Chapter 2

In a later telephone conversation,Calvin had managed to extract from his mother the news that Tom had had a mild heart attack.This had been the wake-up call that he’d needed.

His mom had seen and fallen in love with a vacant two-bedroom condo in a retirement community in Lake Wales.

Calvin had had to push hard to persuade his parents to go ahead and not wait until their place in Texas was sold.He promised he could arrange a bridge loan at favorable rates if such became necessary,but the clincher had been his promise to return to Texas to co-ordinate the sale of the old place,thus freeing his parents to move to Florida just as soon as the ink was dry on the contracts.

Pulling a beer out of the case before putting the remainder in the fridge—a Frigidaire,which Calvin had repeatedly been told was as old as he was—he found the opener,popped the cap and took a long pull.

After draining the bottle and putting it in the trash,the habit of recycling not having yet reached as far as Parish Creek.Remembering his visions of cowboys in tight Wranglers,western shirts and Stetsons,he fired up his laptop and went to the CMT website hoping to find some sexual fantasies.

“Damn it!”he exclaimed,clicking on the live feed link.

They were showing a retrospective of Dolly Parton,and although he didn’t mind her music,her outsized breasts did nothing for him.He closed his browser in frustration.Then he remembered Brockwell’s sign.Fishing out his cell phone,relieved that at least there was good cell service,he dialed the number and waited.

“Thank you for calling Brockwell&Son.I’m sorry,but…”Calvin waited for old man Brockwell’s recorded message to finish,before leaving his phonenumber and asking for someone to call him back.Once he hung up,he began pacing,his eyes catching all the little details which he knew would need to be attended to before he could put the house on the market.He’d not confidedthis to his folks,knowing it would probably have persuaded them to remain.He would pay whatever it cost to smarten the place up.

A few of the quarry tiles in the hallway were chipped;he hoped the whole floor wouldn’t have to be pulled up,but he’d negotiate that,plus myriad other things with the contractor.“When he finally bothers to call!”Calvinsaid,noting that an hour had passed since he’d contacted them.

He knew he was impatient,but his drive had got him where he was now.Gone werethe days when he’d cower in dark corners while others,more sure of themselves,would strut around and make all the decisions.

After a second circuit of the house,he opened his laptop and logged in to check email.He was engrossed in a report from Tim,his business partner,on the potential that would be gained if they could wrestle the Jenkins account from their archrivals,when the doorbell rang.Still mulling over the satisfaction of seeing the expression on Thompson’s face if they did steal the account from under his nose,Calvin rose,walked down the hallway and opened the door,half expecting someone from the local Baptist church in search of a donation,or bent on saving his soul from Hell’s fire.

However,the vision of cowboy masculinity that stood on the stoop immediatelyhad Calvin believing that whatever religion the guy was hawking,he’d be willing to sign on the dotted line immediately.

The man,at least six feet three of him—although it was difficult to gauge his exact height because of the white Resistol seated firmly on his head,hiding his eyes—gave Calvin a smile.Quickly sweeping his gaze downward,Calvin saw a firm square jaw,with perhaps a day’s growth of beard.The cowboy’s neck had a red kerchief tied around it that contrasted with a powder blue western shirt with,good heavens,pearl snaps.He was maybe a little paunchy,but Calvin could forgive him that.

A huge silver belt buckle sat above a more than amply filled out crotch contained by a pair of tight,faded Wranglers.Calvin’s eyes moved down to take in a pair of snakeskin cowboy boots.

“Hi,”said a deep voice that seemed to vibrate along Calvin’s nerve endings.

It forced Calvin to look back up at the vision’s face,the owner of which used its index finger to push up the brim of the hat,revealing a pair of blue eyes,the same color as the faded denim.Calvin felt himself falling into those eyes.

“Hey,”Calvin returned,stopping himself at the last second from saying,‘howdy,pardner.’

“Y’all said you were fixin’up the old place to sell.”

“Yes.”Although Calvin knew outwardly he was portraying an air of polite interest,over ten years of business dealings had taught him to maintain a neutral expression even under the most stressful of circumstances,and this hunk was certainly putting stress on a certain part of his anatomy.“Calvin Hamilton.”

“John Brockwell.”John held out his hand,which instinctively Calvin took.The shake was firm,strong,masculine,and dry.

Feeling devilish,Calvin said,“And here was me thinking you were Gary Cooper.”

John smiled again,this time showing a row of perfect white teeth.“Line dancin’is tonight.I figured I’d get ready,then go from here.”

“I see.I guess I was expecting your father.It was his voice on the answering machine.”

Immediately the smile faded.”My daddy passed last fall.I haven’t felt up to changing the message on the answering machine.”

“Oh,I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.With you only just back in town,guess you wouldn’t have known.”

“No,I didn’t.Please accept my condolences.”His innate southern hospitality,rarely used in his cut-throat business dealings in the Big Apple,kicked in and he invited John over the threshold.

Almost before Calvin was aware,the two of them were sitting in the screened-in porch,two bottles of the imported beer between them.John’s Resistol lay on the chair next to him.The absence of the hat revealed a full head of mid-length blond hair that was starting to go white at the temples.

Dolly Parton,eat your heart out,Calvin thought,raising his bottle to John,or Brock as Calvin had been asked to call him.

“Calvin Hamilton,”Brock mused.“We were in high school together,right?”

“At the same time.I wouldn’t exactly say together.”Calvin remembered with bitterness the times when he would be pushed aside whenever the pack of star jocks would go strutting down the halls.

“You were that drama geek with the thick lenses.”

Calvin’s bitterness overflowed.No way was he going to let this guy intimidate him now!Not after he’d spent years honing his body in the gym,having Lasik surgery on his eyes,and generally improving himself until he was a partner in a well-respected New York PR and marketing firm.

“Yeah,that was me.”

Brock treated him to a smile before raising his bottle and taking a gulp of beer.

“And the rumors about me back then were true.I am a fag.”

Brock jerked forward;beer streaming out his nose as he coughed.

Calvin leapt to his feet,ran round the table and thumped Brock on the back.

“It’s okay,”Brock wheezed.“Thanks.”

Calvin returned to his seat.“I wanted to make that clear before you accepted the job.I’m an out gay man,and if you’re not comfortable with that,then…”

“No,no.It’s cool.You just surprised me is all.Folks round here wouldn’t…”

“Yeah.Guess I’ve gotten too used to New York ways.”

“So,”Brock asked,a twinkle in his eye,“did you have a secret crush on me back in high school?”