The Intersection of Purgatory and Paradise

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series by
A.J. T
HOMAS

A Casual Weekend Thing

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By
A.J. T
HOMAS

Sex & Sourdough

The Way Things Are

L
EAST
L
IKELY
P
ARTNERSHIP

A Casual Weekend Thing

Holding Out for a Fairy Tale

The Intersection of Purgatory and Paradise

Published by
D
REAMSPINNER
P
RESS

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

Published by

D
REAMSPINNER
P
RESS

5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886  USA

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Intersection of Purgatory and Paradise

© 2015 A.J. Thomas.

Cover Art

© 2015 Brooke Albrecht.

http://brookealbrechtstudio.com

Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/.

ISBN: 978-1-63216-977-8

Digital ISBN: 978-1-63216-978-5

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014920682

First Edition March 2015

Printed in the United States of America

This paper meets the requirements of

ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (Permanence of Paper).

D
OUG
DIDN
’
T
kiss Christopher good-bye. He never did when they were out in public. Even though it had been a year since the suicide of Christopher’s brother Peter had brought them together, eating lunch together was about as openly gay as Doug Heavy Runner could manage.

In the small, predominately white town of Elkin, Doug’s job was already difficult. The fallout from Peter’s suicide had included the gruesome discovery that the man who’d held the post of sheriff for over a decade was complicit in the torture and murder of dozens of the town’s children. Sheriff Greg Brubaker was dead, thanks to Christopher. Because Doug and Christopher’s former partner Ray were the only witnesses, the people of Elkin had taken to whispering conspiracy theories and accusations about what had actually happened in the secluded cabin where Christopher shot Brubaker before nearly bleeding to death. At best, they thought he’d murdered their sheriff to cover up his brother’s crimes. At worst, they thought he’d participated in them.

The promotion to sergeant Doug had received after the investigation ended had somehow brought all of the town’s suspicions about Christopher down on him. Christopher had followed Doug’s lead for months, trusting him when he said things would blow over. Nothing had changed, and Christopher was sick of walking on eggshells every time he ventured out from the seclusion of Doug’s ranch. He thought about taking the initiative and just kissing him, right out there on the sidewalk, but he knew Doug wouldn’t kiss him back. That hurt almost as much as the cold glares and vicious comments from people in town. “You heading back to the office?” he asked instead.

“Yeah. I’ve got to get timecards processed before five. Are you going home?”

Christopher watched a young couple walking toward them shift their family quickly, shuffling their two golden-curled little girls toward the curb and placing themselves between their kids and Christopher and Doug. He glanced at Doug, wondering if his lover had noticed. Over the last year, Christopher had learned to discern when Doug was holding his tongue. At the moment, he looked oblivious and distracted.

“What’s up?” Christopher asked, shifting closer to him automatically.

The answer came strolling up to them in a polo shirt and khaki pants. The man was younger than both of them, with short-cropped hair and a smile that looked like it had cost a fortune. “Mr. Heavy Runner? Do you have a minute?” he asked, holding out a business card.

Doug ignored the card. “No, can’t say I do.” He set his hand on Christopher’s shoulder and tried to steer him toward the street.

Christopher froze, suddenly worried. Doug was always the picture of professionalism, even on his lunch break. Unless the person he was dealing with had already done something to piss him off. The only thing Christopher could imagine Doug getting pissed off about was the occasional comment people would make about them—or more specifically, about Christopher. He knew there would never be a shortage of homophobic assholes in the world, and in Elkin there would never be a shortage of people who took one look at Christopher and only saw his brother’s crimes. But he’d never asked Doug to try and shield him from any of them.

Christopher stepped away from Doug, rounding on him and the man with the business card. “Something I should know about?”

Doug’s dark eyebrows drew together. “Huh?”

The man in the polo shirt tried to step between them. “Mr. Heavy Runner, I know you said you’re not interested, but you haven’t heard the details of our offer yet.”

“Not interested,” Doug said curtly.

The man in the polo shirt persevered. “My clients understand you have concerns about possible agricultural use of the land, but we’re willing to do whatever it takes to reassure you on that front. We can rezone every parcel to exclude agricultural use and even include restrictive covenants in the deeds that would prevent anyone from raising livestock on the land.” He pushed the business card into Doug’s face. “You’re not going to get a better offer, Mr. Heavy Runner.”

Doug rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Look, I told you when you called, I don’t want to sell. I’m sorry you wasted your time coming all the way up here, but that hasn’t changed. My break’s over, and I’ve got to work.” Doug took the business card and shoved it into his pocket, then tugged Christopher away by the elbow. When they’d put half a block between them and the City Center Cafe, Doug let go of his arm. “What the hell?” he asked, not looking at Christopher. “You know things are bad enough at work as it is. Do you really think adding more drama to the rumor mill is going to help?”

“So I can’t even ask what’s going on with you?” Christopher snapped. “Asking a question in public doesn’t qualify as drama.”

The anger in Doug’s eyes dimmed. “He’s the guy who’s been bugging me about selling the ranch. And he’s a dick,” Doug whispered, his voice dripping with a vehemence Christopher wasn’t used to hearing. “Two of our neighbors to the south lost their land thanks to him.”

Christopher consciously decided to ignore the “our” part of Doug’s rant. They were hardly mutual neighbors, since Doug
was still so in the closet he’d begrudgingly introduced
Christopher as his “roommate” six months after Christopher moved in. “Lost, or sold?”

“Lost,” Doug insisted. “They were behind on their mortgages, and the drought forced them to sell off their herds last year, but when they wouldn’t sell to him, the guys he works for bought their mortgages and foreclosed.”