Together they walked to Ladybelle and got in. Clay started the truck, glad to know recent repairs had been done on her so they wouldn’t get stuck on the road and have to call for help. He drove past the barn and up the ridge where they’d seen the mountain lion, then down along Horse Creek to just beyond where it met Sand Creek.
There, the river had carved a space long ago, a flat, oblong hollow. Along the edge of the hollow, if you stood in just the right place, the land sloped long and gently, stretching out in what seemed like endless miles of green grass beneath a cloud-dotted blue sky.
Clay parked Ladybelle just at the sandbar, where the gravel was thick and sturdy.
“We can walk out to that little hill there,” said Clay, pointing through the windshield. “On that side of the river, the view is unobstructed and pretty wonderful.”
“How did you find this place?” asked Austin, unbuckling his seatbelt.
“We sometimes take trail rides this far, and sometimes overnight rides, for more experienced riders.” Clay turned to Austin, his hands on the wheel like he meant to demonstrate that he wasn’t going to interfere with whatever it was Austin needed to do. “You go that way, and I’ll walk across the river to the other side. You’ll have all the privacy you need.”
“Thank you.”
Clay waited until Austin had picked his direction. Then, leaving the keys in the ignition, he crunched across the gravel to the sandbar, hopping over the rocks to the other side of the slow, season-low river. When the rains came in early August, the river would come out of the canyon in a torrent and it wouldn’t be a safe place to be, but for now, the river was pretty tame and easy to cross.
He made his way along the grassy bank to where the narrow leaf willows tucked their roots in the sandy soil and made a shady place, where he settled his hat on his head before heading up a small slope to a groundswell that allowed a view of the large area where Sand Creek and Horse Creek merged into one before heading south.
In the winter, geese would land and spend the night, and in the summer, the river fed the land. The smell was damp and green and Clay stood there, inhaling deeply, hands in his pockets, and watched the low water swirl in eddies across the sand.
Across the way, Austin had stopped, and was facing north, the dappled sunlight on his shoulders. In his hand he held his pad of paper, and what looked like a paintbrush, which he seemed to dip to the side, and then stroke across the paper.
Clay hadn’t asked what kind of paint, but he would once they got back in the truck. It was nice that Austin could trust him with this, so he would be careful not to be too nosy, though he did want Austin to know he was interested. He would figure it out as he went, wanting, at the very least, Austin’s friendship. And as for everything else? That was up to Austin, though Clay could hardly hope that a straight guy would be the least interested in him.
Sunlight dipped in and out from behind the clouds until the shadows were long and the light between the shadows was a velvety violet and blue. When Austin lifted his head and lowered his pad of paper, Clay headed across the river in the growing twilight, splashing the toes of his cowboy boots in the water, then scrambled up the bank to where the truck was.
Neither of them said a word as they got into Ladybelle’s cab. Clay drove them back along the ridge road to the ranch and dropped Austin off in front of the glade before the staff quarters with as much dignity as if they’d been on a proper date, which he very much would have liked.
He parked Ladybelle, then nodded at a few people he knew on his way back to the staff quarters. In short order, he was in his own room, stripped to the skin, stepping into a very hot shower. There, he scrubbed off the sweat from the day, the grime along the back of his neck.
Even all the soap in the world couldn’t wash away the look in Austin’s eyes as they’d sat in the low-lit interior of Ladybelle just before heading back. Austin’s eyes had been dark, warm with gratitude, and maybe a little surprised at how easily it had all gone.
Nobody deserved to have their dreams squashed as Austin seemed to have experienced, and while Clay would have been willing to drive Austin to various views in the local area, he knew, or thought he knew, that Austin would need to go by himself.
Not that Clay knew what it was like to be an artist, as he’d not a creative bone in his body. But he thought he’d read it somewhere, that some artists needed chunks of time and miles of space before they could create. Then again, some could do it in a broom cupboard, it all depended. He just knew he wanted Austin to get what he needed, wanted it more than he could have thought possible upon meeting Austin on that rainy Sunday.
Stepping out of the shower, he dried himself off, and brushed his teeth and basically got ready for bed. It’d been a long day, but his mind was still racing and his body felt keyed up, like he had unfinished business to tend to.
Normally, in this circumstance, he would find a bar and make his availability known, offer lube and condoms, if the other fellow didn’t happen to have any, and pretty much enjoy himself. Now, though, it felt more intricate than that, like a dance he didn’t quite know the steps to, and he was pretty much a terrible dancer, in spite of pretending that he knew what he was doing on the dance floor.
Inside of a minute, he pulled on his blue jeans and a clean t-shirt and, barefoot, padded down to the other end of the hall where Austin’s room was. And stood there for a full three minutes, his hand raised to knock, before he realized what a dumb move it was.
Austin had just gotten a divorce. He was not in the market, for sure, and in no way was interested in getting it on with a guy who had a hard-on for getting it on at a moment’s notice.
The two of them were as different as city and country, as much a contrast as light and shadow. His was a desire that had no place to go or, if it did know the direction, the surrounding country was so new he needed a map that had not yet been drawn. Maybe Austin could paint him a map? Maybe, but then Clay would have to describe it to him.
Dropping his hand, Clay made his silent way back to his room, finished getting ready for bed, and forced himself to think of practical matters. Like taking himself in hand first thing in the morning, so he didn’t walk around having to adjust himself for an hour and a half.
When he awoke, he shaved and brushed his teeth, his mind still busy with the questions as to how he might move forward. All of this was new to him because before Austin Clay would not be thinking about it like this, wouldn’t be thinking beyond the first good fuck. Austin was different. He was careful and still and smart, not Clay’s usual at all.
He slid on his boots and put on a long-sleeved shirt, then grabbed his hat. Just as he took his keys from the top of the dresser, he saw a white piece of paper that someone had slid beneath his door. It must have been there for a while, for there was a bit of cottonwood seed fluff in the middle of the paper.
Bending to pick it up, he couldn’t for a minute figure out what it was. There was a wash of color, a large patch of blue that he realized was the sky. Below that were streaks of blue amidst the green, and it made him think of the place where Sand Creek and Horse Creek met, and all at once he knew what it was, the painting Austin had done the day before.
Taking a closer look, he saw there was a ghostly image of a cowboy on the other side of the river. There was a smudge for his straw cowboy hat, a dapple of colors for his shirt. A stripe of dark blue for his jeans. It was him; he knew it was him. Austin was supposed to be painting the landscape but instead paintedhim.
For a moment, all he could do was hold the painting to him as though to absorb it into his very soul. Nobody had ever sketched him before, let alone painted him. That Austin had taken the time to include him in the wonderful vista view, to use his newly bought paints—
With a sigh, Clay laid the painting carefully on the bed. He’d get a frame from the local hardware store, or maybe he’d have to drive into Cheyenne.
