Red Dirt Heart 04 - Red Dirt Heart 4 (18 page)

I put my bags down and scanned the room.

“Ah, Trav.” Charlie was behind me, somehow still holding my hand, and I was scanning the tops of the crowds looking for my father’s taller-than-most head. “Trav.” He bumped into my back and tapped my arm. “Trav—”

I turned just in time to see my mother throw her arms around Charlie. He made a squeezed, awkward sound, and just when I thought my mother might hug him to death, she let him go so she could hug me.

“Oh my Lord, look at you two,” she said, pulling back. She quickly put her hand to Charlie’s face. “It’s so good to finally to meet you, Charlie.” She hugged him again, half laughing, half crying.

When she finally let him go, Charlie looked equal parts scared, relieved and violated. He straightened his hat and tipped it a little. “Mrs Craig. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh.” She looked at me and almost started to cry. “He’s so sweet.”

My dad came through the crowd, smiling terrifically. He was a good inch taller than me, broad shoulders, blue eyes and greying hair. He gave me a quick hug, then turned to Charlie.

“Mr Craig,” Charlie said with a nod. He glanced at me nervously, probably hoping I’d divert my dad’s attention, but before I could do or say anything, my dad held out his hand.

“So you’re the man who stole our son away,” my dad said, which he meant as a joke. My dad always joked. But it was the worst thing to say to Charlie.

“I, uh, I’m Charlie,” he replied weakly and shook my dad’s hand.

I stepped in close to Charlie, put my arm around his waist and gave my dad a ‘be nice’ glare. “Dad, Charlie Sutton. Charlie, this is my dad, Michael Senior.”

Dad was still smiling at him. “Please, just call me Michael.”

“You boys must be exhausted,” Mom said. “Let’s get you home.”

I gave Charlie a smile. I was excited to be back, and I was excited for everyone to meet him. I could tell Charlie was one breath away from saying, “I didn’t steal you,” so I quickly grabbed his luggage, handed it to him and changed the subject. “I want to show you so much.”

“Did you boys bring coats?” Mom asked as we walked. “It’s cold out.”

“Yeah, but they’re packed,” I told her. “It was ninety-two degrees when we left, Momma.”

“Well, it’s been a cold fall here. Feels like winter already,” she said.

I looked around to find, yes, most everyone had coats and scarves, and Charlie and I were just wearing jeans and cotton button-down shirts. Figuring it wouldn’t be too bad—and we only had to get from the terminal to the truck—I just kept on walking out into a blast of feels-like-winter air with my folks. It took me a few yards to realise Charlie had stopped walking.

When I turned to look for him, it was like the cold had snap-frozen him to the sidewalk. He was standing there, people annoyed at having to walk around him, with his mouth was open, and he was slow-blinking.

I quickly walked back to him and grabbed his arm. “Come on, you’re blocking the door.”

“’S c-c-cold,” he said breathily, but at least his feet moved.

I laughed at him. “Well, walk quicker and you won’t be in the cold.”

Mom took his suitcase. “There’s talk of snow for Christmas. We’re in for the coldest winter in decades.”

“Snow?” Charlie squeaked.

Dad was grinning, and I was thankful that Charlie didn’t see it. By the time we got to the truck, Charlie was shivering and his teeth were chattering, his hands freezing to the touch.

We climbed into the back seat of Dad’s new truck, rubbing our hands to keep warm. I guessed Charlie wasn’t the only one used to warmer weather, because the cold was a shock to me as well. Mom cranked the heat up on the drive back to the ranch, and when she wasn’t telling me the latest news on everyone she knew, I was pointing out the window showing Charlie landmarks, places I’d been and places I wanted to take him.

Everything looked just as it did when I was here for my Granddaddy’s funeral twelve months ago. Sure, a few things were different: construction, new stores. But one thing about Texas was the more it changed, the more it stayed the same.

And as we drove down the familiar drive to my parents’ house, I realised what
had
changed. And that was me. It was me that was different. I had changed. Charlie had changed me. And one thing I knew for certain was that the state of Texas was no longer my home.

An Aussie in Texas.

The worst thing about travelling was the jet lag. Well, actually, the worst thing was having Mom plan a family dinner the day we arrived and not being able to sleep off some jet lag.

“But everyone wants to see you,” Mom whined when I’d made a face. “We haven’t seen you in a year, Travis, and we need to make use of every day you’re here.”

Mom was fussin’ in the kitchen, getting things ready for tonight. Charlie and I sat at the kitchen counter, our coffee in front of us. “Who’s coming tonight?” I asked.

“Michael, Jess, and the two kids. Paige will be here with her three, and Casey wasn’t sure if Ben would be coming.”

“Who’s Ben.”

“Her new beau,” Momma said with a smile. “They’ve been seeing each other a good while now, about five months. They met at her office.”

It was strange to hear about my sister’s life like it was a foreign thing. I mean, we talked on Skype, but I guess it was the small things that got left out.

“Now, Charlie,” Momma said. “Tell me, is there any food you don’t eat that I need to know about?”

He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I eat just about everything.”

“No oatmeal, Mom,” I said. “He doesn’t eat oatmeal.”

“Oh yes. I don’t like porridge.” Charlie was so nervous, and being tired didn’t help any. I took his hand under the counter and entwined our fingers. He gave me a small, tight smile.

“You have a beautiful home, Mrs Craig,” he said.

“Oh thank you, Charlie,” Mom said genuinely. She looked around her huge oak kitchen. “We just love it.”

“Want me to show you around?” I asked him. I got up from my stool and pulled him with me. “I’ll give you the grand tour. Momma, we might rest a while before everyone gets here. It was a long flight.”

“Okay,” she said, busy chopping vegetables. “Be down by six.”

I showed Charlie around the bottom floor first. There was the kitchen area we’d just been in, which opened into the living room, then there was a formal living room, the dining room, the den and my dad’s office.

Charlie looked at the furniture, the plush carpets, drapes and precisely placed cushions and lamps. “It’s very beautiful,” he whispered. “Looks like something out of a magazine.”

He was right. It did look like something from a magazine; after all, that’s what Momma paid the decorators to make it look like. But it was the home I grew up in, so it didn’t seem ostentatious to me. I shrugged. “Eh. It’s just a house.”

“It kinda puts the homestead to shame…”

“Hey,” I chipped him. “That’s my house you’re talking about.”

Charlie smiled. “You know what I mean.”

I took his hand again. I didn’t want him to feel like what he had wasn’t good enough, when the exact opposite was true. “I love the homestead. I love it. It has character and heart: lyin’ on the couch with you watchin’ the TV, watchin’ the sunset from the veranda, sittin’ at Ma’s kitchen table. It’s home, Charlie.”

He smiled and looked to the floor. “Thank you.”

I led him upstairs. “Come on, I’ll show you up here.”

When we’d arrived, we’d literally dropped our bags off, freshened up in the bathroom and gone back downstairs, so after I’d pointed out which doors led to which bedrooms, I opened the door to my old room.

It was just as I’d left it when I went to college, and again almost three years ago when I left for a student exchange program and then last year when I’d come back for my grandfather’s funeral. Nothing had changed.

Charlie walked in, taking in everything, the posters on the wall, the student desk in the corner, the trophies on the shelf and football pennants on the wall. “So, this is you, huh?”

“Well,” I corrected him, “this was me when I was in high school. I left home for college and then ended up in Australia, remember? My mom left my room as it was.”

Charlie smiled warmly. “You were the all-American boy.”

I snorted out a laugh. “Except for the whole gay thing.”

Charlie chuckled, then looked closer at the posters. They were mostly landscape shots, some of them Australian. “Is that the Simpson Desert?”

I pointed to my own chest. “Hey, agronomy student, remember?”

“You were such a dirt-nerd.”

I barked out a laugh. “I’ve looked at those dirt-nerd photos for years. Never imagined I’d live there.”

Charlie looked at me for a long moment. “Like fate or something.”

I closed and locked the door behind me. “Exactly.”

He looked back to the bed. “So… make out with any guys on this bed? Oh Jesus, did you sleep with anyone in this bed? Actually,” he said, his voice rising in pitch. “Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”

He was still facing the bed, so I put my hands on his hips and kissed the back of his neck with smiling lips. Charlie’s jealous streak ran a mile wide. “Get on the bed, Charlie.”

He seemed to hesitate. His voice was breathy and lacked conviction. “Your parents are downstairs.”

“I don’t care. I want you, in this bed, now.” I pulled his ass against my dick, then pushed him onto the bed. He planted face first, and I followed him onto the mattress and pinned him there with my hands on his back. I rubbed myself against his ass and leaning over him, whispered in his ear. “I want it to smell of you.”

He brought his hands down, and at first I thought he was going to push up and away from me, but his hands slipped under his body and undid the button on his jeans. With limited space to move, he pushed the denim down over his ass the best he could and mumbled into the quilt, “Do it, Trav. Hurry up and fuck me.”

I couldn’t have denied him if I’d wanted to. And I did
not
want to. I mostly bottomed, loving nothing more than being filled by him, and it wasn’t often we switched. But every now and then, Charlie wanted my dick in his ass.

And so help me God, I loved giving it to him.

He shuffled his jeans down a bit more, but it wasn’t enough. I yanked them down hard to the tops of his thighs and undid my jeans. He moaned at the sound of the zipper.

I leant over him and reached for my carry-on bag, upending it on the bed. I found the travel tube of lube, and Charlie spread his legs the best he could with me on top of him. He lifted his ass. “Travis,” he growled. “I’m pretty sure I’ll die if you’re not inside me.”

I groaned out a laugh because that is what I normally said to him. I knew his desperation, and he wasn’t at his limit yet. I squirted the lube down his ass crack and plunged my finger in his hole.

“Just fuck me,” he whined, pushing his ass on to my finger.

I quickly added another finger, and he snapped, “Travis.”

There it was. That was his I-can’t-wait-another-fucking-second growl.

So I poured more lube over his ass again, rubbed the slick over my cock, lined up with his hole and pushed into him in one long thrust.

Charlie fisted the quilt and lifted his ass. And he moaned. Lord have mercy, how he moaned.

I knew I wouldn’t last long. I didn’t want to take my time. I wanted to fuck him, hard. I wanted him to know that he was in my old bed, and only him. Barely giving him time to adjust, with my legs outside his, I began to thrust.

His jeans, still around his thighs, and mine, with only the button and fly open, spoke of our urgency. This wouldn’t wait.

I leaned over him, pressing my weight on him, pushing every inch of me inside him. “Only you,” I whispered in his ear with each thrust. “Only. You.”

A high-pitched whine escaped him, and he pushed his head down and his ass up. I rammed into him over and over, deeper, harder, chasing my orgasm until pure pleasure rolled through me, unfurling from my belly and unloading into his ass.

I collapsed on top of him, only pulling out when the room had stopped spinning. I rolled him onto his side so he faced me, took his half-hard cock in my hand and started to pump him. I kissed him, a twirling of tongues and soft whimpers until he came.

I didn’t care what mess we were covered in. I pulled the blankets over us and held him tight against me. “Who’s been in this bed with me?” I asked.

He mumbled sleepily into my shirt. “Only me.”

“Who am I in love with?”

“Only me.”

“Who did I swear my heart to? With the desert as my witness, who became my husband?”

I felt him smile against my chest. “Only me.”

I kissed the side of his head, and we slept.

* * * *

Despite the not long enough two-hour nap, I was excited to see my brother and sisters. Charlie, on the other hand, was nervous as hell.

Michael and Jess arrived first with their two kids in tow. My nephews, Joshua and Jacob, were loud.

Next to arrive was Paige with her three kids, Hamish, Brianna and little Emily. Casey and her boyfriend Ben arrived not long after that.

Charlie had spoken to them all via Skype before, so he wasn’t at a complete loss, and I’d reminded him of who they all were when we were getting dressed.

Michael was the eldest, six years older than me. Then came Paige, three years older than me, then there was Casey, who was born when I was two.

But everyone was there and the decibels were at eardrum-bursting levels, and to say Charlie was overwhelmed was probably an understatement. To say my family was all over him like a summer heat rash was an even bigger understatement.

Casey, who people thought was a lot like me, had him cornered. “Say ‘G’day, mate’,” Casey said, like she’d found a new toy.

Charlie blinked. “Pardon?”

Casey snorted. “Oh my God, you totally sound like Steve Irwin. Say ‘crikey’!”

Charlie stared at her, blinked twice, then turned slowly to look at me. I cracked up laughing. But he looked so out of sorts, I had to help him. “Casey”—I put my arm around Charlie like a force field—“leave him alone.”

“And listen to you,” she said to me. “You’re sounding more Australian every day, mister.”

“No, I’m not.” I shook my head.

Casey looked to Paige, who looked at Jess, and the three of them stared at me and nodded. “Yeah, you do.”

“I can’t win,” I cried. “Over there, I’m too American, over here I’m too Australian.” I looked at Charlie. “I don’t sound Australian to you, do I?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. Very American.” He shrugged. “Well, I thought you did until I came here. Maybe I’m just used to how you sound, but everyone here is
very
American.”

We sat around the dining room table while the kids played in the den. It gave us a good chance to talk without yelling over the noise, and Charlie started to relax.

Everyone loved him. I mean, of course they did. How could they not?

They asked him a hundred questions about the station, what he did, and did we really, really live three hours from the nearest town, and really? Just how big is 2.58 million acres?

I updated everyone on what had been going on, told them all about Matilda and Nugget, how Delilah had grown so big, and bragged shamelessly about how good Charlie was acclimating with his new horse. I recounted for them everything he did and how he did it until Charlie gave me a please-shut-up-about-it look.

Everyone spent dinnertime telling Charlie all the stupid things I did as a kid, and by the time we’d had Momma’s homemade sweets, our chairs were pulled together as we chatted with everyone, and he was much more relaxed. And he was dead tired. After he’d stifled another yawn, Momma said, “Oh, Charlie, dear, you can barely keep your eyes open. Go to bed.”

“Oh no,” he said quickly, clearly not wanting to offend anyone. “I’m fine. The trip here knocked me for a six, that’s all.”

Momma blinked. “Knocked you what, dear?”

“For a six,” Charlie answered. When it was pretty obvious no one had a clue what that meant, he explained, “It’s a cricket term. It means knocked me about.”

I chuckled at him. “You’re the one with the weird names for everything here, not me.”

“Weird names for what?” Josh asked. He was my brother’s eldest boy and thought the way Charlie spoke was awesome.

I answered. “Like mozzies and sunnies and snags and chooks and jumpers.”

“Like
what
?” Josh squealed. “What are those? How silly!”

“Tell me about it!” I agreed. “It’s like a whole other language. And don’t even get me started on their football.” I leaned in toward Josh. “They play it on an oval-shaped field.”

Josh looked at Charlie, then leaned in just like I had. “What’s wrong with them?”

Charlie laughed at that. “Not all our football is played on an oval. We have four different codes of football in Australia.”

A collective “four?” was shouted around the table.

“See?” I told Charlie. “I told you it wasn’t normal.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Yes, I apologise for making fun of gridiron.”

“And baseball,” I added, figuring I’d give payback where I could.