Two Sides of the Same Coin (2 page)

“No, he just is real unfriendly. If you keep trying to talk to him, he is mean. He is a really good hand though. You’d be better to ask Wayne, but I had no trouble working with him.”

“Well then,” I added, “his loss if he doesn’t want friends.”

“I’m gonna head over to the bunkhouse; Pedro or Josh probably have some breakfast ready by now. Hasta luego, Jeff!”

“See ya later, José,” I said as I noticed Wayne walking up to the porch. Wayne had been the ranch foreman since I was just a real little guy. He was in his fifties now, stocky and about five-nine with a big handlebar moustache. He’d been around when I got my first pony and when I learned how to cowboy. He had never said anything about my being gay other than asking me if I was happy.

“Mornin’, Jeff.”

“Hey, Wayne, what’s up?”

“Reckon I’m gonna take the truck up to the line camp in the high pasture. It’s about time to start roundin’ up the steers, and I wanna have supplies at the line camp.”

“Okay. You got any cowboyin’ for me to do?”

“Well, Jeff, you’re probably so far outta practice I don’t know what we should give you. You think you can ride fences?” he said seriously, although there was a definite smile to his eyes.

“Hell Wayne, I ain’t found a horse yet I can’t ride. Practice or not, I can still cowboy with the best of ’em. Some work might take my mind off stuff I just don’t wanna think about.”

“We’ll get a good crop of beeves this year.” He used the cowboy word for cattle sold for beef. If it was one cow, the word would be beef. Beeves was plural.

“I hope so,” I answered.

“And by the way, I’m serious about you ridin’ fences. You ride Charlie; he’s always been your horse. I’ll have you ride with Mike, the new guy. Maybe you two’ll get along better than he gets along with the other boys.”

“If he’s such an asshole, why do you keep him?”

“He’s a good hand. Besides, for some reason your dad liked him. Your dad was the only one he’d say more than a word or two to.”

“Well, you’re the foreman.”

“Yep, and don’t you forget it!” he answered with a grin.

Just then angry shouts erupted from the bunkhouse. The door flew open and out sailed Pedro, landing flat on his ass. Pedro was the youngest of the hands. He was only about five-seven, dark skinned with straight black hair. He had a goatee cut real short. He hadn’t been prepared to come outside—he was just wearing jeans and a black Henley shirt, no boots. He jumped up quickly. Mike just as quickly jumped out of the bunkhouse door.

“Fucking asshole!” he yelled. “That was salt in my coffee! I am gonna kick the shit outta you!” He lunged at Pedro again.

“Hijo de puta! You can’t even take a fuckin’ joke asshole!” yelled Pedro. “Come on, you piece of shit!”

Josh and José burst out of the bunkhouse and grabbed Mike, holding him back, while Wayne and I grabbed Pedro.

“Asshole put salt in the sugar bowl!” Mike yelled.

“It was a joke, cabrón. You are too stupid to take a joke?” Pedro answered, glaring back at Mike.

“Enough, both of ya!” Wayne shouted. “Pedro, you go take the salt outta the sugar bowl and put sugar in it. And pour him another cup of coffee. And you,” Wayne said as he looked at Mike. “Unless you’re allergic to salt, there’s no harm done. Put a lid on it now!”

Both Mike and Pedro glared at each other, but walked back into the bunkhouse followed by Josh and José.

“I better go make sure those hotheads don’t start it again,” Wayne said as he headed over to the bunkhouse.

A couple of hours later, Mike and I were ready to head out riding fences. Riding fences was one job that most cowboys just hated. You rode around the fence line on horseback or in a pickup and did any fence repairs that were needed. We’d be going on horseback since Wayne had already taken the truck to the line camp with supplies. Josh and José were getting the pens repaired and in order. Pedro had headed off to locate where the steers were grazing. Since Mike and I expected to be away a couple of days, we had camping equipment as well as the tools to fix fences in the saddlebags the horses carried. Riding fences was without a doubt the most boring job in ranch work.

It was turning out to be quite a tedious day. I’d tried to have a conversation with Mike, but got tired of hearing just “Yep,” “Nope,” or some unintelligible grunt in response to anything I said. He pulled a bit ahead of me after a while as we rode along the fence line, so conversation was pretty well out of the question. That gave me a chance to examine him better. He’d shed his jacket as it was fairly warm with the afternoon sun. His thermal long-sleeve T-shirt fit him like a glove, from his broad, well-muscled shoulders down to where he’d tucked it into his jeans at his skinny waist. There was a pretty impressive V-shape in between. He’d pushed the sleeves up to just below his elbows, showing a tanned set of arms covered in red gold fur. His jeans were also tight, showing off well-shaped butt and long, legs ending in scuffed brown boots. I was getting lost in daydreams about just how sweet that tight little butt might be, when he turned to me. “Up ahead where the property goes up to the tree line would be a good place to set up camp for the night. It’s a ways though, so by the time we get there, it’ll be comin’ on dusk.”

“Sounds good to me,” I replied.

“Okay. Thought you might make some executive decision or somethin’ and head back to the ranch for the night.”

“You thought wrong.” He sure did have a knack for being annoying. “When I work, I work. It doesn’t matter if it’s keeping the books or shoveling shit. Nobody’s ever had to say I don’t pull my own weight. Understand?”

He half turned his horse and looked at me. It was a long appraising look. Then he finally said, “Okay.” A few seconds later he added, “No offense meant.”

We spent the last few hours of the afternoon riding in silence until we got to the site where we were going to camp. I knew the spot he’d suggested for a camp, and he’d picked well. It was sheltered by some low hills and boulders and among the trees. There was a spring, which provided water for the horses and plenty of grass for them. The trees would provide firewood.

We got camp set up pretty quickly. It was just unloading the camping equipment from the saddlebags, scouting out space for the sleeping bags, taking care of the horses, and getting a fire started. Since it was supposed to be clear, we decided against setting up the tent. I cooked up some canned beef stew and noodles. That, some dried apricots and water completed the meal. Conversation with Mike was like pulling teeth.

“So how do you like workin’ on the ranch?” I asked.

“It’s a job.”

“You from Washington originally?”

“Nope.”

“Where ya from?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“What, you’re a wanted man?” I laughed.

The answer after a few minutes was a cynical, “Nope, don’t want nobody and I ain’t wanted by nobody.”

I just couldn’t imagine not having any friends, so I asked, “No friends here?”

“Friends’ll just stab you in the back. Those closest to you will screw you every time. I don’t need that shit,” he replied angrily. In fact, it was spit out with such venom it removed any desire on my part to continue the conversation.

“Well, I’m gonna turn in,” I said, pulling off my boots and socks. I stood up, doffed my hat, and began unbuttoning my shirt. I noticed Mike was closely watching me. I unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned my jeans. I stepped out of them and began rolling them to make a pillow. Now, I’ve been told enough times I’m easy on the eyes—tall, olive skin, black hair and beard, with a pair of green, not hazel, eyes. Work in San Francisco, the gym, plus an active lifestyle had given me a good amount of muscle on a lean frame. I stood there in my T-shirt and boxers. From the corner of my eye, I could see Mike trying hard not to stare and not quite managing it. I thought,
hmmm… he might not play for the other team after all
. Either that, or he knew I’m gay and was uncomfortable with it. Just to be a teasing bastard, I turned to face him. My T-shirt was clingy cotton and showed off the muscles in my pecs. Although my boxers were loose, my legs are really muscular, and I’ve seen enough to know I don’t have anything to be ashamed of in the locker room. Enough of a bulge showed to hint at that. I made a show of scratching my belly to uncover the thick treasure trail, which disappeared into the waistband of my shorts. I turned around and bent over purposely to arrange my sleeping bag. I took my time getting into it, making a big show for Mike. I lay down, looked over at him, and said, “Good night.”

I almost chuckled at his confused sounding, “Uh… yeah, you too,” which was probably more pleasant conversation than I’d gotten from him all night.

I’ve never been reluctant to let folks know I’m gay. I don’t introduce myself, “Hi I’m gay Jeff,” but I don’t hide it either. It was common knowledge on the ranch, so Mike must’ve known. He was still wearing his long-sleeve thermal T-shirt, so he slipped it off, then kicked off his boots and pulled off his socks. I was watching with my eyes half closed. As I’d mentioned before, he sure was nice to look at, and he didn’t disappoint me. He was pretty well muscled, too, better than I had thought when I first met him. His red beard seemed to shine in the firelight, which also seemed to highlight the fine film of hair on his arms and legs. He was facing my direction as he rolled up his pants for a pillow, and I noticed he’d been more than a little turned on by my earlier strip show. He looked good enough to lick all over in his blue briefs . He jumped fairly quickly into his sleeping bag. I did see as he crawled in, that his ass was beautifully framed by the thin cotton of his briefs. What I could do with that ass. He looked over in my direction after he was safe in his sleeping bag. I was pretty sure that the red in his face was not due to the reflection of the campfire. I smiled as I drifted off to sleep, hearing him tossing and turning, clearly bothered—or better said hot and bothered—by my actions.

I
T
HAD
been a long time since I slept out under the stars. I woke to a cold fall morning. The day was just beginning, and it was still a dark twilight. The birds were gradually beginning to sing and chirp. I could see a glow over the hills to the east where the sun would rise. The fire was dead and the air was fresh, with a hint of wood smoke. The Methow Valley had to be one of the most beautiful places on God’s earth. From the fully wooded foothills of the Cascades to the desert by the Columbia River, the terrain was hilly and had a wild beauty to it. It felt good to be home. I lay in my sleeping bag for a few minutes enjoying the play of light on the hills and mountains around us, the sounds of the place coming to life in the morning, and the clear air which smelled of pine. Mike was softly snoring in the bedroll across camp, but after a few minutes he began to stir. A mischievous thought crossed my mind. If my little show last night had thrown him off balance, maybe if I did something similar this morning, it might keep him off kilter today too. I stood up and made a big deal of stretching. I walked over to the water jug in only my underwear and got some water and began to build the fire and make coffee. I purposely crouched down where Mike could see up the leg of my boxers. I expected him to stare and he didn’t disappoint me. I threw a few handfuls of coffee grounds in the pot with water and set it on the fire to boil. I walked over to the edge of camp in full view of Mike and let loose with a long morning piss. About halfway through, I realized that it was cold! I suddenly felt like I was turning blue and hurried to finish and get my clothes on.

Once I was dressed, I got out the saddle pack with some granola bars and dried fruit. As I was adding some cold water to the coffee pot to settle the grounds, I saw Mike jump up real quick like and grab his pants. He was hopping around trying to get his pants on and trying to conceal a massive erection peeking out of the top of his briefs. When he had finished dressing, he came toward me, and I handed him a mug of coffee. He muttered something, which might have been “thanks,” and grabbed some dried apples and a couple of granola bars. He seemed to be doing some deep thinking from the frown of concentration on his face. After a few minutes he looked at me and said tentatively, “Jeff?”

“Yeah?” I answered.

“Uh… I um… just wanted to tell ya, I’m sorry about your dad. He was a good guy,” he said softly. “He was a good guy, and he treated me real well and real fair. He talked to me and listened to me.”

“Thanks. You’re right. He was a really good guy. I couldn’t have asked for a better dad. I appreciate it, Mike; I’m glad you two were there for each other to talk to.”

“Uh-huh.” I guess that was the civil conversation for the day. Silence descended once again as we packed up camp and made sure the fire was out. I wasn’t gonna make much of an effort at conversation after trying several times yesterday. Much of the morning was spent riding in silence. I wasn’t too upset by the silence as it allowed me to focus on all the natural beauty of the valley. We were riding in an area of the ranch that spread out toward the high Cascades. The pine trees gave the air a natural fragrance, which pine “air fresheners” have never been able to duplicate. The sun was bright and the day was warming up nicely. Occasionally we’d see some deer grazing off to the side. I had counted several eagles and was enjoying the view of the meadows, burned golden by the fall sun.

“Hey, Jeff?” Mike’s words broke my period of silent reverie for the beautiful country through which we rode.

“What’s up?”

“You don’t like me much, do ya?”

“Can’t say as I’ve seen too much to like. You’re really easy on the eyes, both face and body, but the way you act and some of the stuff out of your mouth is plain ugly. You don’t make any effort to show much likeable.”

“Thanks for the honesty.” He gave a disgruntled reply.

“Let’s water the horses in the creek up ahead in the woods and have lunch.”

“Okay.”

After getting to the creek, dismounting and pulling some bread and spam from the saddlepack, we sat down on some rocks.