Earth and Sun, Cedar and Sage Read online

  “Good food,” Jed said as they ate, which was almost more than Gideon had expected.

  “Got to ask the waitress to wrap up some of those biscuits,” he said as they finished up, and Jed nodded again, took his knife, and split three open, slathering butter over them before he set them on the edge of Gideon’s plate. When the girl came by, Gideon nodded. “I’ll take these with me, if you’ve got something to put them in?”

  “Be happy to, sir,” she said, grinning appreciatively. She was young and pretty, clearly confident in her bearing and, from the look in her eye, confident about men too. He smiled back, showing his even teeth, because you caught more flies with honey and because Jed liked to pretend he was jealous, now and again. She swept the plates away, and Gideon caught Jed’s tiny frown and grinned wider.

  The girl returned with the smith’s biscuits in a scrap of cheesecloth, and Gideon paid their bill, adding a little extra for their waitress who had been fair with Jed, keeping his coffee mug as full as she’d kept Gideon’s. As they stepped out onto the boardwalk and into a harder rain, Jed turned and started back toward the livery. Gideon caught him by the arm of his jacket then stepped in close to say quietly, “We’re checking out that boarding house.”

  Jed looked up at him, his face unreadable in the gloom. “Waste of time,” he said shortly. “We should get back on the road before it grows too dark to see.”

  “We’re not living rough tonight,” Gideon said flatly. He’d be damned if he’d let some son of a bitch intimidate Jed into a night in the cold and wet. “I’m clean and dry and I intend to stay that way. Warm would be nice too.”

  Jed didn’t argue; he rarely did. But he wasn’t happy, and Gideon knew that by the tension in the straight shoulders. He could hear Jed’s words in his head—waste of time—but Jed followed him along with little more than a sigh.

  “Well, where do you expect him to sleep?” Gideon asked several minutes later when it was clear that the woman who ran the boarding house was not going to be swayed.

  “Outside with the other animals,” she said shortly, glaring at Gideon with a distaste he recognized. It was one directed at show people from time to time, usually when the local folks were drunk and rowdy, and often as not by the good Christians who’d stared wide-eyed at his mama’s show the night before. He and Jed had that look in common, he thought passingly as he tried to get his temper under control. “I run a respectable establishment,” she went on, her voice as cold as the sleet coming down outside. “No dogs, no drunks, no heathens. If you want a room, that’ll be—”

  “I don’t, thank you,” he said shortly, turning away before she could finish.

  Jed had the good grace not to say “I told you so,” but what he did say hurt far worse. “You should have stayed.”

  “And left you out in the rain?” Gideon groused.

  “You in the rain too gonna make me dryer?” he asked reasonably. Always reasonable, which Gideon had to admit, was likely the way Jed had stayed alive to reach the ripe age of twenty-seven. “Besides, I heard the blacksmith. I’ll be dry tonight.”

  In a livery loft. Gideon wanted to spit. Except really, it probably wouldn’t be so bad. It would have to be dry for the hay, and the horses below would help to warm the place up. If they layered hay around them, he’d be warmer than he would have been alone in the boarding house. He grinned. “I’ll take a loft with you over the best hotel, any day,” he whispered, just to get a rise out of the man. He got it, and he “oofed” when Jed whapped his belly with the back of his hand. “Come along, Jed, ’fore something I value freezes and falls off of me.”

  They ran along close to the buildings, staying under as much cover as possible because the sleet was coming down hard now. It collected on the ground in slushy puddles, slick against their boots’ leather soles and shining in what lights shone out the glass windows of storefronts that were still open: saloons and a gambling hall, the restaurants and what must be a whorehouse at the end of the street, well past the livery. Jed didn’t say anything, but his head came up and he eyed it in silence.

  “I wouldn’t let you bed down there even if they would,” Gideon said, no little jealous himself.

  When they approached the livery, Jed picked up his pace. “The horses,” he said by way of explanation, and he broke into a run that took him across the street in the rain and right through a puddle of mud. Gideon turned up his collar, tugged down his hat, and then followed just in time to see Jed climb up on the corral gate while the blacksmith waved madly at them from a gap in the big barn door. He’d closed up shop, it looked like, and stood ready to leave in a ten-gallon hat and a too-long oilskin coat. Gideon saw the anger in the set of Jed’s shoulders, but Jed didn’t risk any words. Turned out, he didn’t have to.

  “They’re all right,” the smith said when Jed and Gideon slid through the door and out of the rain. “I put ’em up when the sleet come down. Mister, I never did see a horse schooled like yours. I thought maybe the Injun’s had some schooling too, since it stuck close, so….” He shrugged. “I had an empty stall.”

  Gideon shot Jed a victorious smile, the one he reserved for proof of decency among white people. He didn’t get to use it often, but he always enjoyed when he did.

  Jed ruined it by saying, “I have coin,” which earned them both a frown.

  “Wasn’t tryin’ to hoodwink you boys.”

  Gideon pulled out the biscuits he’d brought back. “How about we pay you with the gift I already promised?” he asked as he flashed a grateful smile. “Don’t mind him,” he said a little lower, but plenty loud for Jed to hear. “He ain’t used to good people.”

  The smith nodded without comment and took the cheesecloth with the biscuits. “See you got your baths.”

  “You said you might let us bed down in your loft tonight?”

  “Said he could,” the smith replied. “Missus Barder’ll take you.”

  Gideon’s jaw was starting to ache, he’d been clamping it so tightly since his exchange with the biddy in the boarding house. “If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’d rather pay you twice her going rate for your very fine loft than pay that woman a penny to piss on me if I was on fire.”

  The smith was already chewing on one of the biscuits, and the short guffaw he let out sent a little spray of crumbs out to dapple his beard. Gideon shrugged while Jed tried to look like he didn’t know what the hell was going on. The smith flicked his beard a time or two and carefully combed his fingers down its front, clearing most of the crumbs. “Yeah, she’s got some mouth on her. But you can’t hold it ag’in’ her, boys. She had a son in the army, lost him over Wounded Knee.”

  Jed’s head swiveled back around. “I heard about that,” he said quietly. “Many dead.” Gideon used a finger and thumb to work his jaw back and forth. The dead could have been Jed’s relatives—on either side. “Condolences, but I wasn’t there. I’ve never killed any man,” Jed went on.

  The smith looked up at Gideon before he cut his gaze to Jed, who was standing still in the doorway, head turned to watch the sleet. “Good to know,” he said, and he took another bite of his biscuit. “All right. Just don’t go tellin’ folks or I’ll hear about it from half the town. Tomorrow, if y’all decide to stay on, there’s a place couple of miles up the road, just off the track northeast of here. Some old boy thought he’d struck it rich, but we get more gold out of that river over there. Half a dozen buildings, a few miner’s shacks, it’s all abandoned. People camp there from time to time, when the weather’s like this, but I reckon you can find a place that’d be warm and dry.” He looked out at the weather again.

  Gideon looked, too; the sleet had picked up. “Thank you kindly,” he said. “I don’t fancy being out in this tonight, and I don’t reckon Jed does, either.” He turned to his lover, hoping he was right.

  “Thank you,” Jed said to the blacksmith, and slowly, warily, he extended his bare hand. The smith looked surprised, but he shook, more gently it seemed than he’d taken Gideon’s. />
  “Your horses are in the stall in the back corner. Ladder’s just inside the door.” The smith cut his eyes to Jed once more and said more quietly, “He’ll be all right here if you want to try another boarding house. Don’t nobody bother folks I let under my roof.”

  It was a sincere offer of protection and Gideon smiled. “Thanks. I appreciate the offer, but I’d just as soon stay close to Star. You know how these smart horses can be.” The smith grinned, understanding worry about a good horse probably far better than he’d understand worry about an Indian brave in a cowboy hat and duster.

  “No lanterns up there, once you boys settle in,” he ordered briskly. “Take the one by the door to find a place. Makes sure the wick’s out and hang it back by the door for me.”

  They gathered up their gear before heading up the ladder to the loft. As he had hoped, the hay was packed high along the eaves, and the place was free of rats. It took little effort to make up a big bed, and it was cold enough that if anyone got up the ladder before they woke, the person would think little of them sharing body heat and blankets.

  As Jed was spreading the bedrolls, the smith called up from the lower floor. “We’re closing up for the night, but I’m going across to the saloon for a drink or two and some chow. If anyone comes in, they can reach me there. I’d be obliged if you’d let them know.”

  “Least we can do,” Gideon called back truthfully, walking back to the ladder so he could peer down to the other man. “You’ll be back here later?”

  The smith grinned up at him then pointed to the back of the livery. “Room’s nice and cozy. Nothing as warm and comforting as my horses.”

  Gideon couldn’t help but grin, and despite himself, he glanced over his shoulder toward his lover. “I can’t argue that.”

  The smith waved a hand and walked out of sight. A few seconds later, Gideon heard the side door to the barn squeak open then closed, and the thunk of the small wood brace dropping into place. He shook his head, wishing more people could be like their good Samaritan down there. Then he pushed himself up and walked lightly back to Jed, ducking his head to avoid the rafter beams. He set the kerosene lamp carefully on the wood floor, moved his saddle bags to one end, and dug around, pulling out a few things for the night before he knelt down beside the makeshift bed. “Full belly,” he said, pitching his voice low. He dropped down to his ass and tugged off one boot. “Dry place to lay our heads.” He pulled off the other boot and shrugged out of his coat, throwing it atop their oilskin to hold in more heat. “Warm,” he added, and he stretched out on the soft-piled hay, wriggling to get comfortable.

  “Mmm hmm,” Jed said. “I’ll sleep well tonight.”

  Gideon hoped they both would. “Settle in. I’ll take the lantern back.”

  “Your boots are already off,” Jed said as he bent to pick up the lantern. Gideon watched him go, the stark, narrow shadow that was his body, his hand that carefully held the lamp aloft looking more golden than usual. The image made him think of what he’d heard earlier. Wounded Knee. He knew about the battle—more like a slaughter, though, from what he’d heard. Over a hundred Indians killed, women and children too. Far fewer Army men, maybe twenty-five. And that rooming house lady had the bad luck to be the mama of one of them. He sighed, aching for the pointlessness of it all.

  Jed disappeared down the ladder, and a second later the darkness settled in, heavy and welcome.

  Boots thumped back up the ladder, and he heard stumbling and stifled a snicker when a loud thump was followed by curses in Sioux. “Not funny,” Jed said from very close by.

  “Very funny,” Gideon replied, and he moved forward to make room.

  Somehow Jed managed to crawl over him without falling down a hay chute or damaging any part of Gideon that he particularly liked and soon enough was settled in behind him. A strong hand slid down his back, familiar and gentle, before moving away. “Don’t ask me,” Jed said before Gideon had drawn a full breath. Warm, familiar man behind him, the smell of lover and hay… he wriggled around until they lay face-to-face and rested his hand gently on Jed’s hip.

  “If we were in a bed, I could skin you right out of those clothes and roll you onto your belly and love you like you deserve,” he whispered.

  Jed huffed a breath and whispered back, “If we were on the trail, I could do the same.” But he edged a little closer, and his nose brushed Gideon’s just before his lips did. He tasted of coffee and butter and the spicy flavor of Jed himself, of passion and heat and home. Gideon had never expected to find that, and to have found it here in this man—well, he couldn’t have planned for a more dangerous discovery. But lying next to his lover, he just didn’t care. Gideon tangled his fingers in long, coarse hair as he plundered, taking that flavor and the essence of the man, this man, into himself. When they broke for air, he held Jed against him, feeling the quick beat of Jed’s heart through the shirts and underclothes that separated them. For a few seconds, he admitted to himself that he’d been stupid not to go on and find someplace private to hole up; nothing was finer than having Jed’s skin against his, holding Jed against him, and losing his sense of where he ended and Jed began.

  “I need you,” he murmured, “bad, Jed.”

  Jed tensed, and his heart beat even faster. “Not here,” he answered, pushing Gideon away. “You’ll have to go one night—”

  “No,” Gideon interrupted him and pressed in for another kiss. As their lips met again, he pushed against Jed, rolling him onto his back. He worked a hand between them, managing a good tug on the edge of the worn twill pants Jed wore. The buttons came loose, and Gideon wormed his fingers into the opening and through the layers of underdrawers to touch warm skin and soft, fine hair.

  “Gideon.” Jed pushed at him, trying to draw away. “Not here.” But the words caught as Gideon touched the rising column of warm flesh and his hand found the grip that would make Jed writhe.

  “You can be quiet, hell, you don’t ever make noise,” he said against Jed’s ear. “Roll onto your side, and I’ll just spoon in right behind you.”

  As Jed started to protest, he tightened his hold on the cock in his hand and Jed jerked, pushing up into his grip. There were some things that not even Jed could be calm about. He did try to resist, protesting as well as he could between the hisses and gasps for breath that he drew around Gideon’s kisses and tugs on his cock.

  “It’s dark as the grave, Jed,” he whispered, trying to plead and reassure his lover all at the same time. “Somebody could walk right over us and not see.”

  Jed’s hand finally found his wrist in the dark, pulling hard on it. “No,” Jed hissed. His grip was tight enough to hurt, surprising Gideon.

  “Nobody’s here,” Gideon pressed, trying to pull free of Jed’s hand. “Nobody will know—”

  “Gideon.” The word was low and hard, a pitch that only Gideon’s mother had ever used with him. Perhaps it was the memory of her that made him stop abruptly, which gave Jed time to wrench away from him and scoot out of reach. In a whisper so low even Gideon barely heard it, Jed said, “You know what strangers would do.”

  “I know it’d almost be worth it,” he whispered back, not quite meaning it but more than willing to take this small risk. Not many folks would venture out in this storm when they didn’t have to, and even if they did, he was sure they’d hear the creaky barn door blow open long before anyone could make their way inside and up that ladder.

  “Fool,” Jed hissed, and Gideon hesitated. Jed sounded real mad.

  “Jed?” he asked, brushing his fingers against Jed’s arm.

  “Shut up,” Jed replied, putting himself back together with quick, hard movements that rustled the hay around them and let in enough cold air between them to take the edge off Gideon’s need.

  He sighed, wondering if he should just roll over and bring himself off, but he wanted Jed, willing and warm against him, naked and welcoming. He wanted to make up for what had happened in that alley, whatever it was that Jed wasn’t going to talk a
bout. He wanted to protect his lover and reassure him.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, rolling onto his back and drawing his hands onto his belly. “I just—I need you.”

  Jed was still now, his clothes apparently righted. “You have me,” Jed said, and his tone was less sharp. “But not for that, not here. Too dangerous.”

  “All right,” Gideon sighed. “I hear you, Jed.”

  He stayed still, thinking about that cold, cold rain to try and quell his defiant loins, not even reaching out. After a while, Jed eased back over, closing the space between them, and pulled the cover up over his head. Gideon turned his head so he could smell Jed’s hair, pulled the stiff blanket up over his ears, and let out a deep sigh. Jed was probably already sleep, and Gideon had best join him. Dawn would come cold and early.

  * * *

  He woke slowly to cold feet and the sounds of voices, the smells of hay and horses. Still more asleep than awake, he thought about his daddy’s horses and riding in front of noisy crowds, and dreams almost dragged him back under. But something wasn’t quite right, and the not-right of it tickled at the edges of his mind. First he sniffed, taking in more horse and hay, then he shifted, and his morning erection brushed against his soft winter underdrawers, reminding him of what he hadn’t had last night. He winced and reached out, but all he found was empty bedding, more hay, and the bare boards of the loft floor. And that brought him out of sleep and into morning.