Page 19 of Doing Life

“Yeah. It’s in between Santa Fe and Española. Closer to Santa Fe, because I had a job there.”

Lance could hear the pride ringing out from Sloan. “Wow. That’s amazing. Your own house. Congratulations, man.”

“Yeah, thanks, but I don’t have much, three acres or so, but it’s nice, it’s fenced, and the house is good. I even have a couple of goats.”

“And you’re here.” It didn’t make any sense. “What are you doing with your goats?”

“My sister’s watching them.”

“Oh no.” Now that would be something to see. Grace was not what he would consider a cowgirl. Grace was a high-powered attorney in Santa Fe who worked with legislators. She really was a brilliant lady, with three kids, but he couldn’t see her getting her Leboutins covered in horse poop.

“Shut up. She made me buy her these really expensive muck boots.”

“Do they have red bottoms?”

Sloan’s laughter boomed out, and it made it easy for him to chuckle and settle back deeper into the pillows, relaxing. “What kind of goats do you have?”

“I have two Nubians. One of them’s named Tin Man. The other one’s Dorothy. And then I have a Boer named Toto.”

He cracked up. “Really, they’re allWizard of Oznames? How did that even happen?”

Sloan sighed, and Lance could imagine him rolling his eyes. “Toto came first, she’s the Boer, and then I bought the other two. So, it just worked out. I wanted to name him Scarecrow. But Scarecrow seemed like such a mean name for an animal.” There was a pause, and then Sloan asked, “So do I get to ask a question now?”

He found himself tensing, his eyebrows lowered in a frown. “Hey, we were just having a conversation.”

“Right, sorry. I guess I’m a little unpracticed at this, but I have so many questions.”

“Okay, like what?”

“How long have you been in Texas?”

“A little over a year.” He’d been at the rehab ranch for afew months, but the house in town suited him way better, if he was honest.

“Damn. But why did you pick the Rocking W ranch to go to your rehab? There are better places.”

“Maybe there are, but you know, I’m a Texan at heart. I made a good friend when I was in the hospital. He was a nurse, and he’d been here. He’d trained here. He suggested it. He said it was diverse, it was gay-friendly, it was small, and it was homey. I like Luke a lot. He’s a solid guy, so is Matt. I just don’t…he doesn’t talk much, and it’s weird when you can’t see somebody, and they don’t talk much.”

“I bet. I also imagine people have a tendency to babble at you. I do. Would. If we were together at all.” Sloan laughed then, the sound rough as a cob, as if he didn’t do it much. “See? Doing it now.”

“Do I make you that nervous? Is it the scars?” It could be the scars.

“What the fuck?” Sloan’s voice rang with shock. “Yes, you make me that nervous. Are you kidding? Jesus Christ, Simpson. I left my job, my house, my critters on the chance that you would take my ass back. I am walking on fucking eggshells here, terrified that I’ll say the thing that’s going to send you running again. Hell, I’m not just nervous, I’m scared.”

Lance blinked, and he found himself absolutely unsure what to say.

“Dammit, and now you’re not fucking talking to me. See?”

“No, no, no, no, I just…I don’t know what to say. I feel, I feel terrible. I fucked everything up. Everything is messed up, and it’s my fault.”

“No, dipshit. You didn’t blow yourself up. You didn’t blow me up. That’s not what happened. You didn’t blow Radar up. It just happened.”

Oh God. He reached down to love on Abby, needing hersupport, her love. She was right there, too, her fur soft as smoke. “I think about him all the time.”

Weirdly enough that was who he thought about—the dog. The people were distant like ghost memories, but he saw Radar every time he closed his eyes to sleep.

“God, me too. He was my boy.” Oh, poor Sloan. His heart ached for his lover. So hard.

“Yeah.” He scratched at his beard, the scars dragging against his fingernails, and he forced himself to stop. He know that didn’t help anything. “He was a good dog. He had your back.”

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