he wondered what else the man may have been transporting lately. He was beginning to feel like a cow being led to the slaughter as finally in resignation he threw his bag over the back of the truck and, stepping onto the back bumper, hoisted himself up into the bed with surprising nimbleness, finding a folded-up piece of an ugly rug remnant the only type of barrier between his clothing and the rough, hard, scuffed-up metal material of the truck bed. He blew out a frustrated breath before he gingerly sat down inside on top of the rug, thinking he could smell the distinct aroma of manure – at least that's what he thought it was; fuck knows he had been exposed to a lot of shit at home, but not THAT kind of shit…
"Are you all right in there?" Sarah asked her nephew with concern as she peered over the top of the truck's bed, noticing the scowl on his face. Even though she had just met him, it was easy to tell that he wasn't happy with this turn of events. Her sister had warned her beforehand on the phone that Brian was stubborn, used to being coddled and getting his way, so she figured this had to be a major culture shock for him. She was determined, though, to do her best to help rehabilitate him as best she could. She knew, though, that with her husband still in grieving over the loss of their son that he might not be so willing to help her with that particular goal; in fact, he had mainly agreed to do this since he needed help around the farm now. She silently hoped, though, that Brian might perhaps wind up being the right tonic to help her husband break out of his depression; after all, it had been three years now. Despite how much they had adored their only son, it was time to finally get on with their lives as best they could.
Brian bit his tongue, wanting to tell her that this whole situation was full of shit - literally - but one look at her kindly face and voice of concern and he found that he just couldn't do it. He finally settled on something in-between as he replied, "Oh, I'm just peachy," he told her, the sarcasm evident in his voice. "Snug as a bug on a rug."
"Let's go, Sarah," Willard told her sternly as he shook his head; this kid was going to be a handful, he could tell. Why had he let himself get talked into this? Was a little extra help around the farm going to be worth listening to this kid's haughtiness and disdain?
Sarah lingered a few seconds longer outside before she finally nodded and walked around to open the passenger door as her husband entered the truck on the driver's side. As they both shut the doors, put on their seatbelts and Willard started up the truck, she turned to face him as he pulled away from the curb. "You promised, Will," she reminded him softly. "You promised that you'd try."
Her husband harrumphed. "He's a smart-aleck," he told her. "A juvenile delinquent, used to getting everything he wants WHEN he wants it."
"Well, that's why he's here," she insisted. "He needs to learn some discipline and develop a sense of purpose."
"Well, I agree with part of that statement," Willard muttered as he glanced in the rear-view mirror to observe their nephew's face wearing a look of disgust as he held onto one of the wooden side rails. It was obvious that he did not want to be here, but he seemed smart enough to realize this was his last chance to straighten himself out. "He definitely needs discipline, all right; I'm not convinced he's interested in a sense of purpose." He sighed as he glanced over at his wife to say, "I hope we haven't bitten off more than we can chew here. He's going to be a challenge, I just know it." He sighed as he glanced back in the mirror again, this time seeing Brian lighting up a cigarette. He shook his head. "He is NOT going to smoke in our home, Sarah; what a filthy habit."
Sarah sighed; it was ironic that in Kentucky of all places – one of the hotspots of tobacco growth – both of them had never picked up that particular habit. She knew that part of their job would be to establish ground rules for their nephew to follow; she only hoped that when they did he wouldn't find them so restrictive that he would promptly rebel and take off for parts unknown. She felt an express obligation to try and help her sister Joan; she had taken over as a surrogate mother when they were growing up and their mother had died at 31 due to leukemia. Her sister Joan had been a taskmaster during her childhood years, but with their father being forced to work long hours each week in a local auto plant, it had fallen upon her older sister to help raise her. She hadn't always agreed with her decisions, but she couldn't deny that she had been instrumental in keeping their family together. Now it was time for her to try and repay the favor.
"I'm sure he'll listen to reason about that," she told him softly, noticing her husband didn't seem convinced; truthfully, neither was she but she had to hope that Brian would at least try and compromise.
Willard snorted. "We'll see," he told her as he steered the truck toward the two-lane highway taking them toward the small town of Versailles. "I've already told Jack that if he acts up and doesn't do as we say, we'll report him so fast to their big-shot attorney that his head will spin. I agreed to try and help them out; that doesn't mean that I have to let him get away with anything. By the time I get done with tanning his hide, he may wish he had decided to go to jail instead. This is NOT going to be a walk in the park for that boy."
Sarah turned to stare out the window sadly, wishing she could find a way to get through to her husband. They had been married now for 25 years; until their son had died, they had shared a happy, loving relationship built on mutual support and understanding. Once Dale was gone, though, things had changed. Her previously happy-go-lucky, hard-working husband had become sullen and withdrawn. He still worked hard – too hard, she thought – but he no longer kept her company at nights on the porch swing as he listened to the Reds game or sat with her in the living room, reading a magazine in his favorite, brown and ivory corduroy recliner while she did her crossword puzzle. No, more times than not he would be holed up now in either the barn or the stables, working on some project until it was time to retire for bed. Except for the brief times she saw him at meals, most of the time she felt like she was living alone.
That is, if not for Solomon. Nowadays her only company at night was their dog, a five-year-old beagle that had showed up as a stray while still a puppy. It had been Dale's dog, actually; he had convinced them to keep him despite her husband's reservation over having yet another 'critter' to feed. Now he was the last, living reminder of their son and she couldn't imagine him not being there.
She turned back to look over at her husband's profile; his face was now etched with wrinkles and creases from years of farming in the back-breaking sun, and his hair that had been jet black before now was relegated to more of a dark gray, but he was still the most handsome man she had ever met. And somewhere inside she knew there was still a heart of gold beating there; she only had to find the key to unlock it once again.
"Everything will work out okay, Will," she murmured softly. "You'll see."
He huffed out a soft breath, still not convinced. "I hope so, Sarah," he told her quietly. "I sure hope so."
Earlier that Same Day – At the Next-Door Neighbor's Farm
"Justin! Jared! Your father's waiting, boys, hurry up!"
Despite her exasperation, Jennifer couldn't help the smile that broke out on her face as she heard the predictable sound of footsteps thundering down the two-story farmhouse's steps a few seconds later; she had gotten to the point where she could tell each son merely by the sound of their feet. Jared's was always slow and deliberate, signifying his more laid-back, I'll-get-to-it-when-I'm-ready attitude, while her more conscientious, younger son Justin's was always hurried when he was running late.
Sure enough, she turned from her place at the kitchen stove to see Justin rushing toward her, jamming one arm into his lightweight, tan-colored jacket as he came over with a smile to place a quick peck on her cheek.
"Sorry, Mom," her tousled-headed son told her sheepishly. "I forgot and overslept."
She nodded slightly. "Well, your father's in a rush to get started," she told him as her other son came shuffling into the kitchen behind Justin. To look at the two boys, one might be hard pressed to realize that they were brothers. While Justin's appearance was more indicative of her characteristics – slender build with blond hair and blue eyes – Jared seemed to have been born with more recessive genes from the family tree. He was about two inches taller than Justin, with coarse dark brown hair and brown eyes; the day's growth of beard he was currently sporting on his angular chin made him seem a little older than his eighteen years.
Jennifer eyed her other son curiously as she opened up the oven and retrieved two plates of scrambled eggs and bacon she had left warming for them. As Justin set his plate down nearby so he could plop a couple of pieces of white bread into the toaster sitting on the counter, Jared walked up to his mother and yawned widely before placing a kiss on her cheek as well.
"You got in late last night," she told him quietly as she handed him the other breakfast plate and gazed into his somewhat bleary eyes. "Playing pool again?"
Jared shrugged his shoulders. "What else?" he asked her. "It's the only place open around here during the week." Home Stretch was the combination billiard hall and bar located a few miles away; Versailles wasn't exactly a hotbed of activity at night unless you enjoyed catching fireflies or going skinny dipping at the local swimming hole down the street, so Jared often wound up going there at night when he wanted to meet up with his friends. It wasn't hard to find a fake ID to gain entrance and wash back a couple beers in between games.
Jennifer sighed in knowing resignation as her two sons walked over to the kitchen table and sat down together to eat their breakfast. Turning off the stove and walking over to join them with her mug of coffee, she watched as both sons dug into their meals with relish. At least they have that in common, she thought silently. It wasn't as if the two boys didn't love each other; she knew that they did. It was just that they were so different. Jared, being the older one, had perhaps been given a little more freedom than Justin had; he was fiercely independent and stubborn, with just a hint of a rebellious streak in him. Jared seemed to always just barely squeak by in school, where Justin excelled in every subject; he didn't seem motivated at all in any of his classes, seeing them as more of a hassle than anything else.
Oh, he helped out at the farm when he was asked, but it was always grudgingly. His personality was closer to Craig's in a lot of ways – somewhat gruff at times, no-nonsense, and straightforward. He and his father spent many an hour working on refurbishing the older, hot-rod style cars they bought at the local salvage yard for a song and displaying them at car shows throughout the state after they had fixed them up. Over time they had built up a solid reputation for the quality of their work and normally managed to turn a tidy profit when they sold their latest model, allowing them to start the process all over again.
Justin, on the other hand, had taken more after her. He was more sensitive and compassionate toward others. He always worried about hurting others' feelings and what the consequences of his actions would be. He loved to take care of their horses and seemed to have almost a sixth sense when it came to them. Jennifer had grown up in a well-known, long-established family in the Lexington area and had practically been born astride one of the magnificent creatures. It seems that her passion and love for horses had been inbred in her youngest son as well, a love that he expressed every day in his art. Several of Justin's amazing artworks were displayed proudly throughout their farmhouse, and he had even managed to have one of the art galleries in Lexington hang some of them in an alcove devoted to everything equine. She had no doubt that one day her son would be a wildly successful artist; he had a way of making the horses come alive under his skillful hands, both in real life as well as on canvas. For now, though, both she and Craig depended upon him especially to help oversee their successful horse farm, for it was through their great success at the harness-racing competitions that their farm maintained its chief sustainability and profitability.
"What?" Jared asked a little defensively, eyebrows raised as his mother peered over at him; he could tell she had something on her mind.
"You will be here all day today, right?" she asked him pointedly.
Justin watched silently from his place by their side, not surprised by the question. With Jared, it was always questionable how cooperative he would be when he was asked to do the dreaded 'chores' around the house. Of course, with a farm the size of theirs and the 100-year-old age of their farmhouse, despite its well-kept appearance there always seemed to be maintenance that needed to be done, and that didn't even include all the tasks required every day to keep their ten horses happy and healthy. Thank God they had their long-time employee, Vic, to help them with that or all of the family would be spending every waking hour taking care of them. Vic had been a jockey a long time ago and had first met Justin's paternal grandfather at the harness racing track. The two had become fast friends and Justin's grandfather had come to rely on the older man's wisdom and expertise when it came to caring for the horses. Eventually, his grandfather had hired Vic to oversee the maintenance of both their grounds as well as the horses. It cut down on a lot of tasks required of them, but in the case of what they had to do today, he knew such a monumental task would take all of them if they were to finish it in one day.
He heard Jared sigh heavily as he answered, "Yes, Mother, I will be here all day. I promised, remember? I'm looking forward to wearing white all day and inhaling paint fumes." The dreaded annual chore of painting all of their fencing had come; the moderately warm, low-humidity day was perfect for that task, so their father had decreed that today was the day. That meant both boys would have to help do the painting until it was finished, which meant they could pretty much count on not being able to do anything else the rest of the day. Just the perfect way to spend a summer day, Jared thought with disdain.
"Don't be so sarcastic, Jared," Jennifer scolded her son. "You knew it was coming up, and it's the least you can do for your father after all the time he spends with you on your cars. Both of you are already an hour late. He's waiting out by the stables, so hurry up and finish your breakfast so you can get started. The sooner you start, the sooner you can finish."
Justin nodded as he met his mother's glance and smiled at her over his brother's typical reaction. She couldn't help smiling back tenderly at him in return. She knew everyone said you always loved your children equally, but deep down she had to admit to a certain special affinity for her youngest son. There was just something innately sweet and sensitive about Justin that endeared himself to you. Even Jared understood that; when it came down to it, both brothers were distinctly different, but she knew that if anyone ever threatened harm to Justin his big brother would immediately come to his rescue.
She was extremely grateful for that, in fact, because by an odd twist of fate both brothers had wound up admitting to her and Craig a few years ago that they were gay. At first neither of them could believe it was true; at the very least they thought that perhaps Jared might be able to understand what that meant, but Justin? He had barely been fifteen at the time. Besides, what would have been the odds that both brothers would be gay? Wasn't it more likely that Justin was merely emulating his older brother's beliefs and just imagining that he might be gay? He was so inexperienced - at least she thought so, anyway; how much could he really know about love and sex?
Both brothers, however, had insisted at the time that they were, indeed, attracted to boys, not girls. She could still recall how nervous Justin especially had been during that difficult conversation, but she had to give Craig credit. Homosexuality was never something either of them had been all that exposed to nor understood, and she knew her husband was from a traditional, conservative background and could be very set in his ways, but she also knew that he loved his sons with all his heart. Once both boys had convinced them of their sincerity, her husband – and her – had finally accepted it for what it was. It still was hard for either of them to comprehend, but in the long run they had decided that if this made their sons happy and true to who they were, then they would have to accept it. Silently in private, however, they both still questioned whether Justin, in his inexperienced state, was sure yet of just what his sexuality was. Only time would tell in that regard.
In the meantime, though, Jennifer was relieved that Jared was protective of his younger brother, because she imagined being gay in the Bluegrass State wasn't going to be easy for either boy. She didn't worry so much about Jared; he could – and would – pretty much take care of any problems handily. But her more sensitive, tenderhearted child might not be as self-assured. She knew she could count on Jared to help watch over him, at least for the next year until he graduated. After then, she worried what might happen to her youngest son once Jared wasn't around.
Now, though, as both boys finished up their breakfast and stood up to carry their plates over to place them in the double, white porcelain sink, she could at least be assured she had some time before she would have to worry about that. "I'll bring you and your father some lunch out later," she told them as the two boys nodded and hurried out the door. As the screen door banged shut behind them, she let out a sigh of relief. "Now maybe I can get some work done," she said to herself.
About ten years ago, to help supplement their income Jennifer had taken up the unusual hobby of beekeeping from an older neighbor woman who had been doing it all her life. The prize money they obtained by racing their best sulky horses at the track kept them fairly comfortable financially, but she found she could breathe a little easier now by marketing the honey she collected from their beehives each summer. It never provided them with a lot of extra money, but from what she sold at the local farmer's market it helped to keep her from worrying about whether they would be able to pay their bills each month. In particularly good years, she and Craig could even afford to sock away a little bit each summer to help with the boys' college fund; they had managed to accumulate a nice little nest egg for their education. She had her doubts if Jared would ever go to college, but she knew Justin had his heart set on attending Vanderbilt University in Nashville. They had a nationally-known equestrian therapy degree program available that her youngest son felt he could use to combine his love of art with his goal to use horses to help rehabilitate the handicapped. She smiled at the thought; only her son would come up with a way to combine two of his greatest loves and make a living out of it; she had no doubt that if anyone could do it he could.
Wiping her hands on a nearby dishtowel, she placed the soiled dishes in the dishwasher before following her sons toward the door. She took a few moments to retrieve the protective beekeeping gear she always hung on the coat hooks nearby before she, too, opened the front screen door and walked out onto the porch. The sun was already well up into the sky and the day promised to be a gorgeous one; cloudless, low humidity, with a slight breeze. She inhaled the scent of the flowering cherry trees nearby intermixed with the myriad varieties of perennial flowers she had so meticulously and lovingly planted around the two-story farmhouse; thanks to her efforts, there was a profusion of color everywhere the eye could see.
Early summer was her favorite part of the year – it was warm enough without all the stickiness that tended to come to this part of the country later in July and August. She walked over to the end of the porch to gaze out onto the rolling hills surrounding their home, admiring as she always did the horses peacefully grazing nearby. Beyond their fence line, she could make out the more modest home of their neighbors, Willard and Sarah Walker. She felt enormously sorry for both of them since the death of their son, but perhaps more so for Will. Sarah was always the more resilient one, managing to bounce back from whatever adversity they experienced, whether it was a drought that served to dry up all their crops one year or the death of one of their livestock another. But when Dale had died that day, a piece of both of their hearts had died also. Sarah did a better job of hiding her grief for her husband's sake, but Jennifer could tell; it was still there. She knew that her friend and neighbor merely hid her own sorrow in an attempt to help her husband, but the pain and heartache never completely left her eyes.
She had spoken to Sarah by the fence a few days ago, and had learned they were expecting a nephew to arrive today. She knew that this boy had apparently gotten into some type of trouble back home in Pittsburgh and was being sent to her neighbors as a sort of last-ditch effort to get him straightened out. Silently she wasn't sure if it was a good idea to foist their responsibility on Will or Sarah, but knowing how good-hearted Sarah was she knew she wouldn't have been able to refuse. And Will, despite his suffering, loved his wife so much she knew he would grudgingly go along with it because it was what Sarah wanted him to do. She fervently hoped that everything would work out for them.
She had invited them to bring their nephew over for a meal in the next few days once they all got situated; perhaps then she could see for herself what this boy was like and help keep him in line for her neighbors' sake – they had certainly had more than their share of adversity lately and didn't deserve any more problems. Knowing there was nothing she could do at the moment to help them, though, she turned to gather up the beekeeping paraphernalia she had placed down on their wooden porch swing and started out toward the beehives near the barn, observing Craig and the two boys now working side by side at the fence closest to the dirt road that ran in front of their house. She noted with amusement that Justin seemed to be painting his part of the fence twice as fast as Jared or Craig was; undoubtedly all the time he spent with a different type of paintbrush was benefitting him now. Taking one last glance at her 'men' to make sure everything was progressing satisfactorily at the moment, she finally turned in the opposite direction toward the hives.
Late Afternoon – Near the Walker House
Brian hugged his leather jacket closer to him and scowled– now that the sun was starting to go down, the temperature was also cooling off rapidly; he shivered slightly in the breeze being generated by the truck as he wondered just how much longer they had to go. His aunt and uncle had indicated their home was about thirty minutes away from the bus terminal; according to his watch, that should put them within about five minutes of their destination.
From his standpoint, all he could see between the wooden slats of the truck's side rails were acre after acre of bluish-green grass, rolling hills, an occasional patch of tall, mature trees, farmhouses and barns, and horses – lots and lots of horses, along with a herd of cows here and there. He rolled his eyes, wondering if they even had grocery stores around here. Again, he wondered what in the hell he would do out here in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps it would have been better to have just gone to the fucking jail after all…
Finally, they turned off the single-lane highway onto a dusty, dirt road that ran to the right; he yelled out in surprised pain a few seconds later as the truck apparently hit a rut in the road and he bounced up out of his makeshift seat, only to be thrown back down hard onto the metal surface a few seconds later. As the truck continued to be jostled as it negotiated the rough, pot-hole strewn road, Brian reached to hold onto one of the nearby rails with his hand in an attempt to brace himself, his temperament darkening with each bump he felt. He questioned the sanity of agreeing to this ridiculous situation as he wished fervently for them to come to a stop – any stop, just so he could finally stand on his own two feet on solid ground. Between sitting for hours on that damn bus and now this, his ass was feeling sore as hell - and decidedly not in a good way.
He watched through the slats as they approached a rather large, two-story farmhouse set back from the road; it was white with black shutters, with scrollwork on the corner eaves and tall, stain-glassed windows facing an impressively-wide porch that surrounded the house on three sides; a large cedar-wood, curved Amish-built swing sat unoccupied at one end, with white wicker furniture spread out among the remaining space. Three lush Boston ferns hung from the porch's ceiling. A burnished, pewter-colored sign swung from an L-shaped wrought-iron post by the picket-fence gate that had a horse etched on it with the words "Windswept Farm, Est. 1938" written above it. The house was obviously an older one, but it was evidently lovingly cared for.
Brian noticed they weren't stopping there, so this was obviously not their destination. He sighed in disappointment, wanting desperately to escape his latest prison, before he noticed with interest three men hard at work near the road, painting the fence with a fresh coat of white paint. There were two men squatted down on one side of the fence facing the road, while another one was on the opposite side.
His eyes honed in on the men with interest as they approached them; this was the first fairly interesting sight he had seen since they had left the bus terminal and pretty much the only human one he had seen in some time. At least there were a few other living things apparently existing here amongst the livestock and horses, although he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. Holding onto the side rail of the truck, he struggled to pull himself up from his sitting position, noticing how stiff his back had become as their truck began to slow down somewhat.
Actually, as they got closer he quickly determined it wasn't three men; it was ONE middle-aged man and two boys. The dark-haired boy who was facing him was quite attractive, he discovered to his delight. He was about his same height as he was and had a lean, muscular frame; the denim shirt he was wearing fit him to a T, and the jeans he was wearing were spread taut across his legs and crotch area as he remained in his squatting position and applied the paint to his side of the fence. He could tell, though, by the pained look on the boy's face that he wasn't particularly enjoying himself at the moment.
The other boy who had his back to him had hair that shone like bright gold in the sunlight; Brian could tell the other boy was more petite and more slender than the other one, but with his back to him he couldn't see his face. As they slowed down even further, though, it was easy to ascertain that the blond boy had one fine ass; it was displayed for all the world to see as he bent over at the waist to apply some paint to one of the wooden boards. Even through the denim of his jeans, Brian could see quiet readily that there was a perfectly-rounded bubble butt hiding underneath the material. Brian's eyes widened at the sight; two boys about his age who apparently lived nearby? Perhaps this summer might have possibilities after all.
As the truck came to a complete stop, the older stranger stood up and squinted at Brian's aunt and uncle; his steely eyes locked onto Brian's a moment later and he thought he saw a look of wariness flitter across the man's face before he acknowledged his aunt and uncle. At the same time, the dark-haired boy stood up next to the man as he and Brian gave each other a closer appraisal.
Craig nodded as he wiped his brow with the sleeve of his navy-blue cotton shirt. "Will, Sarah," he said politely in greeting. He looked at Brian who was standing up in the back of the truck, his eyes boring into his. "This your nephew?" he asked them as he continued to stare at him for a few moments longer before he turned his gaze back to his neighbors.
Brian eyed him briefly, deciding he didn't care too much for this man who apparently didn't know how to smile; even his tone of voice was devoid of any emotion.
Brian chose to turn his attention back instead to the dark-haired boy who was standing next to him. Yep, the boy wasn't bad-looking for a country bumpkin – kind of dark and brooding and not particularly well-dressed, but definitely fuckable, especially considering how slim the pickings were probably going to be around here. He noticed the other boy giving off a distinctly interested air as he locked gazes with him and the other boy actually smirked back at him in response. Yes, definitely interested in me, he thought knowingly. By now he knew the signs and this boy was as gay as the day was long.
It was then that the other stranger– the blond-haired one – stood up and turned to face the truck. As Brian finally got a good look at the boy with the delectable ass, his breath caught in his throat. The two boys were as different as night and day – while the first one, the older one, was tall and dark-haired with strong, angular features, this one was fair-skinned with the bluest eyes he had ever seen. He appeared to be a bit younger than the other boy, and as their eyes met, he noticed a tint of pink color appear on his cheeks at the attention he was receiving. This boy was beautiful, he thought immediately.
"Yes," Brian heard his uncle saying. "That's my nephew, Brian." Will stuck his head out the truck's window to crane his head toward Brian. "Brian, this is my neighbor, Craig Taylor, and his sons Jared and Justin."
"Hey," Brian said softly as he stared at the blond-haired boy in fascination, wondering which one he was. He watched as the blond turned his head in embarrassment over his staring at him as the dark-haired boy addressed him. "Hi, Brian," he said with a smile. "I guess we'll be seeing you a lot this summer. Nice to have someone to hang around with."
Craig fixed his older son with a glower, noticing what sounded like a distinctly interested tone of voice in his son's statement. "Jared, let him be," he commanded sternly. "He's not here on vacation." He didn't care to elaborate on just why Brian WAS there; he figured that would be up to the boy's aunt and uncle to divulge if they felt like it. What he didn't want to do was encourage his son to hang out with someone who had come to within a heartbeat of winding up in jail as a felon. That didn't seem like the kind of kid his sons should associate with. He had reluctantly agreed to let the boy come over for a meal with his aunt and uncle, but that was all he had promised. He could only hope they would keep the boy so busy that he wouldn't have time to corrupt his own sons while he was here.
Brian digested this information curiously. So the dark-haired one is Jared; that means the blond with the hot ass must be Justin, then…He wondered just how much Craig Taylor knew about him and his predicament. It certainly sounded like his aunt and uncle had been talking about him before he got here by his reproachful, distrustful tone of voice. He wasn't particularly happy about that; it really wasn't any of this man's business what he had done. He knew nothing about him. Well, to hell with the man, he decided; he made a mental note to find out as much as he could about both boys in the next few months no matter WHAT he might think. He may not be on vacation, but that didn't mean he was about to stay holed up on his aunt and uncle's farm, either, not when he had such intriguing 'entertainment' nearby.
From his place near the truck, Justin couldn't help turning his gaze back to the vehicle to glance up shyly at the amazing looking boy staring back at him with the most incredible hazel eyes he had ever seen. The tall, dark-haired boy was gorgeous – he had a lean body, flat chest and stomach, and long-fingered hands with thick, brown hair that glinted with reddish highlights in the afternoon sun. And when he looked at him like he was right now, his stomach felt like a thousand butterflies were flying around inside. It was a feeling he had never quite felt before and it both fascinated as well as scared the shit of him. He had heard his mother and father talking about a nephew who was coming to stay with the Walkers, but he hadn't heard how old he was or why he was visiting all summer. Now he was dying of curiosity to know all about him.
He was disappointed a few seconds later,though, when he heard Mr. Walker saying, "We'd best be going, Craig; Sarah's itching to fix supper and I want to get Brian set up in the spare bedroom before it gets too late."
Late? Brian thought incredulously. It was only 4:30; just what time did these people go to bed, anyway?
Craig nodded as he held the paintbrush away from his body, realizing he needed to get back to work. "Let us know if you need anything," he told him politely, not really desiring to follow through on it but feeling a need to offer just the same. Being helpful was more up Jen's alley than his when it came to being neighborly.
"Thanks, Craig," Sarah told their neighbor with a smile. "Oh, and thanks for the invitation to come over. I'll give Jennifer a call tomorrow and we can set up a good time for all of us."
Craig nodded as Willard put the truck into gear and slowly continued on down the road. Brian continued to stand up in the back of the truck as Craig and the two boys watched them leave, his gaze bouncing back and forth between Jared and Justin. As Craig bent down to dip his paintbrush back into the gallon of paint to resume his work, Brian noticed the older boy bestow a wink and a smile on him. He smirked back at him briefly before he bestowed one more glance on the beautiful blond boy who sneaked a gaze of his own toward him before he, too, turned his back to him and returned to his painting.
A/N: Thanks to my beta, Gloria, for helping to keep me on the straight and narrow - ha! *Hugs*