Rattlesnake (33 page)

Jimmy reached over and tickled his neck.

They remained several minutes longer, then detoured by George’s grave. Shane gave the stone a friendly pat, and this time so did Jimmy. He was fond of the old guy. He felt he owed George a debt, and he intended to pay it back by lavishing his best care on the inn.

“I’m starving,” Jimmy finally said. “And it’s French Toast Friday at Mae’s. Let’s go.”

They walked out the gate, and he smiled at the NO HORSES BEYOND THIS POINT sign. In the unlikely event that Shane ever persuaded him to get on horseback, Jimmy would ride right up to George’s grave. But maybe it wasn’t all that unlikely. Shane was firmly convinced that Jimmy ought to play the sheriff during the stagecoach robberies next summer. And he was probably going to get his way, partly because he was Shane Little and partly because he kept mentioning how sexy he thought Jimmy would look with a holster slung low on his hips.

They walked slowly down the hill. Shane’s gait was still uneven, but he winced in pain far less often now that the plates had been removed from his leg. During the summer, he’d been able to sit comfortably with Jimmy on the park grass, watching John Wayne and Clint Eastwood ride across the big screen. He’d weathered the surgery so well that he’d even mentioned getting the bend in his nose fixed, but Jimmy put his foot down at that idea. “I like your nose just the way it is,” he’d said, kissing it to make his point and settling that argument once and for all. Jimmy could be stubborn too, now and then.

When they got to one of the narrow streets that ran parallel to the ridge, Shane turned right instead of continuing down to Main Street.

“Hey,” Jimmy said. “I’m hungry.”

“Me too. But I want to show you something first.”

Full of curiosity, Jimmy followed. After a couple of long blocks, they came to a house sitting all alone among several empty lots. Jimmy remembered it from his first days in Rattlesnake, and he’d passed by a few times after that. But not lately. Shane had a photo of the place on their apartment wall. “Hey! Someone’s fixing the old place up. It looks good.” The sagging roof had been repaired, the peeling paint replaced with a fresh coat of pale yellow with white trim. Even in the cold weather, the porch looked inviting with a new swing and several planter boxes waiting to be filled.

“The inside’s still rough,” Shane said. “But I figured you’d want some input on that.”

Jimmy blinked at him. “Huh?”

“C’mere, Jimmy.” Shane took his hand and towed him across the unkempt lawn and up the broad front stairs, then opened the front door and led Jimmy inside. It was dim, lit only by the weak sunlight coming through the front windows. Bare studs for walls, and that was about the extent of it. But Jimmy suspected the flooring was original and would look really nice when it was refinished, and most of the fancy wood trim had been salvaged and set into piles.

Shane let go of Jimmy’s hand only long enough to take out his phone and poke at it a few times. Johnny Cash’s familiar baritone began to sing “I Walk the Line.” Shane set the phone on a windowsill and held out his hands. “Dance with me?”

“What’s going on?” Jimmy asked, but at the same time, he moved forward into an embrace that had become so familiar, so beloved. They began to shuffle slowly around the floor, their boot steps almost louder than the music.

“Tom used to sing this song to me right here,” Shane said quietly. “It’s one of my earliest memories, and even the accident didn’t knock it out of my head. My bedroom was right down that hall behind me.”

Jimmy’s breath caught as he understood. “This was your house.”

“Still is. Mom just kind of abandoned it when she married Dad and moved to the ranch. Nobody wanted it. I used to walk by now and then. Take some photos. I thought I was happy to see it going to ruin, but… I don’t think I really was.”

Shane was warm against him as they moved, his hands strong on Jimmy’s back. Jimmy loved how he could lean in and know Shane would support his weight—and sometimes Shane would lean in to him.

The song ended and another began, also Cash. Jimmy didn’t know the name of the tune, but sometimes Betty Diamond sang it. “What’s with the remodel?” he asked, still dancing.

“Aunt Belinda can get us a good deal on a lot of the stuff. Hotel supply connections, I guess. Brandon—he works at the lumberyard—says he can get us a discount too. I figure you can do a lot of the work, and we got plenty of relatives willing to chip in. I could probably even manage some basic stuff, if you’re patient with me. And I’ve got a pretty big chunk of money saved up to pay for plumbers and electricians and all that.”

Now Jimmy had a good idea where this was going. And he hoped—God, he really hoped—his guess was right. But he took it slow. “And what happens when the house is all fixed up?”

“Well, it’s only a few minutes’ walk to the inn from here, but this place is a lot more spacious than our apartment. Plus, we could be as noisy as we wanted without worrying about disturbing the guests. And Mom says she’ll sign the deed over—to both of us—as long as we promise to let her design the front garden. She’s thinking roses and herbs, I guess.”

“To both of us?” repeated Jimmy, who didn’t care what grew in the garden.

Shane stopped dancing and moved slightly away so he could look into Jimmy’s face. He cupped Jimmy’s cheek in his hand. “You have a home here in Rattlesnake. I think you know that already. But I think it’s high time you were a home
owner
. High time for both of us, actually.”

Jimmy finally did the one thing he’d sworn he would never do. But that promise had been a lie, and a stupid one at that. He burst into tears.

They danced some more, and Jimmy got salt water and snot on Shane’s coat and Shane did the same to Jimmy’s, and Johnny Cash crooned at them from the tinny speaker of the phone. Jimmy thought about how it might be nice to have a mural on the living room wall between a couple of built-in bookcases. The mural, of course, would feature a rattlesnake.

It began with a man alone in the wide, empty desert driving a decrepit old Ford with a dead man riding shotgun. But the tale progressed to two men together, alive and dancing and ready to establish their very own home. Jimmy was confident the ending was a long, long time away.

K
IM
F
IELDING
is very pleased every time someone calls her eclectic. Her books have won Rainbow Awards and span a variety of genres. She has migrated back and forth across the western two-thirds of the United States and currently lives in California, where she long ago ran out of bookshelf space. She’s a university professor who dreams of being able to travel and write full time. She also dreams of having two perfectly behaved children, a husband who isn’t obsessed with football, and a house that cleans itself. Some dreams are more easily obtained than others.

Blogs: kfieldingwrites.com/ and www.goodreads.com/author/show/4105707.Kim_Fielding/blog

Facebook: www.facebook.com/KFieldingWrites.

E-mail: [email protected]

Twitter: @KFieldingWrites

Carter Evans is founder and editor-in-chief of
Astounding!
—a formerly popular spec fiction magazine currently in its death throes. Not only can he do nothing to save it, but stuck in a rathole apartment with few interpersonal connections, he can’t seem to do much to rescue his future either. And certainly all the booze isn’t helping. He snaps when he receives yet another terrible story submission from the mysterious writer J. Harper—and in a drunken haze, Carter sends Harper a rejection letter he soon regrets.

J. Harper turns out to be John Harper, a sweet man who resembles a ’50s movie star and claims to be an extraterrestrial. Despite John’s delusions, Carter’s apology quickly turns into something more as the two lonely men find a powerful connection. Inexplicably drawn to John, Carter invites him along on a road trip. But as they travel, Carter is in for some big surprises, some major heartbreak… and just maybe the promise of a good future after all.

www.dreamspinnerpress.com

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www.dreamspinnerpress.com

During his youth, orphaned thief Faris was flogged at the pillar in the town square and left to die. But a kind old man saved him, gave him a home, and taught him a profession. Now Faris is the herbalist for the town of Zidar, taking care of the injured and ill. He remains lonely, haunted by his past, and insecure about how his community views him. One night, despite his reluctance, he saves a dying slave from the pillar.

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www.dreamspinnerpress.com