the saddle again.
"You did this on purpose."
"Nope. I can't leave Brandy here. And the Titan doesn't eat. No one will bother it."
"Yeah… whatever. You're not fooling me."
Tyler clucked his tongued and Brandy began to move, slow purposeful strides. Alec clung to
Tyler for warmth and support, or so he told himself. A secondary reason became apparent soon and he tried his best to suppress the swelling below. Futile. Tyler knew he was powerless, had known it all along, wanted it. Deep down, Alec wanted it too—more so. He gave in, nudging deeper into Tyler's
firm ass to the rhythm of Brandy's pace, imagining how it would feel if there was no fabric between them.
Tyler glanced over his shoulder. "Is it my imagination or is this saddle getting smaller?"
The snow had begun falling—large light and fluffy flakes brushed their faces as they rode. The
landscape on this journey was much flatter than the climb to the cabin and Alec was reminded of the Robert Frost poemStopping By the Woods on a Snowy Evening.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
He concentrated, trying to remember other stanzas, anything to distract him from the grinding
down low. His mind drifted back to his Georgetown years… American literature… roads not taken.
Soon, white farm fencing began.
"This is where my property starts," Tyler said, pointing.
"Good," Alec said. "Because if we don't stop soon I might—"
"Don't you dare."
Of all the barns, small barns, and storage buildings Alec had been in since arriving, Tyler's was
by far the largest and prettiest. He expected no less. As they led Brandy to her stall, at least a half-dozen heads poked from other pens, noting their arrival.
"Wow," said Alec. "There are so many."
"Fifteen. Soon to be sixteen. Bessie over there is expecting."
Alec looked in the direction gestured and a black snout snorted at the mention of her name,
before lowering her head shyly.
"Are they hungry?" Alec asked.
"Yeah, always. But right now they're more curious."
Tyler's home was warm, rustic, and tasteful, hard and soft—similar to the cabin, lots of wood
paneling, muted accent colors, and plaids. Masculine, for the most part. There was a guitar on a stand in the corner next to the fireplace hearth. A fire was already laid. Tyler lit it.
