Page 13 of The Texas Sterling Collection
“Not much to tell,” Rod focused back on the road. “My parents lived into their late 60s. They drove to East Texas to visit my mom’s sister. A drunk driver hit them head-on. Their marriage lasted almost forty-five years.”
“Forty-five years? Wow. Few marriages survive four years, much less forty-five. And speaking of marriage, when do I meet Mrs. Bonner?” The handsome man seated to my left did things to my insides, but a wife in the picture would mean him, or her, trying to fix me up with a nice girl. I'm still not ready to admit my gay side to anyone; playing the straight card worked for years. Now, I must either be myself and tell Walt about my preference for men or remain closeted. How Walt would take the news remained unknown. But with Rod, dare I let my guard down?
Rod cleared his throat. “There is no Mrs. Bonner. I never found much time for dating and such. Blackfield didn’t include anyone that interested me.”
I sensed evasion and discomfort from Rod, but couldn’t figure out why. “So, it’s just you?”
Rod nodded. “My sister, Jean, moved to Lubbock after our parents died. I stayed in the historic family home by myself.”
That answered the question about Rod being married, but didn’t tell me much about his past or his preferences. I figured an intelligent man like Rod would havesomeonein his life. “So, did you ever marry?”
He frowned, and my question hung in the air, unanswered. I leaned forward to better study Rod’s face. The last thing I want is to pressure him, but I already did and struggled with how to ease the tension. Encouraging him to open up would help. “Talk to me, Rod. I’m not a rattlesnake. I won’t bite.”
Rod kept his eyes on the road and sighed. “Wyl, I am candid about myself. A ten-year loving, committed, monogamous relationship ended when he left town and disappeared.” He paused and took a deep breath as if about to reveal that he had committed murder. “Yes…he. I’m gay. I never married. A husband, yes, but not in the legal sense. Marriage equality didn’t become law until after we were together for years. We didn’t think being married mattered much. In fact, as it turns out, not being legally tied saved me. My focus now is on my students and my career in higher education.” He took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. “I hope my being gay doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”
I glanced at Rod’s white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. “Hey buddy, relax.” I tapped his knuckles but didn’t give him a reassuring shoulder squeeze. “The military includes quite a few gay enlistees. I once heardthere ain’t nobody straight in a foxhole under enemy assault.” I shook my head. “It doesn’t mean soldiers under fire turn gay. It means being a straight he-man isn’t important if you might die.” I needed to ease up on my self-imposed friend boycott. I couldn’t believe I found a kindred spirit. “You being gay doesn’t bother me at all.”
Tension in my chest eased at Rod’s honesty about his preference. The sting of Dusty's rejection and betrayal in my past still haunted me. Perhaps one day I'll admit the attraction to my handsome professor, but not today.
Rod let out a sigh. “Small West Texas towns are generally negative toward gays.” He flexed the fingers of each hand to bring back circulation. “I’m out to college administrators. A few staff on campus know, and I'm sure the scuttlebutt made the rounds. During the job interview process, I was honest about my past. The few detractors on the committee couldn’t argue with my background and experience. Most of my issues with homophobia occurred in high school. You know high school kids. A gang of bullies beat me up and called me a ‘faggot’ and ‘queer.’ At the time, I didn’t comprehend what they meant. Years later, I came to terms with myself.”
Without thinking, I reached for Rod’s shoulder and kneaded. “You won’t hear those words from me. I worried about you wanting to drag me out on double dates and stuff. I’m not much for dating, so your being gay is kind of a relief.” The muscle in Rod’s shoulder relaxed under my hand. An addictive, warm sensation flowed up my arm. Snatching my hand away, I realized what I had done and the positive vibes it created.Shit.
Rod chuckled. “Kind ofa relief? Those are the last words I expected from a Marine-rancher.”
I laughed. “A Marine-rancher? I sense a story. Want to share?”
Rod sighed. “My sister Jean called to find out how the first week of school went. I told her about this interesting non-traditional student in my music class. She asked if you were gay. I assured her you stood about as far from gay as a guy could be. Besides, no gay Marines or gay ranchers existed. She told me to stop being stupid.”
I struggled to avoid smiling. I couldn't give myself away. Someday, under the right circumstances, but not here. Not like this. A flash of excitement twisted in my gut. But did the excitement mean curiosity or attraction? And if it were an attraction, what would I do about it? “Lots of gays serve in the armed forces in all branches.” Like Rod dancing around his own history, I danced around the topic of gay Marine ranchers. “LGBT service members no longer fear prosecution and a dishonorable discharge. I did not say persecution, which I suppose still exists against gays just about everywhere despite the laws. I’m not like that, by the way. I applaud your willingness to be yourself.”
“That answers the gay Marine part. What about ranchers?”
“You are familiar with the big gay rodeo circuit, right?”
Rod chuckled. “A rodeo circuit for big gays? What about the little fellers?”
I barked out a laugh. “Since when does a college professor sayfellers?”
Rod grinned. “Hey…I grew up in Blackfield. I can talk the lingo.”
I shook my head. “Lingo or not, the International Gay Rodeo Association is worldwide.”
“Wait a minute.” Rod glanced at me. “How do you know about gay rodeo?”
Shit. I need to be more careful. At least I had a logical explanation. “A couple of years ago, two Sterling Ranch hands competed in the annual spring rodeo sponsored by the Texas Gay Rodeo Association. Took top honors, I believe. I’ll check with Walt.”
“Do you suppose other Blackfield residents have been involved?”
“Beats me, but somewhere I read that ten percent of the general population is gay.” I would not tell him I researched after the Dusty debacle. “Out of Blackfield’s 13,000, something like 1,299 other gays live in town. Sounds like a big gay party to me. I’m sure you are friends with a few local gays, right?”
“Shit, no.”
I faked a gasp. “I can’t believe a college professor said shit.”
Rod gave me a sideways glance. “I’ve said a lot worse. And no, I don’t know any other gays in town. The one I knew died. Vehicular suicide. He played the field and contracted AIDS. We never became close friends.”
“From what you say, Blackfield was a rough place to grow up gay.”
