Rainbow Hill (12 page)

Get a fucking grip
.

“Feeling rough this morning, buddy?”

Ethan opened his eyes, not realizing that he had closed them. He breathed through his nose, hoping that oxygen would rouse him, but the fresh scent of manure made his stomach do flips instead. He attempted to speak, to say anything, but the words got stuck in his throat.

“You’re looking a little green,” Quinn said. “Guess you had more than you could handle, huh?”

Ethan nodded as Quinn laid his hand on his shoulder. “You need to sit.” He cocked his head in the direction of the barn’s open sliding door. “Flip over that bucket so you can use it as a seat. I can handle this by myself for a few minutes.”

“No, no,” Ethan protested, refusing to appear to be a lightweight and layabout. Ethan needed to prove to Quinn that he could not only select the perfect shade of interior paint for the outbuildings that would eventually become retail space, but could also help with the more physical work of managing a farm. “It’s just been a while since I’ve done this.”

“Don’t be a hero on my account. I don’t feel like dragging you out of this place. I might look strong, but dead weight can be hard to shift.”

Ethan straightened to his full height, breathing through his mouth this time. “Like I said, it’s been a while.” He smiled tightly. “What’s next, boss?”

A glimmer sparked in Quinn’s eyes, and his left brow twitched seductively. “I love it when an attractive man says that to me. Makes me warm inside.”

Good God almighty
. Ethan was toast.

“I mean,” he began fighting back a stutter, “what do you want me to do next… in here…. with the cows?”

Quinn winked. “I was teasing.” He squeezed Ethan’s shoulder before dropping his arm to his side. “Feel like wiping down a few udders? The ones at the end of that aisle are next up. After that we’re pretty much done. I’ll flush out the lines and check the dairy. You can run these ladies down the lane to the field. Not much to it. Want me to call Scout to help you?”

Quinn started to whistle, but Ethan lifted his hands in protest. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“My dog, Scout. Don’t you remember him?"

Ethan remembered him all right. He also remembered the bite the mongrel made on his ankle. The scar had only just faded enough to where he didn’t have to relive the mauling every time he showered.

“
How
is he still alive?” He looked around, panicked “
Where
is he?”

“Scout likes to stay in the shade between the silos,” Quinn said. “Keeps him cool. Likes the pigeons, too.”

“As in he eats the pigeons?”

Quinn laughed. “The old boy hardly has any teeth left. I have to give him soft food now. He’s not what he used to be.”

Ethan relaxed, picturing a toothless dog slumbering on the grass, too feeble to stand and too frail to even attempt to take a bite out of any of his body parts.

“Leave him be,” Ethan suggested. “I’m sure I can handle it myself.”

“You never liked that dog, did you?”

“I make it a rule not to like anything that bites me.”

“Really?” Quinn’s right brow twitched this time. “I need to remember that.”

Breathe, Ethan. Breathe.

He did.

Through his mouth.

Deep ones.

A wall of nausea rolled over Ethan, and he stumbled forward. Quinn reached out and caught him before he face-planted on the concrete floor covered in crap.

Quinn’s muscular arms wrapped around Ethan, scooping him up to support him. “Let’s step outside, get some fresh air.”

Before Ethan knew what was happening, they were standing outside between the barn and dairy, a cool breeze licking Ethan’s skin against Quinn’s heated touch. He sucked in much need oxygen, embarrassment setting in.

“I’m pitiful,” he said, steadying himself. “I am no help at all. I knew I should’ve passed on that last drink of the night.”

“Just the one?” Quinn’s tone was teasing. “I should’ve asked Nikki to share your chores today. I feel that she’s partly responsible for your current state.”

The idea of his best friend chasing cows, her hair in pigtails, made Ethan laugh. “That would be hilarious. But you’d be the one to suffer the most, I’m afraid.” Sliding from the protective cradle of Quinn’s arms, he stood on his own. Ethan looked into his face, Quinn’s dark scruff covered his square jaw, making Ethan’s stomach turn, but in a good way this time.

Straightening his T-shirt that had rode up on his abdomen, Quinn said, “I can take it from here if you feel like heading home. Scout can steer the cows out of the barn into the closest of the fields. We can move them later. No harm done.”

“Absolutely not.” Ethan ran his fingers through his hair, refusing to steal a look at Quinn’s still exposed hard-as-a-brick lower abdomen.
Who cares if he has a sexy as hell trail of dark hair disappearing into his jeans waistband?
“But whatever you do, please keep Lucifer’s dog far away from me. I can handle the herd by myself.”

Quinn indicated the barn with his chin. “Take a few cleansing deep breaths, and I will see you inside.”

Ethan felt like a total idiot. Making a fool of himself last night was bad enough, but now there was no way Quinn was ever going to like him. He didn’t go for guys who swooned at the aroma of a little poop. Quinn liked manly men, not girly boys….
Or did he?
Shaking his head to clear his runaway thoughts, Ethan reminded himself that he still loved Randall.
Or was it their lifestyle he loved more? How would he feel if he had to give up the Range Rover and shop at Sears instead of Saks?
He knew how he’d feel. Poor.

His temples throbbed, and it felt like a sharp instrument was slowly penetrating his left eyeball, stress and overconsumption of alcohol taking its toll.
Why couldn’t life be normal?
But what was normal? For starters, not lusting after a man he had fantasized over for around a decade, while your soon to be ex-boyfriend was painting the town with a much younger and much fitter Latin stud who, Ethan hated to admit, had quite the notable bulge in his too tight G-Star jeans. These things might be considered normal for some, but not for him. A sense of security was normal, a livelihood that covered the bills.
Was that too much to ask?
He had to remain positive, Ethan reminded himself. If he believed things would work out, they would. It was really that simple, at least that’s what many self-help books, CDs, DVDs, and Gurus on visualization and the power of positive thinking assured,
right?

Taking his last lung-busting breath, Ethan dragged himself back into the barn, trying his best to be thankful for what opportunities he had now and in the future, namely the success of Oak Hill Farm, which had great potential in giving him the financial security he craved and the relationship he had always dreamed of having with Tucker.

Fighting exhaustion but still forcing a smile, Ethan announced, “Let’s pump these bitches dry.”

* * * *

There was that smile again, Quinn thought as he watched Ethan step into the shaded barn. It had hardly changed since high school. Ethan still had the boy next-door charm and good looks, but now he was polished and more sophisticated even while trying desperately not to vomit on his shoes. He gave Ethan credit for getting this far. But Quinn had always remembered him to be a spirited kid, fighting back when he had been bullied for being queer.

In a small town like Jefferson, it was hard to be gay, but Ethan still endured while Quinn had played it safe and pretended to be straight. He'd envied Ethan then, and he still did. No matter what the outcome of his failing relationship, Quinn was positive that Ethan would come out okay and that the man accountable for putting the poor guy through hell was a complete idiot. Anyone would be lucky to have Ethan as a partner. He was talented, intelligent, could share a laugh, all assets in Quinn’s book. He was also devastatingly attractive. But what made him even more so, was Ethan didn’t realize that he was attractive. If he was aloof, it was because he was insecure, not conceited. And if he was impatient, it was because he was a perfectionist.
Randy must be a fool
.
But so am I if I don’t go after him
, Quinn supposed.

Quinn had never had a successful relationship with a man. He didn’t know how. It was really that simple. When a man attempted to get close, Quinn self-sabotaged by creating any obstacle he could throw at the besotted man, so that eventually he would get tired and give up. Quinn realized what he did, but he didn’t want what the other men wanted: a white picket fence, matching dishware, dinner parties with friends. One man he dated for five months even went so far as to suggest a trip to the pound to adopt a dog. If Quinn couldn’t share the few hours it took to throw a dinner party, how could he think Quinn could commit to co-parenting a dog? Sure, he felt guilty for cutting the men who wanted more from him loose, but it was better than getting fat and growing old together. Quinn had never cheated while in a relationship, something he suspected Randall had done to Ethan, but he wasn’t above it if it had come to that. Luckily, he never had to put that theory to the test.

But why?
That was the million-dollar question that Quinn had asked himself many times over with no answer, or at least one he didn’t want to face.

Playing cat and mouse and leading Ethan on wasn’t what he intended to do, but he couldn’t help it. Every time Ethan was around, Quinn’s body reacted with sweaty palms, a raging hard-on, and an erratic heartbeat that made him consider a trip to the local ER. He tried his best to have thoughts that would suppress his arousal: algebraic equations, practice his limited Spanish, mentally go over the contents of his medicine chest, anything to take his mind off Ethan’s deep blue eyes, his slim but still sinewy body, that plump-lipped pout he made when he had to do things he didn’t necessarily want to do…but they never worked. He wanted Ethan physically, needed to experience every delectable inch of him, starting with those lips that delivered the most mind-shattering, life-altering kiss he had ever experienced. At the time, to say that Quinn was taken by surprise was an understatement. Rascals was an unlikely place for two men to lock lips. After his momentary panic, the rush of excitement had him kissing Ethan back, pushing past the man’s firm soft lips, the tang of tequila, and essence of man driving Quinn mad with desire. Since then, it was all he could think about. Thoughts of having Ethan for his own kept niggling away at him, Quinn wondered if Ethan was the man that would change everything. His head screamed
don’t even try it
, as his heart sang an entirely different tune. He was never one to follow his heart, but now, looking at Ethan, maybe it was time to listen to his heart instead.
How could you not be attracted to a man who wore that shade of puce so perfectly?
And it wasn’t as if Ethan wouldn’t return to his normal, healthy pink-cheeked color sometime soon.

Patting a cow on her rump to alert the animal that it was time for the milking machine to be attached to her full udders, Quinn watched Ethan out of the corner of his eye, appreciating every step the man took in his manure-covered shoes that should have never seen the interior of a dairy barn. That flutter in Quinn’s gut started up again, accompanied with a quickening pulse.
Yep, he’s mine, if he likes it or not
.

Chapter Ten

That afternoon, Quinn and Ethan worked on the storage shed, fast on its way to being a retail space, which would hopefully be crowded with happy and generous shoppers someday in the near future. The forecast was calling for rain, and they needed to finish painting, the humid weather making it difficult for the glossy interior paint to dry, not that they didn’t have other work to get around to, but Ethan liked to finish one project before starting another. Ethan’s stomach returned to normal, but his thigh muscles still pulsed from all the squatting it took to clean udders. He made a mental note to find a gym when he returned to the city; he wouldn’t need one in Jefferson, his work there more physical than he was used to.

He wished that his ego could recover as quickly as his stomach. Ethan really wanted to show Quinn what he was made of, that he could do the farm work just as well as Quinn, but in Ethan’s eyes, it was an epic fail. He was still that little boy who preferred reading fashion magazines in the security of his bedroom than the tough kid who palled around with his father, enjoying the more stereotypically masculine things in life. Why did he think that it would be any different now?

Stroking a coat of paint onto the frame of the door, Ethan wished life was as easy as applying a coat of paint.

“That looks great, son.”

Tucker’s deep baritone surprised Ethan, causing him to drip paint onto the floor. He turned to see his father’s well-rested smiling face at the entrance of the shed. “Thanks, Dad,” he returned. “You’re looking good.”

“Thanks to you and that young man over there.” Tucker nodded in Quinn’s direction, who was busy taking measurements for shelving. “It was nice to sleep past seven thirty and sip my coffee for a change, instead of sucking it down in a rush.”

“Anytime,” Quinn said. “And I couldn’t have done it without Ethan.”

Ethan gave a derisive chuckle. “Yeah, I was very helpful in between bouts of dry heaving.”