Calvin’s Cowboy (12 page)

“Much as I like you feeling me up, I need to get showered and changed.” Brock held Calvin at arm’s length and looked into the man’s green eyes.
God, you’re adorable,
Brock thought.
I could so easily fall for your mixture of goofiness and take-charge attitude.

“Need a hand?” Calvin waggled his eyebrows.

“No way.” Brock’s arms fell to his sides. “We’d never get out of the house if I let you do that.”

“So?”

Brock was tempted, but that night was too important for them to just stay home and mess around. A few days earlier when he’d seen that on Thursday night the drive-in movie theater near Austin was showing
High Noon
, Brock just knew he’d have to swallow any qualms he’d have about taking Calvin out in public. The man had done so much for him; Brock had to do something to return the man’s kindness.

“Spoilsport.”

“The rest of the night after the movie will be ours.”

“True,” Calvin leered.

Walking down the hallway, Brock spied the blinking message light on the answering machine. He didn’t think it would be Junior and—fearing it would be the debt collectors—he walked past it.

In the bathroom Brock stood under the hot shower. His muscles—particularly those in his right arm—were aching. He’d have much preferred a long soak in the tub, but there wasn’t time.

Drying off, then wrapping a towel around his middle, Brock splashed on some cologne—a Christmas present from Junior—and went into the bedroom to dress. The temperature had dropped as evening had advanced, making him wonder if a storm was coming in. He hoped not, as that would ruin the movie. Quickly dressing in matching underwear and socks, Brock took his western shirt out of its plastic dry-cleaning wrapper and put it on. Then came his best blue Wranglers, and, after feeding in a belt, he stomped into his cowboy boots. The chill in the air had him reaching for a denim jacket, which more-or-less matched his jeans. Putting his Resistol on his head, Brock stole a quick glance of himself in the mirror. He’d do.

As he’d hoped, Calvin smiled when Brock entered the living room.

“Back to being Mr. Cowboy, I see.”

“Yep.” Brock put his thumbs in his pockets. Shit, he’d forgotten his wallet. “Back in a minute.”

“Nice ass!” Calvin said to Brock’s retreating back.

Brock remembered Calvin hadn’t brought a jacket. He doubted they’d have time to go back for him to get something. Brock got an idea, but doubted Calvin would go for it.
Maybe if I tell him it’s a bit of a retro date.
Brock reached into the back of his closet and pulled out something he hadn’t worn in years. Carrying it back to the living room, Brock became increasingly convinced it was a dumb idea, and turned back for the bedroom.

“What you got there?” Calvin asked.

Brock turned back around. “Um, it’s getting cold,” he began. “An’ the heater in my truck don’t work all the time.”
Try all of the time,
the little voice told him, “So I figured you’d need a jacket, an’ well, I sorta hoped you’d…” he spread the object he’d been holding, and felt foolish. They weren’t kids. This wasn’t a high school date. “Sorry, dumb idea. I’ll just put it back in my closet and see if—”

“Wait. You wanted me to wear your old letterman jacket?”

“I did but…well…it’s sort of an old movie we’re going to see and…sorry, like I said—dumb idea.”

Calvin walked up to him, kissed him, and took the jacket from him. “I think it’s a cute idea. Bet I’m not the first of your dates to have worn it, though.”

Brock shook his head. “No one but me’s worn that jacket.” He needed to make sure Calvin understood that.

“Thanks, beautiful.” Calvin kissed him again. “I don’t know why that makes a difference, but it does. I’d be honored to wear your letterman jacket.” He put it on. It fit him pretty well. “So long as you won’t get uncomfortable if anyone sees us who knows you while we’re out.”

“No, it’s okay.” Brock bit his lip; he hoped it would be okay. They were going some distance from town, so the chances of running into anyone he knew were slim.

Calvin fluttered his lashes. “I hope you don’t think this means I’m going to put out.”

* * * *

“Oh, God, this is the bit that always turns me on the most,” Calvin whispered, snuggling up closer to Brock’s side.

On the screen, the camera was looking up at Gary Cooper as he stood in the middle of the street.

“Yeah, I can tell.” Brock used his left hand to press at the hardness between Calvin’s legs. Brock’s right arm had been around Calvin’s shoulders since they’d arrived.

All through the movie Brock had studied the lead actor and couldn’t see the resemblance Calvin said existed. The guy had dark hair for a start.

“But he’s not as beautiful as you,” Calvin said for the…Brock had lost count. Each time Brock had snorted in disagreement.

When the credits began to roll and cars around them started their engines, Calvin gave Brock a squeeze.

“Gary Cooper was fifty in that movie. You’ve got fifteen years on him.” Calvin kissed him. “And besides, you’re here, alive and in color. Gary Cooper’s just a black and white image on a strip of celluloid.”

That didn’t make Brock feel much better. The movie probably hadn’t been the best choice with its theme of one man standing up for what was right. Brock had never done that. He was no Will Kane. But Calvin’s lips all over his face, and Brock’s eagerness to return the kisses soon had him forgetting about the movie.

“So, you gonna take me home and we can make your bedsprings sing?” Calvin asked when Brock thought he would come just from making out.

“Anything you say, Grace Kelly…Ouch!” Calvin hit him on the arm. “What was that for?” it was his injured pitching arm, too. The arm that had been aching all evening.

“I’m not a woman.”

“Never said you were. Was just gettin’ back at you for all the times you called me Gary Cooper.”

“Okay then. But just so you know,” Calvin grabbed his crotch, “I’m all man, baby.”

“Yes, you are,” Brock chuckled, still rubbing at his arm.

“Sorry. Did I hurt you?” Calvin started to rub Brock’s arm for him.

“Nope, it’s just that was my pitching arm, and—”

“Shit. I really am sorry.”

“’sokay.” The pain was easing anyway.

Brock turned the key, the engine spluttered, but didn’t catch. “Shit.” Brock tried again, and mercifully it came to life.

“You need to get this thing looked at,” Calvin said, moving to the other side of the bench seat and reaching for his belt. “Seatbelt.” He told Brock.

Brock rolled his eyes.

* * * *

“Can you pull over?” Calvin suddenly announced when they were about halfway home.

“Huh?” Brock began to look for a parking space.

“I need to visit that drug store.” He pointed out the window.

“Oh?” Brock pressed on his dick, which had begun to sit up and take notice.

“Horndog! I was getting some liniment for your shoulder if you want to know.”

“Oh.” Brock was by turns disappointed that it wasn’t about sex, and touched that Calvin was still thinking of his shoulder. “You don’t need to. I’m sure a soak in the tub will take care of it.”

Brock flipped on his turn signal and parallel parked. Remembering the trouble he’d had starting the engine, he told Calvin he’d stay in the truck with the engine running.

“So we can make a quick getaway, huh?”

“Something like that.” Brock watched Calvin climb out of the truck and walk into the brightly lit store.

Getting bored with waiting—what was Calvin doing, having them mix up something to order?—Brock turned on the radio and found some quiet country. He slouched lower in his seat. It had been a great evening. Brock hadn’t seen much of the movie, preferring to watch Calvin instead. The man’s smooth skin, soft brown hair, and the way his cute little nose twitched whenever he took in a deep breath. God, he had it bad. Best of all he liked how Calvin had snuggled up to him, and occasionally would kiss him. Brock hadn’t realized how much he liked being touched. Calvin was a very tactile person.

“Okay, home James,” Calvin said on opening the passenger door.

“What did you get?” Brock asked, eyeing the large paper bag Calvin put on the seat. Brock reached for it, but had his hand slapped away.

“All will be revealed in good time, beautiful.”

“Seatbelt,” Brock said, smirking at his passenger, who flipped him the bird.

* * * *

They’d just found an open stretch of country road and Brock was stepping on the gas when a clunk came from somewhere, followed by clouds of steam billowing up from under the hood.

“Fuck!” Brock slowed and pulled over.

The engine continued to grumble as the coolant boiled, and there was an unpleasant odor of hot antifreeze. Brock had no idea how the hell he would be able to afford the cost of a tow, let alone the garage bills. Assuming the heap of junk could be fixed. Brock closed his eyes and let out a long breath. This wasn’t happening.

“Well,” Calvin eventually said, “at least it’s a different angle to ‘oh, we seem to have run out of gas’.”

“Shut up,” Brock mumbled. He didn’t need Calvin’s sarcasm.

“Sorry.” The cab fell silent for a couple of minutes. Then Calvin asked, “Are you with Triple A?”

Eyes still closed, Brock shook his head.

“Good thing I am, then.”

Brock heard the beeping of keys on a cell phone.

“What you doing?” Brock asked, opening his eyes.

“Calling for a tow truck.”

“But I can’t—”

“I’m covered. Don’t worry. Yes, hello. We’ve broken down on the…” Calvin asked Brock where they were, Calvin relaying the information to the dispatcher.

A couple of minutes later Calvin hung up and said that someone would be with them within the hour.

“Thanks.” Brock closed his eyes again. What had started out as a perfect date was now ruined.

“Brock?”

Brock didn’t respond.

“It’ll be okay, man. Help’s on its way.”

“They won’t be able to fix whatever it is by the roadside.” Brock’s voice was flat. “All they’ll do is tow us to a garage and—” Brock left unsaid the bit about how he wouldn’t be able to afford the cost of repairs.

“It might not be as bad as you think.” Calvin took Brock’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

Brock’s eyes shot open. “Shit!”

“What?” Calvin let go of his hand.

“I was supposed to pick Junior up from camp tomorrow, go see him play and—”

Calvin took Brock’s hand again and kissed his knuckles. “I can drive you there in my car. That’s not a problem.” He started rubbing his thumb along Brock’s fingers.

Brock slumped back against the seat. “I’m such a fucking failure. In business. To my kid.”

“No, you’re not.”

“What the hell would you know? You’ve always had money, you’ve always…” Brock snapped his mouth closed; it wasn’t fair to take it out on Calvin. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Calvin twisted round, worked his left arm behind Brock, and pulled the man toward him. “We’ll work something out. Honestly, it’s going to be all right.”

Brock didn’t see how. Unless. “You’re not paying for it.”

“Huh?”

“I won’t let you pay the repair bill. No way.”

Calvin let out a breath, Brock was sure that was what Calvin had had in mind.

“You can’t keep bailing me out. I’ve gotta do this myself. I can’t rely on you all the time.”

“Brock, you’re not Will Kane. You don’t have to do it all yourself. Unlike the marshal, there are people who will help you.”

“And what’s going to happen the next time something else goes wrong and you’ve gone back to New York? I have to take care of myself and my kid.” He shivered.

Calvin gave him a squeeze. “How bad is it? The debt I mean?”

Brock buried his head in Calvin’s shoulder.

“Brock?” Calvin rubbed his spine.

“Fuckin’ bad.” Brock let out a breath. “It’s got to where I don’t answer the phone no more.”

“Oh.”

“That’s why you had to leave a message on the machine. I was home, but I screen most of my calls.”

“Oh, Brock.”

“They’re fuckin’ relentless.”

Calvin began to rub circles on Brock’s back. “They’ll go after any assets they can, such as the business, especially if it’s in your dad’s name.”

“Yeah.”

“What about his house?”

“Sold.”

“And yours?”

“Rented.” Brock thought he might as well come completely clean. “And I’m behind with the rent, and the landlord is starting to make noises about eviction.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll have to declare bankruptcy.”

Brock didn’t answer.

“John, look at me.”

The unexpected use of his given name had Brock disengaging from Calvin, opening his eyes, and looking at the man.

“You have to. You’ll lose the business anyway, but at least declaring yourself bankrupt will clear your debts, help you start again.”

“And do what? I’m a failure. I failed my daddy, my—”

“Stop it!” Calvin shook him. “You did the best you could.”

The two fell silent. Brock started to shake again, both from the cold and from the fact he didn’t know what to do.

Noticing this, Calvin pulled him back into a hug and held him tight.

Right away Brock felt safer.

* * * *

Through the rear-view mirror Brock saw a set of headlights approach and slow down. The tow truck moved in front of them and parked. The driver got out of his cab and started toward them. Despite the passage of time, and the man’s increase in weight—his bulk barely contained by his grease-stained T-shirt—Brock recognized him instantly.

“Fuck!”
Could this day get any worse?
Mean Mitch Madison had come to tow them. Mitch was the baddest, meanest, most evil SOB of Parish Creek High during their time there. Brock disengaged from Calvin and climbed out of his truck.

“Stay in here,” Brock growled. He had to keep Mitch away from Calvin, somehow. The man had been Calvin’s worst tormenter.

“Howdy, Brock. Heard someone had broken down,” Mitch said through his chewing jaws.

Jeez,
Brock thought,
I should have added ‘stupidest’ to my list, too.