Saviours of Oestend Oestend 2 (10 page)

If Dante thought the storm had been strange, or the ice, or the vultures, they were nothing compared to what Oestend had in store for him the next day.
He was just coming down the stairs from his bedroom to the kitchen when Simon burst through the door. “You better get out here, boss.”
At first, Dante saw nothing amiss. The same ranch. A bull in the corral, lazily chewing his cud. The milk cow lowing in the barn. Cami’s chickens pecking the ground in search of breakfast.
Simon pointed to the left, towards the pasture. Dante turned, and stopped dead in his tracks.
Every single cow was dead.
“What the fuck?”
“I don’t know, boss. I came out, and found them like that.”
Dante strode out into the pasture with Simon at his heels to get a closer look. It was eerie. Nothing in the pasture was moving. He didn’t even hear any birds. Each of the cows lay on its side, unmoving, eyes open and tongue lolling.
“Not a mark on them,” Dante said. “Wasn’t predators.”
Simon shook his head. “Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s not the froth, either. They were all healthy yesterday.”
Simon leaned over and put his hand on one’s flank. “Still warm. No flies yet, or smell. Like they just fell over dead at sunrise.”
“Did you all hear anything in the night?” Dante asked. He hadn’t heard anything in the house, but the barracks were closer to the field.
“Not a thing.”
Dante whistled and shook his head. “Must be fifty head out here.”
“Give or take.”
“Don’t dare use the meat when we don’t know what killed them.” Dante looked north, towards the further pastures. He could hear cows lowing in the distance, which meant his whole heard hadn’t been affected. “Round up a couple of the men. I’ll meet you in the barn. We’ll ride out and see how many of the rest it got.”
Dante was relieved to find that most of the rest of his herd was alive. It seemed the pasture next to the barracks was the epicentre of whatever had killed the cows. They found more dead in the adjacent fields, but only a few cows on the near side. Most of the herd they found huddled together on the far side of the pastures. The beasts were obviously agitated, their eyes wide and rolling in panic, but they were otherwise unaffected.
The next question was, what to do with more than fifty dead cows.
“Can’t burn them,” Simon said. “It’d take half the damn field and more firewood than we have.”
“Sure as hell can’t bury them, either,” Dante said. The cows were big, and digging a hole deep enough to hold them all was out of the question. But leaving them to rot in the field less than fifty yards from the house wasn’t much of an option either. It was also a waste. He didn’t want to use the meat, in case it was tainted by whatever had killed them, but their hides were still good, and their fat could still be used to render tallow. They’d have to make sure to not use it for lard, but it would work fine for candles and saddle oil and to oil the gears on the generators. Maybe soap, too. If the fat were dangerous to the touch, they’d find out long before Cami was able to turn it into soap.
“How many of the hands know a thing about butchering?” he asked Simon.
“Me, Frances and Ralf. The rest of them will just make a mess of it. And one of them refuses to go near the carcasses. Thinks he’ll catch a plague or something. I threatened to dock his pay, but he’s practically pissing himself, he’s so scared.”
Dante sighed. He was probably lucky to only have one like that. “Tell him he better handle every other chore here himself. That’ll keep him plenty busy while the rest of us do what needs to be done.”
It took them the better part of two days. Dante, Simon, Frances and Ralf worked on skinning as many of the cows as they could and salvaging what they could from the corpses. The rest of the men used wagons to haul what was left of the bodies to a spot past the far edge of the ranch, upwind of the house and barracks, but as far from the river and the fields as they could get. They left them there for the scavengers. It was a gruesome solution, but the only one they had.
The next couple of days were spent rendering the fat and drying the hides. It was a struggle to do all of it and still stay on top of the regular chores. In the meantime, Dante pondered if there was anything more to be done.
His father and Aren needed to be told. After all, Jeremiah was technically the owner of both ranches, even if he let Deacon and Dante run them, and Aren kept the accounts for both ranches as well. It also made sense to get the hides to market as soon as possible. Dante also wanted to know if any of the BarChi cattle had been affected. And when it was all said and done, two of his hands decided they’d had enough of ranching and wanted to head back to civilisation as soon as possible.
In the end, he sent Simon with express orders to only take the men and hides as far as the BarChi and to hurry back after that. That would have him back in four days. For him to go all the way to town, sell the hides and round up new men would have meant him being gone at least eight, and possibly up to ten, and Dante didn’t feel he could spare Simon that long. Frances had volunteered to go in Simon’s place. He’d been surprisingly enthusiastic about it even, and Dante had debated taking him up on it, but Frances was young, and although he’d grown a lot over the last year, he was still a bit green. Dante knew his father and Deacon would have questions about the cattle, and they’d trust Simon’s seasoned judgement more than Frances’.
“You still need a name,” Cami said to him that night after dinner as they sat in the living room.
Dante had been lost in thought, staring into the fire as he thought again about the dead cattle, and her comment confused him. “What do you mean?” he asked, looking over at where she sat next to the lamp, sewing.
“Didn’t I tell you? When we went to the BarChi, Aren told me to tell you that you should name the ranch.”
“‘Aren said,’ huh? I suppose if Aren says it, it must be so.”
She didn’t react to his snide tone. She smiled, instead. “He said ‘the ranch formerly owned by Zed Austin’ didn’t fit too well on the line of his ledgers.”
“It’s still the Austin Ranch to me.”
“Well, better than what they call it in town.”
“What’s that?”
“Dead Man’s Ranch.”
Dante leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Seems accurate.”
“I don’t like it,” she said. “This is the first place I’ve ever felt at home. I don’t like people calling it something so awful.”
“Dante Ranch sounds damn stupid. Guess it could be the Pane Ranch.” He laughed. “That’s good. Pain. Ranch of Pain. How about that?”
Something small and hard smacked into the side of his head, bouncing sharply off his temple.
“Ow!” he said, sitting up to rub the spot. It stung like hell. He looked down to see a spool of thread rolling under his chair. He looked up at Cami in surprise. “Did you throw that at me?”
“Yes! Serves you right!”
“For what? Holy Saints, lady, that hurt!”
She didn’t act a bit apologetic though. Her sewing lay forgotten in her lap, and she was glaring him with a hard, angry expression he knew all too well from his days with Tama at the BarChi. It was a look that told him he was in trouble. As if the spool to the side of the head hadn’t been warning enough. “Didn’t you just hear me say I don’t like people calling it something awful?” she asked.
“All right then.” He bent over and retrieved the wooden spool. “If you’re gonna be so damn sensitive about it, what would you call it?”
Her anger fell quickly away. She ducked her head and picked her sewing back up. “I think you should call it Brighton.”
Dante had been about to throw the spool back at her. He’d been debating whether or not it was bad manners to aim for her head, but her words brought him up short. He sat frozen, his arm cocked back.
“Brighton?”
“It works two ways, you know? You can honour your brother, for one. But also, it just sounds nice, doesn’t it?” She smiled shyly at him. Her cheeks were red, and he knew she was afraid of his reaction. “Brighton,” she said again, as if tasting the word. “It sounds sunny. And happy. Like a place people would want to live.”
It was so simple, and so obvious, and so utterly perfect. Dante forgot all about hitting her with the spool. Instead, he stood up and walked over to her. He held the spool out for her. She took it, looking up at him in surprise.
He wasn’t sure what to say. There was something so special about what she’d done, and yet he had no idea how to put it into words. Instead, he sank to his knees in front of her.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“You’re brilliant,” he said. He took her hands in his and kissed the backs of them, first one then the other.
“It’s not a big deal,” she said. Her voice shook.
“It is.” He lay his head in her lap, the way he remembered doing with his mother when he was only a boy, wrapped his arms around her hips and hugged her. “It’s perfect.”
She put her hand on his head, her fingers stroking his hair. It was simple, innocent gesture, but it felt good. It soothed him, and he sighed, content in a way he hadn’t been in years. “Thank you,” he said.
It took her a long time to answer, but finally she whispered back, “You’re welcome.”

Simon wasn’t looking forward to travelling to the BarChi with two scared green boys, but he was glad he didn’t have to go any further than that. Two days there, one night at the BarChi barn, two days back. Then he’d be back in the barracks with Frances. Seemed easy enough.

The night before he was to leave, though, he had a dream. It started out as dreams often did, with Lena. He was kissing her, only this Lena wasn’t afraid. This Lena had never been dragged behind a warehouse by three dockhands, and when he reached for the buttons on her blouse, she let him undo them.

In some part of his brain, he knew it wasn’t real, but he didn’t care. Lena changed, and the dream became more erotic in that slow, distorted, surreal way of dreams. He let it carry him, and he was temptingly close to climax when he was rudely awakened by somebody kicking the leg of his bunk.

Simon groaned and rolled over. He’d been so close. Why hadn’t Frances let him sleep just a few more minutes?
“Must have been one hell of a dream.”
“It was,” Simon sighed. “You ruined it.”
Frances laughed. “You were moaning. It was making all those hands blush and squirm.”
“Fuck if I care.”
Frances laughed again, and Simon debated the appropriateness of finishing things by hand even though Frances was still in the room. It only took him a moment to decide against it. He dragged himself out of bed and into his clothes, then to breakfast where the rest of the hands were just finishing up. He sent them off on their chores, sent the two who were leaving with him to pack their things, and he went to the barn to hitch up the team. Dante caught him just as he reached the barn.
“I almost forgot to give you this.” He handed Simon a rolled piece of parchment. “Maybe my dad will want it, or Aren.”
Simon unrolled it enough to see that it was some kind of map. “I’ll get it to them.”
“Good.” Dante shook his hand. “Be safe, all right?”
“You got it, boss.”
He tucked the parchment under the seat of the wagon, which was full of cow hides. He went into the barn, into the back room where the tack was hung. He shifted himself in his pants. He couldn’t get the dream out of his head. It had left him surly and horny as hell.
“What are you doing in here?” Frances asked from behind him, startling him out of his thoughts. “Jacking off?”
“Fuck,” Simon swore. He turned around to smile at Frances. “I was thinking about it. It’s gonna be one damn uncomfortable ride.”
Frances’ normal friendly smile faded a bit. It changed, from something carefree to something that made Simon a bit uneasy. He reached behind himself and slid the door to the back room closed. Simon found that his mouth had suddenly gone dry.
“I could help you with that, you know.”
It took Simon a moment to register what Frances had said. And what he meant. And when he did understand, he almost wished he hadn’t.
Simon shook his head. “I’m not like you, Frances. I don’t mean that in any kind of mean way. Believe me. Sometimes I wish I were. It’d almost be easier.” And it was the truth. He’d wished many, many times that he could find some kind of release amongst the men. It happened all the time out here on the prairie, where women were few and far between, but he’d never had the opportunity or the desire.
Frances didn’t speak at first. He just continued to stare at Simon, and for possibly the first time ever, Simon had no idea what he was thinking. Finally, he moved closer. He stepped to within a few inches of Simon, and Simon did his best to look nonplussed.
“I know how you feel about me, Simon. I know it’s not how I feel about you, and that’s all right. But we’re partners, right?”
Such a simple question, but Simon had the uncomfortable feeling he was walking into a trap. “Yeah.”
“And as partners, we help each other.”
“Right.”
“If you were out of water in your skin, or run short on pay, I’d help you.” “Sure.”
“And when there’s a chore I can’t do because I’m too small, you help me.” Again, Simon wasn’t sure he liked where this was going, but he nodded.
“The thing is,” and with that Frances moved even closer, “this is the same. Just think of it as a favour.”
“That’s crazy! I can’t—”
“It’s something you need. And it’s something I can give. It’s as simple as that.”
Simon almost laughed. “No, it ain’t! Saints, Frances, it’s anything but simple!”
“You moved out here so you’d be away from women, so you wouldn’t break your vow. But your vow didn’t say anything about men.”
“No, but—”
“Your cock don’t know the difference. Only your brain.”
“Well, yeah. I mean, maybe. But—”
“Shut up and close your eyes.”
Holy Saints, he wanted to argue. He wanted to say no. He wanted to walk away and pretend this embarrassing, awkward conversation had never happened.
Then again…
When he thought about how long it had been since he’d let anybody touch him, he wavered. Even when he had allowed himself a quick tryst with a girl, he’d always regretted it. But Frances was right about one thing—Simon’s vow to Lena hadn’t included men.
Still, he wasn’t attracted to men. When he looked at Frances, he saw a young man. He saw his friend. He saw somebody he cared about, yes. But certainly not somebody he wanted to fuck. He’d had plenty of opportunities to see Frances naked, but he hadn’t ever bothered to pay attention. In all the times they’d had casual physical contact between them as they worked, Simon had never felt even a stir of desire.
He was torn, but in the end, it didn’t matter that his brain was confused. His cock wasn’t. It understood that there was a possibility of joyous things about to be done. His cock began to rise despite his mental dilemma.
Frances smiled at him, and Simon knew beyond a doubt that Frances knew what was going on in Simon’s pants.
“Close your eyes,” Frances said again.
And this time, Simon did.
He felt Frances’ fingers tug at the fly of his pants, and immediately, his brain rebelled. “No—” he started to say, but Frances cut him off.
“Shh…” His voice was quiet and gentle, the way it was when he approached a spooked mare. “It’s not about me, Simon. It’s about you.”
Simon felt warm fingers wrap around his cock, and he moaned despite himself, because it was, after all, a hand on his cock—a hand that wasn’t his own—and no matter how he felt about Frances, it felt damn good.
“You don’t have to think about me,” Frances said. “Think about Lena. Or some maid at the McAllen ranch. Think about anybody else you want. I don’t care. Let yourself enjoy it.”
Simon took a deep breath and slowly let it out, trying to relax. He wouldn’t think about Lena. Not ever. He wouldn’t sully his memory of her like that. But his mind did turn to women. Not any woman in particular, but the general idea of them. Somebody was touching him, stroking him, rubbing the head of his cock, and while he knew it was Frances, it was easy to keep that thought in the back of his mind. It was easy to concentrate instead on the fantasy in his head. He thought about a warm soft breast cupped in his hand, the hardness of an erect nipple against his thumb. He thought about the smoothness of their skin. He thought about the alluring slit between their legs. He called up the feeling of touching the folds of flesh there. The mystery of it. The moist heat of their sex. He thought about how it felt to slide his fingers into a woman’s wet, hot slit. He thought about the rich, ripe smell of it, how it would cling to his hands for days, and the thought made him moan.
The next thing he knew, his cock was engulfed in something warm and wet and absolutely divine. He opened his eyes despite himself and looked down. Frances was on his knees, and that wonderful erotic warmth on Simon’s cock was the boy’s mouth.
Simon closed his eyes again. He didn’t let himself think about Frances. It felt far too good to turn back now. He gripped Frances’ head, and he began to thrust. As he did, he imagined a maid at some unknown ranch. He’d never seen her before as far as he knew, but in his mind, she was lush and curvy. Not too skinny, like so many of them were from working every day, but full and soft. But most of all, she was unbelievably willing. He could see her lying there in front of him with her knees up and her legs spread wide, the moist pink heat of her sex swollen and open and ready. And he thrust his way inside her without a hint of guilt.
Her hips were broad, her stomach pale and plump. Her breasts were big and spread out across her chest the way breasts did when they were unbound and the girl was on her back. They slid up and down on her chest as he moved in and out of her. Her nipples were hard pink nubs in big, round, dimpled aureoles. She was a woman unlike any Simon had ever actually fucked, and in his mind, he fucked her hard. He pushed her knees up towards her shoulders, and he fucked her like he’d never, ever fucked anybody in his life. He rode her. He smacked her flank. He squeezed the thick, soft flesh of her thighs and grabbed handfuls of her ample ass. And when he finally came, it was like a dam bursting. It was like the heavy, grey clouds before a monsoon when they finally opened up and poured their burden onto the earth.
It was a relief he hadn’t known in years.
He almost laughed with the joy of it. He was still gripping Frances’ head, and Simon barely noticed when the boy pushed his hands away. Simon ran his fingers through his own hair and breathed hard, trying to catch his breath, his body thrumming from the pleasure of his climax. He was surprised he could even stand.
“Holy Saints, I needed that,” he said, and this time, he really did laugh. “Oh, Frances, you have
no idea
how much I needed that.”
Frances laughed. “Yes, I do.”
And of course, it was probably true.
Frances stood up, buttoning his own pants as he did. He was scuffing the floor with his foot, and Simon realised he was kicking the dirt over the puddle of his own cum.
Simon quickly looked away. Somehow, knowing that Frances had pleasured himself at the same time was disturbing. Frances had said this was nothing. Just helping out. A favour between friends.
But if Frances had enjoyed it too, did that change it?
Simon didn’t know, and at that moment, he wasn’t sure he cared, because the truth was, he felt better than he had in ages. His body was loose and relaxed. He could have laid down and fallen asleep in a heartbeat. He laughed out loud again at the thought.
“See? Told you I could help,” Frances said, and when Simon looked at Frances again, he found nothing to make him uncomfortable. Just his friend standing in front of him. Frances’ pants were done up again. He was smiling, a friendly, casual smile like he always did. He clapped Simon on the shoulder. “Come on,” he said, turning towards the door. “Daylight’s burning, and you got a long way to go.”