Sleigh Ride (Minnesota Christmas Book 2) (14 page)

Gabriel whimpered and buried his face in Arthur’s hair.

“Shh.” Arthur tucked the hanky away and did up Gabriel’s pants. “You’re beautiful, baby. You’re perfect.”

“Your mother will think I’m a whore.”

“She’ll think you’re a perfect match for the son whose leather porn mags she found under his bed when he was sixteen.”

Now Gabriel was sleepy
and
dizzy. And imagining Arthur in leather. “I would lick you if you were in leather.”

“Maybe sometime I’ll put it on and let you.”

Gabriel’s eyes flew open. “You—you have leather?”

“I do.” He tweaked Gabriel’s nose. “Into the truck with you. Somebody has story time tomorrow. Time to go home.”

Who cared about story time when there was the possibility of Arthur in leather? “I want to go to your house. I want you to get dressed up. Now.”

“Be a good boy, and I might. But not tonight.”

Yes, tonight.
“What if I’m a bad boy?”

Arthur pinched Gabriel’s butt hard enough to make him squeal. “Then I’ll use it
on
you.”

Gabriel was fully ready to wheedle his way to Arthur’s house, but as soon as he snuggled into the warmth of the truck he got sleepy, and the gentle rumble of the wheels on the road quickly lulled him into a trance. The next thing he knew the truck had stopped and they were at Gabriel’s house.

He let Arthur usher him into the bedroom and into the bed, holding up his arms like a child while Arthur peeled his clothes off him. He drank the water Arthur gave him and laid back on the pillow as Arthur tucked him in—but he cried out in protest when Arthur started to leave the room.

“Don’t go. Stay with me.”

Arthur’s molten gaze brought Gabriel’s sleepy cock to wakefulness. “If I get into bed with you, I’m going to fuck you, and you need to sleep.”

I want you to fuck me.
“I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to wake up and find out this isn’t real.”

Arthur stroked his face, gaze tender. “It’s real, baby.” He ran a finger down Gabriel’s nose. “I’m going to sleep on the couch. I’ll wake you up at seven when I leave to go change my clothes and get Thomas. And Soupy.”

Thomas’s doll. Gabriel closed his eyes, loving Arthur’s gentle touch. Even through the haze of alcohol, his rash promise aroused anxiety. “I hope they don’t lynch me.”

“Anybody wants to lynch you has to get through me first.” A soft kiss pressed onto Gabriel’s forehead. “Sleep, Gabriel. Tomorrow night I’ll take you dancing.”

Dancing.
“Nobody’s ever taken me dancing.”

“Dinner and dancing.”

I’d rather have the leather,
Gabriel tried to say, but his jaw was too heavy. He drifted off to sleep, dreaming of Arthur dancing with him in leather pants and a harness.

Dancing
and
leather. That was better. That was definitely better.

Ch
apter Fifteen

Ar
thur woke the next morning with his phone alarm blaring from the end table and a huge crick in his neck. He sat up with a groan, grimacing at the taste in his mouth and frowning at his feet, which were bare and picking up a significant draft. Making a mental note to check Gabriel’s weather stripping later, he rose and padded to Gabriel’s room to wake him up.

When he opened the bedroom door, though, Gabriel sat fully conscious in the middle of his bed, surrounded by books, balancing a laptop on his knee and flipping intently through a binder. He glanced up as Arthur entered. Self-consciousness washed over his face, then vanished as stress took over. “I’m starting to regret my rash promise to Thomas.”

That rash promise had been when Arthur tipped over so hard for Gabriel he wasn’t ever getting up. “Why? Also, how are you not so hungover you can barely function?”

“Adrenaline. Though I do have a horrible headache.” He rubbed at his forehead as he scrolled through something on his laptop. “I don’t actually regret it—I just wish I hadn’t said
tomorrow
. I should have said next week. I almost couldn’t find the book.”

What book? Arthur frowned. “What’s the big deal? All you have to do is sit a doll beside you while you read a story. I’ll hold another one on my lap while I sit with Thomas. Piece of cake.”

Gabriel shook his head, making his hair flop around his ears. “You know as well as I do why Becky told him he couldn’t take his doll to story time. I can’t undo two thousand years of stereotype with a prop. I can’t undo it at all, really, only put a little dent in it, plant some seeds in the minds of children and parents as to why stereotypes might be bad.” He pulled a book from a stack and thumbed through it before making notes in his binder. “What I say and do today doesn’t simply affect the parents and children present. If the stories I tell get them to think, it will affect them and everyone they encounter.”

“So this is some kind of revolution?”

“Every book is a revolution. Books are our ticket out of boredom, despair, loneliness—but also ignorance. Most of my additions to the library have been youth picture books featuring different races and ethnicities—and there have been complaints. Not from the children. They read
Snowy Day
and want to build snow forts and ask questions about apartment buildings in a big city. They read
Abuela
and pretend they’re flying with
their
grandmothers. For them books are a way to drink in more of the world, which is important when you live in such a remote corner of it.” He rubbed at the back of his neck as he turned to his laptop. “But I haven’t done
William’s Doll
here, or anything like it. Gender stereotypes are harder, and coming from a gay man, they’re going to think I have an agenda. I want to read all the teaching guides, make sure I don’t miss a land mine or a lamppost. And I only have a few hours.”

Gabriel disappeared into his research. He was right there in front of Arthur, but he was gone, lost to his books and his plans. Arthur stood there, trying to process everything Gabriel had just said. He didn’t understand half of it. Well, he understood it, but his brain kept tripping over the image of Gabriel sitting in his wooden rocking chair reading books to a herd of children. It was such a simple act. As simple as shelving a book, as picking one off the shelf or out of a catalog.

Except it wasn’t. Did Gabriel do this before every story time? Read up about the books, make notes and plans?

Yes, he did, Arthur realized. Not always this elaborate. Not always this intently. But yes. He took every book he put in front of Logan’s children this seriously.

The thought arrested Arthur. Humbled him. Made his heart turn over. How many times, how many ways, could Gabriel send Arthur to his knees?

Arthur slipped out of the bedroom without a word. He made Gabriel a cup of peppermint tea and set it beside him with a bottle of ibuprofen. He fried up some deer sausage with onion, mushrooms and pepper, served some crispy hash browns beside it and brought it to Gabriel, who at first reflexively said he didn’t have the time or stomach to eat, then saw what it was and fell on the plate like a ravenous beast. When he finished, Arthur took his dishes away, tidied up and got ready to go. He stood in the doorway to the bedroom, zipping his coat. “You want me to come back and give you a ride in?”

“No, thank you. I need to go in early and get a few things ready.” He shut his laptop with a sigh and rubbed his eyes. “I need to shower and get going
now
.”

“I’ll start your car on my way out so it warms up.” He hesitated a moment, abruptly shy, then bent to kiss Gabriel’s cheek.
You’re amazing. You’re beautiful and wonderful, and I cannot believe you want to be with me, even for ten minutes.
“Let…let me know if you need anything.”

Gabriel murmured a goodbye, but mostly he barely seemed to register the air around him, let alone people.

As promised, Arthur fired up Gabriel’s car, noting the model year from the registration so he could get the accurate equipment for the remote-start system. Leaving the Corolla humming in the garage, he got in his truck and headed to the cabin.

It was still pretty early, so he took a shower before he went to his mom’s house. When he got there, he found Thomas sitting on the couch with Soupy and Big Tom. Thomas looked scared and teary, and Big Tom seemed lost. Becky and Corrina’s argument from the kitchen could probably be heard in town.

“He’s my son, and he’s not taking a doll out in public. They’re going to laugh at him. I don’t care how many dolls the
gay librarian
brings in, Mom. They’re
going to laugh
.”

“You don’t know they will—and they won’t if someone tells them they shouldn’t.”

“Oh
please
, Mom. I know it’s been ten million years since you were a kid, but trust me, it isn’t any less vicious. Why do you want to do this to your grandson? He gets enough hell for having a dad who skipped town. That all his
uncles
, biological and adopted, are gay doesn’t help either.”

Arthur entered the kitchen and closed the door behind him, swallowing his fury. “You two want to scare the shit out of Thomas, you’ve done a good job.”

Becky rounded on him. “
You
started this.
You
ganged up on me with her to let him get the damn thing in the first place, and now your fucking
boyfriend
the smooth-talking librarian has filled his head with
bullshit
. They don’t make fun of him enough for you?”

God, Arthur had never wanted to hit her more in his life. He wanted to argue, wanted to throw down and vent every grievance he’d had with her since he’d come out, but all he could think of was poor Thomas on the couch, and Gabriel poring over his books.

“Come to story time,” he said instead.

Becky blinked at him. “What?”

“Come to the library with us. Mom, you too. Gabriel’s doing a thing about it. For Thomas and everybody. Come and see it. Let Thomas bring his doll—”

“He’s not bringing that fucking doll.”

“Why the hell not, Becks? Don’t tell me it’s because they’re gonna laugh at him. Trust me, you’ve hurt him ten times more with your bullshit shame than any of his peers will ever manage over what toy he wants to bring along. But this isn’t about him at all, is it? This is about how they see
you
. You’re not afraid of them laughing at him but at you. That they’ll say he plays with dolls because you can’t keep your husband and you have a fag brother.”

Becky bristled, tears in her eyes, but Arthur kept going, right to the heart of it. “You’re worried more than anything else
Thomas
will be a fag too. You think if you shame him out of a doll, you’ll shame him straight. Well guess what, hon—that’ll never work. If he’s gay, there’s not a fucking thing you can do except make sure he needs more therapy before he can have a happily-ever-after. You keep working the way you are, though, you won’t just send him to therapy. You’ll send him hell and gone away from you.”

Tears rolled down his sister’s face. She was pissed, she was hurt, and she was speechless.

Corrina put a hand on Becky’s shoulder, rubbing her arm. “Sweetheart, it’s a doll. Your sweet, good-hearted little boy likes to take care of babies. He’s almost better at putting Ashley down than I am. He tells me all the time about how he’s going to live with a boy like Uncle Arthur because girls are gross, but he also tells me about all the babies he’s going to have. Right now we can’t know if girls are gross because he’s homosexual or because he’s six. And you know it doesn’t matter. Whatever he is, we’re going to love him. We love him now. That won’t ever change.”

“The world won’t love him.” Becky wiped at her eyes. “I don’t want him to be treated the way I was. I don’t want him to make the same mistakes I did. I don’t want him to go to the fucking grocery store and have everybody give him pity looks because he’s fucked up his life so bad.”

“Oh, honey.” Corrina drew Becky in close. “This is a small town. Everybody gives everybody pitying glances. Everybody’s trying to find somebody to look down on so they don’t have to hate themselves so much.”

“You’re not teaching him to be strong,” Arthur said quietly. “You’re giving him the shunning you’re afraid other people are going to give him. You’re teaching him to be ashamed and afraid.”

Becky couldn’t stop crying. Corrina drew her to a chair, but she also glanced at the clock and then at Arthur. “You two go on. We’ll be along in a minute.”

Arthur worried Becky would try to stop him, but she was so miserable she didn’t bother.

In the living room, Big Tom still sat with Thomas, who hadn’t moved. Arthur looked between them a moment, then sighed. “Dad, get your coat. You’re coming too.”

They all three piled into Arthur’s truck, Thomas in the seat in the back, Soupy belted in beside him.

Arthur glanced at him in the rearview mirror as he drove. “Big day, sport. Mr. Higgins made a special story time just for you and Soupy.”

Thomas hunched his shoulders. “Mommy’s mad at me.”

“Mommy’s having a bad day. Grandma’s fixing her.”

“Mommy doesn’t like Soupy. She wants her to go away the same as Daddy.”

In the passenger seat, Big Tom flattened his lips and let out a sigh.

Arthur reached back to squeeze Thomas’s hand. “It’s going to be okay.”

He wasn’t entirely sure of that, though, as they pulled into the library parking lot. Families streamed into the building, boys and girls and mothers and grandmothers and fathers and babysitters. The preschool from the church was there too—Thomas’s sister would be in that group. As he and Big Tom shuffled up the stairs, Arthur peered into the main room of the library and saw it was full to bursting. He overheard one of the preschool teachers talking to an aide, and apparently the word had gone down that Gabriel was doing a special story time. Nobody wanted to miss it.

Suddenly, Arthur realized how badly this could go. For the first time, he wondered if he’d been too hard on Becky, if she wasn’t at least partially right after all.

Then he came into the library and all his doubts washed away.

The room was quiet, which seemed strange, until he saw Gabriel at the front of the room, holding something in his arms, wrapped up tight as he swayed from side to side. When someone would start to talk, he’d lift his head and press a finger to his lips, and the room would burst out in young children making exaggerated
shushing
noises until peace reigned. Soft music played in the background, a lullaby.

Arthur found a chair for Big Tom, then led Thomas around to the side, trying to find him a place to sit. But when Gabriel saw them, he waved them forward. “Thomas. Come up front. I have a space for you. In fact.” Gabriel scanned the audience, still speaking in hushed tones. “Has anyone else brought a baby doll today? If you have a baby doll with you at story time, would you come up front please? You can help me with my story.”

Thomas had been hesitant, clutching Arthur’s hand in a death grip, but when Gabriel smiled and urged him forward, he let go and hurried through the crowd, proudly bearing his doll. There might have been a few whispers, but they were quickly drowned out by Gabriel’s enthusiasm.

“What beautiful babies you all have. Hello, Thomas. Soupy looks lovely today. Hello, Chandra. What’s your doll’s name? Princess—what a beautiful name. What a beautiful baby. Look how well you take care of her. And Abigail has a baby too. So many story-time visitors with baby dolls.” He took his seat on the wooden rocking chair, still holding his bundle, but at this point he unwrapped it and tipped the contents toward his audience. “This is
my
baby. Well, one of my babies. This is Lulabelle.”

All the children, the girls and Thomas in the front and all the boys and girls and even the adults in the room craned their heads to see the old, faded and worn rag doll peering from Gabriel’s pile of blankets.

Gabriel stroked her matted yarn hair. “Lulabelle is very old. She belonged to my father’s uncle, and he played with her first a long, long time ago. My great-uncle’s family were miners, but his father died young, and they didn’t have much money for toys. He had two: a wooden top
his
uncle carved, and this doll his grandmother sewed for him. He took Lulabelle with him
everywhere
, he told me. His grandmother made Lulabelle because when my great-uncle’s baby sister died of measles, he was so sad he wouldn’t stop crying. So she made him a baby of his own to take care of. He kept her all his life, until he died. But before he died, he gave her to me to take care of instead.” Gabriel hesitated, peering thoughtfully at the crowd. “I want to show you my other doll, but Lulabelle is
very
fragile, and someone needs to hold her for me while I bring out her friend.”

A chorus of eager shouts rang out, mostly from girls, but Gabriel silenced them all with a finger on his lips.

“Shh. Remember. We must be quiet around babies. They need to rest, and loud noises scare them. Raise your hand if you’d like to hold Lulabelle for me.”