Page 5 of Wistful in Wyoming
“Try it.” Dale saluted him with his glass then took a long swallow of the cold beer. Jeremiah tried not to stare at the other man’s throat but couldn’t drag his eyes away. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he downed the liquid, and Jeremiah couldn’t help but fantasize what it would be like to see him swallowing something else.
Pointedly ignoring Dale’s earlier comments, he raised the glass to his mouth and took a drink, licking the foam from his upper lip. “It-it’s good.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve never had homemade beer before. I like it.”
“Thanks. It’s a new recipe. I usually get a kit, but this is a Harris original.”
Staring at the dark amber liquid, Jeremiah swirled the glass around in his hand, the cold condensation on the sides slicking his palm and fingers. He hesitated a moment before finding the balls to ask, “Are we really going to talk about beer?”
One of Dale’s eyebrows arched. “Why not? Unless you’re going to tell me why you’re really here. Why you’re walking around in the dark like a stalker or something.”
Barking out a laugh, Jeremiah took another long drink, enjoying the bitter hoppy flavor. “Why I’m here?” Shrugging, he set the glass on the table. “I don’t know. My house is big and empty.”
“So? You came to mysmall, empty trailer?”
“You’re here, so it’s not exactly empty, now is it?” Dale didn’t respond but just gazed intently at Jeremiah who hesitated before adding, “Not going to make this easy on me, are you?”
“Nothing in life is easy, Urban, as you well know.”
“Are you gay?” he blurted, immediately wanting to smack himself as soon as the words passed his lips.
Dale’s chuckle was low and sexy. The corners of his sensual mouth curved upward in mild amusement. “I don’t like labels, and I don’t see the point of them. I’ve been with men, women, and people who don’t identify as either. If I like a person, I like them—it doesn’t matter to me what’s in their pants.”
Mulling over the unexpected answer, Jeremiah took another sip of his beer. Dale continued to puzzle him. “That’s surprising, I guess. What’s that like?”
“What is what like? I’m not going to sit here and play twenty obscure questions with you, cowboy. If you want to talk, talk. If not, finish your beer and be on your way.”
It was confusing why this man’s abrasive personality turned him on so much. If it’d been anyone else, Jeremiah would’ve already stormed out of there and never looked back. He must be a glutton for punishment because, instead of leaving, he found himself opening his mouth and letting words come out. “Being free. I mean, what’s it like being free to be who you really are?”
“Freedom is relative. Have I had slurs shouted at me? Absolutely. Have I been in fights because someone called me a fag and wanted to beat the queer out of me? Yup. I’m not more or less free than anyone else. I just don’t give a shit what people think most of the time. That being said, some things I won’t let slide, but I firmly believe that whatever two, or sometimes more, consenting adults do behind closed doors is their own damn business. If someone doesn’t like it, they can fuck right off.”
“God, you make it sound so damn easy, but it’s not!. Coming out is ... ” Scrubbing both hands down his face, he groaned. “It’s not like I haven’t thought about it a million times. Of course, I have! I’m so fucking tired of hiding, but I don’t know any way out. I’ll be crucified in the community, and my family legacy will go down in flames.” Why he was baring his soul to this man, he had no clue. It wasn’t like they were friends, more like acquaintances. They were friends of friends. Neighbors. Neighbors who’d butted heads ever since the moment they met. But all that hadn’t stopped Jeremiah from dreaming about Dale being in his bed. Nor did it stop the verbal diarrhea spilling from his mouth whenever they spoke to each without anyone in earshot. Dale’s pull on his psyche was almost as strong as the physical draw he felt when finding himself close to the man. He wanted to hand himself over into Dale’s safekeeping and just forget the world for a while ... or forever.
“I never said youhadto come out—that’s your decision. And a big one at that. I’ve never come out in the traditional sense either—I didn’t send out engraved announcements or shout it from the rooftops, but I haven’t hidden my sexual orientation from anyone in a very long time. As a result, I’m not going to be with someone who’s going to try and hide me away. I refuse to be treated like someone’s dirty little secret. Been there, done that, threw away the T-shirt.
“I’m not ashamed of who I am, and you shouldn’t be either. If we start a relationship that includes any kind of intimacy, at no point am I going to ask you to wave a rainbow flag and march down main street in sequined hot pants. But I will ask you to kiss me in public, hold my hand, and act like a couple. If you can’t do that, there’s the door.”
“What if I don’t want to date? What if I feel like we’re better as friends?” Ugh. This conversation was damn heavy for two people who didn’t really know each other that well.
“Then I’d say you’re deluding yourself. You want me, and I sure as hell want you. If you don’t want to date, fine. But then you don’t get to fuck me, and I won’t be fucking you either.” Sighing, Dale stood, taking his now empty beer glass with him. “Here’s the truth of it, cowboy. I’m too damn old for fucking around. Clubs and one-night stands don’t do it for me—they haven’t for a long time. I want to meet someone I can date and do all that other couple shit with. But I’m not going to compromise my happiness waiting for you or anyone else to accept me and what we are together. What you see is what you get. I’m not going to hide or pretend to be something I’m not. If you can accept that, I’d love to take you to dinner. If not,” he shrugged, “well, I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”
Taking Jeremiah’s half-full glass from him, he put it in the sink and walked to the door, opening it wide. “Go on. Go home and think. The offer stands. But I won’t wait forever. If I meet someone else in the meantime, I’m not going to say no on the off-chance you decide you’re ready for something real for once in your life.”
“You’re a harsh bastard, you know that?” Rising, he slapped his hat back onto his head angrily before walking through the door and descending the two steps. “Throwing ultimatums around like fucking candy. One day, that’ll bite you in the ass.”
“Maybe, maybe not. See you around, sweetheart.” Dale unceremoniously slammed the door in his face, forcing him to jerk back as to not get his nose smashed.
“Fucker.”
Chapter Four
December 24
It’d beena little over three months since Dale had delivered his ultimatum. Since then, the two men were back to being “friendly neighbors.” It was frustrating as hell for Jeremiah, especially since he was having wet dreams—something he hadn’t had in years—about the other man. Being forty-two and waking up in a puddle of his own cum in his boxers was something he thought he’d left behind with his teenage years. It was embarrassing as hell, even though no one else on Earth knew about it.
A few weeks after Dale had slammed the trailer door in Jeremiah’s face, Willow and Nathan had welcomed their daughter Shannon Cherry Casey into the world. As Jeremiah stood at his stove, waiting to take out the homemade bread he’d made for Christmas dinner at the couple’s place, his mind went back to the day Willow had gone into labor.
It had been an unseasonably warm Sunday for that late in September, but according to the forecast, the cooler temperatures would be coming in full force by the end of the week. Jeremiah was sitting on the side-porch swing with Nathan, shooting the shit and talking about the upcoming calving season and the pregnancy checks they’d be performing at the JP Ranch in a few weeks. He’d brought over a surprise for the happy couple—a beautiful wooden cradle he’d made from scratch. It was one of the few times he’d ever given away one of his creations. His workshop was filled with crafts he’d constructed from pieces of wood, but he never showed them to anyone, aside from the ones he used to decorate and furnish his home, and a few he’d made for specific people. His workshop was his sanctuary—where he could just be himself, not a rancher, not a boss, and not a gay man impersonating a straight one.
He’d made an ornate puzzle box for Nathan to give to Willow, that matched the one he’d made many years ago for her father. After that, his best friend had tried to convince him to sell some of his pieces at the Rockland County farmer’s market that took place every Saturday from late spring until the middle of October, weather permitting. In addition to local produce and edibles like homemade jams and breads, there were many vendors there with non-food items, such as crafts, antiques, and flea market finds. Jeremiah still couldn’t bring himself to show others his talent, although he honestly didn’t know why. Like being gay, he just found it hard to share personal things about himself with anyone.
