The Drifter and Beau Pt. 01

PART 1

How it all began.

I'd walked for hours. The grimy, bullet-ridden sign a few miles back read Faith, Montana but I could have sworn I was in Idaho. I had been walking west for as long as I remember, and I knew basic geography, but somehow I was a little off-kilter. Sooner or later though I would hit the North Pacific coast; that didn't matter right now. As I gave the sun above me the finger it reminded me it could outlast me and I let out a sigh; my throat felt like a doormat, and I didn't have anything to drink.

How long had I been walking now? I'd left Maine almost four months ago. Did my exodus across America have direction? At times it was like I was Stevie Wonder plotting a map course. Anywhere was better than staying in Maine although it wasn't much different to the open fields of Montana, Ohio, or Idaho, or fucking England. Who knew?

I'd just decided to start following a bunch of fence-posts. On the other side was more cows than I'd seen in my whole life. The air was rife with stale dung, and the constant cacophony of off-key moos. Every so often a trail of them would follow me then step away. In the distance I could make out a white truck, coated in splashed mud, and two shapes.

As I got closer I realized it was two men, pulling away at barbed wire next to a wooden post that had snapped cleanly in the middle. It was dragging down barbed wire into the dirt below where it hung lazily. One of the men was huge, with a bald head, and dungarees. The other was a muscular man with a thick moustache and a shaved head. He was pointing a gloved hand at Baldy who raised his hands. Within shouting distance, I could hear them yelling.

"You said the fuckin' things would last. You coulda made it outta candy floss for all I fuckin' know," said Moustache.

Baldy rubbed his head. "Ain't no need to be getting' sore with me, Tuck'. I can fix it now."

"Yeah, oh yeah? What? And throw on another service charge for the other six? You're gonna fix this, Colt. Or I'll put a boot up your ass and leave it there."

"Hello," I said as I stepped past the dirty truck.

No response came from either of them as they continued to bicker.

"You think you're so high and mighty cause you're the only handyman in fifty miles. I can see where the money goes," yelled Moustache as he bulged his eyes at Baldy's protruding boulder of a gut.

"Now that ain't fair. You're gettin' mean over nothin'!"

I spied the snapped post; below it was scattered nails and a hammer. Within moments I was tying the wire around the post and grabbing the tool. As I slid the wire around more, the post strengthened enough to stand alone, and I hammered in the first nine-inch nail through a circle of the wire to pin it. The sound of the hammering was drowned out by the screaming match behind me. By the time I was done the post back to regular strength. Sure, the wood wouldn't last forever, but it would hold until a regular post could replace it.

"And another thi--Hey, who's that?" said Baldy as I wiped my hands on my jeans and looked at the post with my hands on my hips.

"Hey," said Tuck. "You--he--the post. What'd you do?"

"Fixed it," I said with a shrug. "It'll last until you can get a replacement fixture."

Moustache looked to me, back to Colt, again, and then again. "You see how easy that was? The fuck am I paying you for? Get out of here, Colt."

"Oh some little spitfuck steps in and I'm just trash. Whatever. You're a mean sunavabitch, Tucker. No wonder nobody likes you. Don't be askin' me for no favours from now on."

And with that, Colt stormed past me, got into his truck, and skidded off down the road. Dust filled the air and I let out a cough as Tuck walked over to me. His hand clasped onto my shoulder for a moment but he eyed the post.

"That's some fine work. Not permanent, but still. You work around these parts before?"

"I'm just passing through but I'm a good worker though, sir," I said.

"No doubt, no doubt. You got much experience with repairin' fences?"

"I'm good with wood. I've got more than enough experience."

Tucker flashed a smile. "What's your name?"

And that's how I ended up becoming Tucker Jacobsen's handyman. We'd discussed payment as we walked up the dirt path to his ranch. He sped through the information like he was about to drop dead; thirty bucks a day, three meals, as long as I did competent work on the fences. Drifters were common in these parts and from Colt's contorted face I could tell I wouldn't be the last, but as long as I did good work I could survive enough to get into the next state. Things would be okay then.

The Jacobsen ranch was like a postcard photo, superimposed over a background of fields dimpled with cows, sheep, and horses. Winding forests and mountains in the distance spread out across the horizon. It was a postcard alright. Next to a cute little bungalow was a large barn which had seen better days. The faded red paint of it had dulled sun-stained pink. The wood was cracked, and slats were missing but before I could examine it further a voice cut through the air.

"Who's your friend, Honey?" From the bungalow's porch came a portly, blonde-haired woman. She stepped down the steps and approached me and Tucker with a smile. Her accent was hard to place, not American, maybe from somewhere in Europe.

"I got rid of Colt--that bastard shyster. Met our friend Cole here, who's handy with a hammer. I was thinking of gettin' him to clean up his mess."

"Are you a fussy eater, Mister Cole?" She eyed me with a certain incredulity.

"No, ma'am," I replied. "I'm open to everything."

A warm smile spread across her face. "Handy and polite--Much better than that Colt," she said to Tucker. "You've got experience?"

"My father was a carpenter by trade. I learnt by him growing up."

"What's bought you--"

"I'm sure there'll be time for questions later, Heather," said Tuck. "I gotta get him acquainted with Beau and set up in the barn."

Heather stuck her tongue out at Tucker and then headed back inside. "Nice to meet you, Cole. Please, come inside with Beau and my stupid husband for dinner when you're done."

I thanked her and followed Tucker towards the barn. And that's where I saw her. She was stabbing a pile of hay with a pitchfork. I couldn't make out her face since a mound of blonde shoulder-length hair covered it. She had a sleek build and was shorter than me by at least a foot.

"Beau. Come meet the new help."

Her blue eyes glimmered as she turned her head to us. She stabbed the hay with the pitchfork and walked over; sweat beading down her face. The stare she gave me was even more incredulous than the one her mother had given me. She had soft features, a button nose, and freckles on each cheek and over her nose.

"Cole, Beau. Beau, Cole. Beau's my son."

Son. The fuck kind of game was this? I waited for the punchline to drop but Beau just stared at me with a look between curiosity and disgust.

"Hi there," I said and gulped.

Beau looked at Tucker and then stuck out his hand, his fingers were oddly dainty for a farmhand. "Nice to meet you," he said, his voice higher than I expected. I shook his hand and felt the sweat. He noticed and pulled away, wiping his hand on his dungarees.

"What's he workin' on, pa?"

"A few things, hopefully. Let's see how he can handle the barn first."

He was a far cry from his father who was muscular, akin to a modern-day Viking in his build; Beau seemed to have his mother's features. I eyed him as Tucker spoke to him, him biting his lip as his father laid out the other chores needed done for the day. Beau's eyes flicked to me for a second then back. Tucker's hand tapped my shoulder.

"Come on, I'll show you where you'll be staying."

"I'll see ya around," said Beau as he turned back to the hay.

Tucker bought me up to the second floor of the barn via the ladder below. Upstairs there were beams of sunlight piercing every single hole in the roof and sides, but I didn't mind it. The ratty old cot before us was like an old military bed.

"I'll have Heather give the place a clean, and get you some fresh sheets. It ain't much but it's a good place to sleep, Heather's finicky about new workers."

"Don't worry. I'm a stranger, it's expected," I said with a smile.

"You do good work, well, maybe we'll see about gettin' you a bunk in the house. You good with that?"

"A cot is better than the ground in a tent, Mister Jacobsen."

"Call me Tucker, Cole," he said as he patted me on the back. "Come with me, I'll give you a tour of the ranch and tomorrow I can work you into the ground and we can see if that fence post was just a fluke."

It was strange how welcoming the Jacobsen family was in inviting me into their home. Their warmth felt a little strange, somewhat foreign to me. I didn't chalk it up to them being strange people, but mostly due to the fact that I'd never seen a family be close and happy like that in a long time. I spoke politely and listened as we all ate--it was the best food I'd eaten in weeks--fresh vegetables, roast beef, and gravy. I was offered seconds and couldn't say no. When all you've done is survive on jerky and soda for three days, anything is better.

I felt Beau watching me as I chowed down on fresh green beans. "You eat like ya been in prison," he said with a blank expression.

"Not prison, no," I said after a heavy gulp. "I've been on the road, drifting."

"Where did you start out?" asked Heather.

"Maine."

"And you walked to Montana? How long ago did you leave?" asked Tucker as he lit up a cigarette.

"I don't know. A few months now."

"Why'd you leave?" asked Beau with that same stare. I got the feeling he didn't like me. I felt tense whenever he eyed me, as if I was hiding something. It was like he was trying to look through me. I felt like he was sizing me up and it made it harder to look at him, to look at his features. He was pretty. But I felt like that kind of attraction was dangerous here--especially since he seemed to really not like me.

"Enough of the interrogation, Beau. I'm sure he's tired of hearing us poke and prod him," said Heather as she began clearing plates. "Was the food to your liking?"

"Yes, ma'am, thank you."

"Call me Heather, Cole."

"Sure, Heather," I said with a smile.

I felt Beau's eyes on me again and excused myself. Heather had set up the cot, cleaned it, and had also added fresh sheets. A jug of water and a glass was left on a makeshift table next to the head. I thanked my stars that I'd come across such an inviting family, except for Beau. The summer heat and good food had already gotten to me and when I'd fallen into the bed, it took seconds before I passed out thinking of blue eyes shimmering in sunlight, and flecks of hair dapped across them.

The next day was even hotter. Tucker had woken me up early to a plate of eggs and bread. A while after I'd eaten I met him outside the barn and he handed me a tool-belt, a toolbox, and told me that the Southern fence where I'd come in had eight more posts that needed fixing along the line.

"There's a canteen of water in there," he said as he looked at the toolbox, "for the heat, just refill it as you want on the tap outside the bungalow."

"Appreciate it, Tuck'. I'll get started now."

"This is your chance. Let's see how you do."

I nodded and headed down. The first post had splintered for some unknown reason, but I could still twine enough barbed wire around it to keep it up. The second was a simple re-wiring of the barbs, but when it came to the third it was a dig job. Colt, lazy as anything, had put it in at an angle. Opening the toolbox, I spied a small handheld shovel and set about digging away. Sweat was dripping off me and I snatched my t-shirt off, wrapping it around my head to stem the sunstroke. Moments later, a shadow covered me and the post. I couldn't make out who it was until they moved to the right.

Bright blue eyes looked down on me. Beau had decided on a pink t-shirt, dungarees, and in his hands was two glasses homemade lemonade filled with ice. He tilted his head at me.

"Thirsty?"

"I got my canteen," I said. I could be standoffish too, you little fed.

"You sure?"

"I'm fine, Beau."

He shrugged and I watched as he slowly gulped down one of the drinks. I saw the softness of his neck, watching as his barely noticeable Adam 's apple bobbed slowly to the rhythmic swallowing. My hands focused on digging out the post, and I could hear him still drinking. He added that final gasp of refreshment but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"You don't have your own work to do?"

"I do," said Beau, "but I like the view right now."

"Aha," I said as I got up to pull the post and felt it stand strong. Damn it.

"So what made you wanna leave Maine?"

"Stuff."

"What kinda stuff?"

"I just didn't like being there. I was looking for a change?"

"Girlfriend's daddy didn't like you makin' moves on her?"

"Huh?"

"Normally the help we get is people running from relationship problems, criminals--I'm just tryin' ta figure out your deal. If you're a runner, a criminal, or maybe something worse."

"Right," I said. "How about you fuck off?"

"You're very wound up," he said as he scanned me up and down.

"Go away, Beau. Please."

He let out a soft giggle and walked away. This guy is a little asshole. I promised then and there that I myself I wouldn't get involved in petty squabbles with like Beau Jacobsen from then on and so I focused on digging again. I wouldn't even watch him go. An hour later and I'd moved onto the post by the entrance arch, and a truck pulled behind me.

"Wow, you really are experienced," I heard Heather say, her arm resting on the window.

"Thank you, Miss J--Heather."

In the distance there was a sudden rumble. She turned and looked back. In the distance by the mountains was the approaching, dark grey clouds of a storm. Heather

"Weird time for that kind of weather," I said as I pulled the t-shirt off my head. "I like the rain."

I spied Heather eyeing me up and down. As I turned to face her she looked up and away. "So do I," she said. "Feel free to use the shower in the bungalow. Can't have you stinking up the dinner table. There's fresh towels on the rack."

"Sure," I said with a smile. "Thank you."

My head snapped to the sound of rumbling thunder, and just above the ridge of the hill I could make out the fingertips of grey clouds.

"Do storms frighten you?" she asked.

"Not really, I just don't like the noise so much."

The first spittle of rain had come as I'd finished the final post, an easy fix with some nail replacements. Before long the clouds overhead had crawled over and screamed down with thunder and lightning. The light rain shifted its temper into downpours of fat droplets.

Dinner was mildly nice. The food was amazing, but I could feel Beau's short temper building. Tucker and Heather both sang my praises. As I sipped at my water, I felt his eyes burning into me again.

"You did great out there. How would you feel about staying on for a few weeks?"

Beau almost choked on his food. "You said he was jus' here to do the fences, pa."

"And he did them great--What do you say about fixing up that old barn? It's only for storage, the big one's on the other side of the ranch, but it's been in my family for three generations. I'd love to see if restored. You think you could handle that?"

"I could certainly give it a shot," I said with a smile.

I was sure that if Heather hadn't cooked the food right, Beau's rage could have sautéed the chicken to a crisp. His cheeks swelled with a redness and he excused himself from the table. I felt better then, smugly smiling to myself as Tucker and Heather spoke to themselves.

After thanking them for dinner I made my way back to the barn. The window howled and rain seeped in all throughout the empty barn but my cot was untouched and so I was comfortable as I laid down. Every so often there would be flashes of light and deep rumbles and I would do my best not to shake, not to remember back to when the storms were much more horrific. I dipped my head under the blankets and tried to focus on my own breathing.

The sound of thunder and flashes of lightning grew louder. The rain seemed to kick itself up a notch and wind blew wilder, shaking the barn from the foundation. I wasn't going to get much sleep like this. It wasn't long before I saw somebody running towards the barn. As lightning lit up the sky again, I saw the soaked blonde hair of Beau and groaned. He climbed the ladder up and I could hear him breathing heavily.

"Wake up, ya dolt."

"What do you want?"

"Pa says the barn ain't fit for stayin' in like this. He says you can come stay in the house tonight."

I grabbed my sheets with a sigh but Beau told me to leave them. He'd already set up the bed. "Where am I staying?" I said as we ran back to the house, the rain pelting us.

"In my room," said Beau.

I let out another groan but luckily he didn't hear it over the thunder. The house was dark, and I assumed his parents had already gone to bed. "Come on, idiot," said Beau as he lead me through the dark. We walked into his room and the only light came from a small lamp on the desk next to his bed which was neighbour to a sleeping bag and pillows.

"That's yours," he said as he slid off his dungarees.

I watched them drop to the floor and saw the pink t-shirt he wore dropped down to his thighs. He climbed into his bed, got under the covers, and faced the wall opposite.

"Thanks," I said as I climbed into the sleeping bag, grateful I wasn't being soaked in the cyclone outside, grateful I wasn't choking on that deep fear.

Beau didn't say anything, he just turned over, flicked off the lamp, and all I could hear besides the muffled sound of rain was him sighing that soft feminine sigh. I closed my eyes and laid there listening to the weather outside until finally there was a rustle of sheets. I felt safer in here, under the roof, knowing the walls were stronger than rotten.

"You didn't have ta be a dick today," said Beau, his voice cutting through the darkness with a whisper.

"I'm just trying to work," I said. "I don't need you butting heads with me. Just let me work in peace."

"I'm so bored of you tough, silent types--like actually talkin' about things doesn't make ya weak, y'know?"

"I never said I was tough and I'm just not interested in sharing anything with a snotty brat."

"I'm not a brat."

"Yeah, you are."

"I'm not."

"You don't have If you don't like me, Beau. But don't lie to me."

"Who said I didn't like ya?"

"Oh, nobody. You've been very welcoming."

"Ya such a blind idiot," he said and then I heard the rustle of his sheets again.

Within seconds I felt him slide next to me and felt him slip his soft legs into my sleeping bag. I got up on my elbows and noticed his face close to mine.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Sshh," he hissed. "Scooch over."

"Beau, the fuck are--"

His finger went to my lips. "Just shut up," he said and then he was sliding down me. I felt his lips against my boxers and jolted when I heard him breathe in deeply.

"Beau--if your father walked in right now, I'd be a dead man. Please--Stop."

He kissed the soft fabric of my boxers, and then his sleek fingers pulled at the elastic and his soft lips slid around the head of my cock. I tried to fight it, to struggle, but I wasn't exactly not turned on, if only because of that thin line of hate and tolerance.

The more his tongue slid between my head and shaft, the more I felt myself warming up to the idea. I reached down to pull him away, but found my fingers going through his soft hair instead. I pulled the sleeping bag down and let my eyes adjust to what I was seeing. In the lightning, his eyes shone briefly, and his lips slid two thirds down--and then he gagged.